Amara's eyelashes fluttered. Her eyelids felt like they had been glued shut with lead, and her entire body was wrapped in a heavy, aching lethargy that made moving even a finger feel like an Olympian feat. But the fire in her blood was gone. The suffocating heat of the fever had retreated, leaving her skin cool and damp against the silk sheets.
She shifted her head, a soft groan escaping her throat as the movement pulled at the bruised muscles of her shoulder.
"Amara?"
Amara opened her eyes slowly. The world was a blur of gold and shadow at first, but it quickly sharpened into focus. She wasn't alone. Darien was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. He looked… wrecked. His usually perfectly styled hair was a chaotic mess, his white shirt was rumpled and unbuttoned at the collar, and his eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles that spoke of a man who hadn't slept in an eternity.
