Chapter 75
Alaric stood right in front of her, blocking her way entirely, and Galatea felt a rush of irritation.
“Alaric, you…” she began, trying to get past him.
But before she could finish, he kissed her. This kiss was different from the last; there was no punishing bite this time—just something far more intense. Something unfamiliar.
Galatea tried to break free, her body wracked with panic, but she was caught in his embrace. Her muscles tensed, her heart raced, and the harder she struggled, the more Alaric’s grip tightened, as if her resistance only fueled his desire.
Her body felt like a ship lost in the open sea, helplessly tossing in the waves. She gripped his shirt, desperate for air, but the kiss seemed endless, suffocating her.
It felt like an eternity before he finally pulled back, and Galatea gasped for breath, her chest heaving with each deep inhale.
Her anger surged. Without thinking, she bit down hard on his arm.
Alaric groaned, a muffled sound escaping his lips. He looked at her with a smirk. “You really like biting, don’t you?”
The last time, in the hotel room, she’d bitten him just as fiercely. Worrying about his potential retaliation, she pushed him away with all her strength and tried to make her escape.
But as she reached the door, something stopped her. Alaric hadn’t followed her. Her mind raced back to the hotel, where she’d kicked him, and he had fallen ill. Was it happening again? Was he faking it, or was he truly unwell?
Reluctantly, Galatea turned back toward his room. She was greeted by Alaric’s sarcastic voice. “Ran away, and now you’re back? What for?”
To her relief, there were no signs of illness. But when her eyes moved to his arm—the place where she had bitten him—she saw blood seeping through. Had she really bitten him that hard?
“Come and disinfect this,” Alaric instructed coolly.
Feeling guilty, Galatea cleaned the wound with saline solution and applied iodine, doing her best to be gentle despite the anger bubbling inside her.
“Done,” she muttered.
Alaric examined the wound, his expression unreadable. “I’m feeling a bit off. You can’t leave tonight.”
“What?” Galatea blinked, skeptical. “Are you faking it?”
“I might have an attack,” Alaric replied, his tone becoming more serious. “As my personal doctor, you must stay on call.”
Her eyes narrowed. Was he trying to manipulate her? But if he were genuinely sick, it would be dangerous to leave him alone.
Galatea sighed, exhaling in frustration. “Your health is like a ticking time bomb. We’ll have to deal with your treatment and its side effects sooner rather than later.”
“As you wish,” Alaric said with a casual shrug. He then removed his clothes and climbed into bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
That was when it hit her—there was only one bed in the room. What was she supposed to do if he took it?
“You sleep here, and I’ll go to the adjoining office,” Galatea said, already preparing to leave. “If you feel unwell, just call, and I’ll come.”
But Alaric wasn’t having it. “You’ve seen what happens when I have an episode. What’s the difference between waiting in the office and sending you home?”
Galatea fell silent, caught between irritation and concern.
“Get up here!” Alaric ordered, making room for her on the bed.
“Don’t even think about it!” Galatea warned, her voice sharp. “If you think you can take advantage of me, you’re gravely mistaken. I still have a needle in my toolkit. Do you believe I could end you with a single jab?”
Alaric sighed in exasperation, raising an eyebrow. “Galatea, what are you imagining? If I were interested in your body, do you think you could resist? Now get up here, and don’t make me say it a third time!”
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. She looked around, then, with no other choice, sat down on the couch and grabbed a book from the shelf. “You sleep. If anything happens, I’ll be right here to help. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Alaric was not satisfied. “I can’t sleep with the lights on.”
Galatea frowned, her patience wearing thin, but she reluctantly reached out and turned off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, the silence heavy and oppressive. All she could hear was the mingling of their breaths.
“Do you plan to sit on the couch all night?” Alaric asked, breaking the silence.
“What else?” Galatea replied dryly. “You know I’m a sound sleeper. If you really do have an attack, I can’t guarantee I’d wake up.”
Alaric chuckled softly, then turned on the bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated Galatea’s face in a soft glow, and for a moment, she looked beautiful in the quiet light.
“What now?” she asked, exasperated. “Are you going to sleep or not?”
“I can’t sleep with you staring at me,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“That’s not right. This isn’t right,” she muttered, growing more frustrated by the second. “What do you want from me?”
“Get up here!” he repeated, his tone firm.
“That damned jerk!” Galatea muttered under her breath. With no other option, she climbed onto the bed, fully clothed, and positioned herself as far away from him as possible. “You stay over there, and don’t cross the line!”
Alaric snorted in amusement, then turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room back into darkness. He didn’t speak again, and Galatea remained still, curled up at the edge of the bed, too afraid to move.
The atmosphere was suffocating, thick with unspoken tension.
Though the room was dark, Alaric could hear her breathing—uneven, erratic, nervous. His movements were deliberate, and when he shifted his position, Galatea instinctively scooted farther away from him, clearly on edge.
“Just sleep, will you?” Alaric’s voice was laced with mockery. “If I wanted to sleep with you, I would have done it by now.”
Galatea’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she was too exhausted to argue. “You get some sleep and stop worrying about what I’m doing.”
Alaric’s mouth curved into a slight, satisfied smile, but he didn’t say another word. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, his breathing became steady and even.
Truth be told, he hadn’t lied. Despite the discomfort he had felt earlier, with Galatea nearby, he felt strangely at ease. Her presence gave him a sense of security, and his insomnia, which had plagued him for so long, seemed to melt away.
Soon, he was asleep.
Galatea listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing. She, too, closed her eyes, but the night held no peace for her. She drifted in and out of a restless slumber, her dreams filled with the face of a man. Was it Ambrose? Or was it Alaric?
In her dream, the man kissed her forcefully, suffocating her with his passion. Her body trembled, caught between dream and reality, until, in the haze of half-consciousness, Galatea’s eyes snapped open.
What was real? What was a dream?
Her heart raced as the night lingered, the lines between the two worlds blurring.