Love and Submission

Chapter Two

“OLIVIA JANE YOU WILL WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!” The shrill notes that her mother was capable of reaching when angry were a thing of medical marvel. They really were. Of course when you were battling your way out of a trauma induced sleep-coma it wasn’t so cool. Olivia cracked one eye open to peer up at her irate mother. “I heard you sneaking into the house this morning.” She hissed.

“Mom…” Olivia tried to croak out but her throat was so dry and she was so hot.

“Don’t mom me. Get up. You are already late for school.”

“Can’t go…sick…” Olivia tried to move her arm out to grab a hold of her mother’s arm but her bones must have liquefied in her sleep. They were being just as defiant as she normally was.

“Oh no you are not sick, you’re hung-over! I will not tolerate this young lady! DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“Kinda hard not to, mother, you’re shouting.” She just glared down at Olivia who couldn’t have moved if she wanted to so she just sighed and opened both eyes. “I was out with Craig and Todd, we were just hiding some eggs and then this dog attacked me and I think I’ve got an infection or something.” Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Please Olivia; I am not in the mood for your stories right now.” Stories? Some mangy mutt had nearly dislocated her knee. She was abruptly furious with her mother.

“I’m being serious damnit! I need some water and some aspirin. Hell maybe I need to go to the ER I don’t know. I’m hurt and tired and sick and you’re shrieking is not helping.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed and she leaned over Olivia. She placed the back of her hand on Olivia’s forehead and for a brief moment concern flickered through the anger. She stalked out of the room with a huff and then reappeared with a bottle of Advil and a tall glass of cold water.

“Take only two of those and go back to sleep. I’ll call your school. But you will be going tomorrow.” With that she stormed out slamming the door behind her. Olivia groaned as she rolled around trying to get to the cup on her night stand. Her skin looked flushed as her hand and forearm entered her field of vision. She was starting to get worried but the thought was overridden as soon as the cool glass touched her fingers. She greedily drank it down almost forgetting to take the aspirin. With a sigh she collapsed back onto her pillow exhausted from the effort it took to prop herself up, drink, and place the cup back on the nightstand without dropping it. She was back asleep in moments and completely grateful for it.

She awoke after only an hour or two of blissful unawareness to a stifling hot bedroom. She wondered if perhaps the house was on fire it was so hot. She struggled with her comforter and finally managed to kick the thing off but the temperature remained unchanged. That was when she realized the room wasn’t burning, she was. Her fever had reached a dangerous height and now she was unable to get any help. She tried to call out but the only sound she managed to make was a moan and a whimper, neither of which had enough volume to carry very far. She tried to open her eyes and found that she didn’t even have the energy to do that. With another whimper she resigned herself to her apparent fate of death. She had escaped the Martin’s crazy dog but only to slink home and die, not only alone but in conscious misery. How horrible was that? What could she possibly have done to merit such a fate? She had never done anything truly outstanding, either good or evil, her entire life. Sure there were little dalliances into either side but nothing that would warrant any deity’s attention.

Suddenly there were hands underneath her neck and legs. These hands slid further until she felt strong muscular forearms and the crook of the elbow. Her father no doubt come home to check on her and realized she was dying. Or maybe she was already dead? It was hard to tell frankly although she still felt the agony of the burning so she probably wasn’t dead yet. The strong arms lifted her from her bed and she wanted to tell her dad to stop, there was no point. Of course, all that came out was a whimper and she received a soothing shushing noise in response. The fever distorted her father’s voice into something deeper, almost animalistic. She was cradled against a hard smooth torso that felt only a couple of degrees cooler than she was. She was too hot and in too much pain to make sense of this but her brain was telling her something was wrong.

She was laid down on a cold floor that caused her to moan again but this time it was pain. Placing extreme cold on something that is far too hot is not a pleasant sensation. Kind of like a reversed frostbite in fact. She had gotten frostbite once when she was younger and had left the house without mittens. She thought of the irony as she longed for the frostbite again. She heard water running and then the smell of water flooded the room. Water? Shouldn’t her father be taking her to the hospital? She was dying after all. The arms were around her again this time lifting her onto her feet and holding her steady as she was walked toward the water. She whimpered again when the cold water hit her skin then one of the arms left her waist momentarily. The water temperature warmed to a cool splash. She felt strong hands slide into her hair and massage the water into her scalp while still wrapped securely around her shoulders.

She moaned again as her body temperature gradually decreased but this time it was pleasure not pain. The deep voice made a shushing noise again that was right next to her ear. She was turned around to face the water with the solid body pressed against her back. A strong arm held her securely but she couldn’t have cared at the moment. She opened her mouth and felt the water course down ravaged throat. She smelt the shampoo before it was worked into her hair by the same strong hands. They worked the shampoo through her scalp, giving it another relaxing massage, and then moved to her shoulders and worked the knots out of those too. She sighed and relaxed against the wall of muscle that was propping her up and caring for her so diligently. She was turned again and the water hit her hair, rinsing the shampoo out.

Her arms obeyed her enough to slowly rise and place her hands on a pair of strong broad shoulders. They rested there as she tried to steady herself against the slight tugging of the hands through her hair. As far as deaths went, this one wasn’t so bad she decided. It most definitely was not her father in the shower with her but who knew, maybe it was angel. Maybe God was sorry for the whole death by rabid neighbor Cujo spawn and this was her reward. Yea she liked that idea. Then the water was gone and there was a warm towel being wrapped snugly around her. She was lifted again and she must have fallen asleep during the trip because when she woke again she was back in her bed under the covers. The muscular angel was curled next to her and nuzzling its face into the crook of her neck. She whimpered involuntarily as the pain surged again. The deep voice shushed her again and nuzzled her neck more. “It will pass.”

“It hurts.” Olivia croaked out. She received another pass of the angel’s nose along her jawline. “I can’t open my eyes.”

“It’s not time yet. You will. Trust me.”

“I don’t even…know….who you are…” Her voice halted as she started to fade back into unconsciousness.

“I am your mate.” It was whispered into her ear with a rush of hot breath on her cheek and neck. The angel pressed his face into her hair and inhaled deeply. “Sleep. No harm will come to you.” And then in barely a whisper she heard the angel say one more thing. “I’m sorry.”