Glass: A why choose Cinderella retelling (Forbidden Fairytales)

When I wake up the next morning, I am very much not alone in the bed.

Kit is wrapped around me, his chest hot against my back. When I stir, his arms tighten, a vague noise of complaint falling from his throat. Even his leg is entangled between mine, his knee brushing against my pussy.

Which is… sore.

I flush with sudden memory, and then I’m turned.

“Morning,” Kit whispers. His throat sounds gruff, rough with sleep and something deeper. His eyes travel down unashamedly. “I want you again.”

He says it with the confidence of a man who took what he wanted several times last night. Four, in fact.

He leans in to kiss me, careful to keep to the side of my mouth, before he travels down with his lips.

“Kit,” I grumble, pushing at his shoulders. His raven hair is messy and adorable when he pops back up.

He gives me a smile that belongs firmly in the bedroom category. “I just want to say good morning.”

“Well, my face is up h– oh.”

He disappears beneath the covers, and my eyes roll as a hot insistent tongue presses against me. Hands slide beneath my hips, holding me up, and a needy sound slips from my mouth when his lips wrap around my clit, sucking in hot pulses of electric fire that ripple up my spine.

And then he stops. I stare at him, mildly aghast when his head pops back up.

And he winks.

Kit Tate should not be allowed to wink. On anyone else, it might be cute. But it’s devastating on him.

“I’m sorry,” he says smoothly. “You were saying?”

I reach blindly for the pillow, smacking him with it. “Get down there and finish what you started.”

His dimple flashes. “As my lady commands.”

He disappears again, and my laugh is replaced with a moan as he sinks inside me, his fingers dancing across my pussy like I’m the piano he loves so much.

I tell him as much on our way to breakfast, and his grin is unapologetic. “I think I have a new favorite instrument. I intend to play it often.”

I’m biting my cheek, trying to hide my smile when he pushes the door open. And I walk straight into his back. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” He tugs me around and in front of him. Enough for me to see Silas and Rafe sat at the table, confusion on their faces.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. And then I notice the empty table. “Where’s Ellen?”

“We just got here.” Silas frowns down at his empty plate. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I’ll check.” Ducking away from Kit, I pad down the steps to the kitchen. “She’s not down here!”

At my call, Kit follows, glancing around at the empty counters. His mouth turns down. “Check her room.”

I stop him when he goes to knock, sudden fear gripping my throat. “Let me.”

When a voice calls out, relief slumps my shoulders. Pushing open the door, I glance around. The room is just as neat and tidy as I would have expected. Ellen groans, pulling herself up from the bed.

“Stasi,” her voice is a croak, her eyes bright. “I’m coming. I just… I don’t feel very well this morning.”

And she coughs. A long, hacking cough that has me striding up and gently pushing her shoulders down when she tries to stand. Frowning, I feel her temperature. “You’re really hot, Ellen.”

She protests weakly, but she’s already asleep again by the time I move back out. All three of them are standing in the hall. As my eyes sweep them, I notice Rafe’s bloodshot eyes.

But he looks as concerned as the others. “Ellen is sick. She can’t work.”

“That’s fine,” Silas says immediately. “We’ll fend for ourselves.”

I give him an incredulous look. “You cook?”

To his credit, he doesn’t even try to lie. He crosses his arms. “I can try.”

“We’ll all try,” Kit says smoothly. “What’s wrong with Ellen? Does she need anything?”

I frown. “She’s very hot. Burning up. And… she has this really vicious cough.”

Everyone stills.

“What?” I ask.

Silas looks around. “That fucking virus. They came here last night – could have passed it on.”

“I’ve been in the city most days,” Rafe points out, his voice quiet. “Could have been me.”

“Either way,” Silas says grimly. “It’s in the house now. How close did you get, Stasi?”

They all turn, staring at me as though I’m about to sprout a fever in front of their eyes. I cross my arms. “Not that close. I’m hard-wearing. Don’t worry about me.”

Kit presses the back of his hand against my forehead, and I slap him away. “This virus is nasty, Stasi. And fucking contagious, too.”

“Fine,” I say shortly. “So more of us might get it, right? Possibly all of us. We prepare now, just in case.”

All three of them look a little lost.

Sighing, I roll up my sleeves. “We’ll use the sitting room. It’s the biggest.”

***

A few hours later, I glance around. The couches have been pushed back against the walls, making space for the mattresses spread out across the floor, each one made up with fresh bedding. Kit walks in with his arms full of pillows. “If we don’t catch it, at least we can have a good slumber party.”

I stare down at my list.

Another damn list. But at least this time, I’m not on my own.

Silas pops his head around the door, green eyes meeting mine. “Ellen’s temperature has jumped.”

“I’ll come now,” I say immediately. He looks like he’s going to argue with me. “I’ve already been exposed to it, Silas. If anything, I’m the only one who should be going in.”

“Not going to happen.” His voice is hard. “Tell me what you need.”

“Basic medications. Is the first aid kit stocked?”

He nods. “We keep a lot here, just in case. We’re a long way from the nearest hospital.”

“How long?” I ask, and his mouth tightens. “Two hours.”

“Okay. Get everything together and put it on the table in the sitting room, so it’s easily accessible. If someone can get the bottled water up from the cellar, that would be helpful too, so we don’t have to go up and down. I’ll check on Ellen, and then we’ll get some simple meals on the go. Stock up, so we don’t have to worry for the next few days at least. Towels, spare bedding, all of that can be put against the far wall in the sitting room so it’s close by.”

And then, we wait to see who else might fall ill.

Silas watches me, his eyes considering. “You’re good at this.”

I had to be, once. But there’s no time for that discussion now. So I duck into Ellen’s room. She’s laying back against the covers, her forehead damp. When I say her name, she doesn’t answer.

“Ellen?” My voice rises. “Silas!”

He appears in a moment. “She wasn’t like this a minute ago.”

Concern tightens my throat, threatens to paralyze me. Forcing it down, I try to think. “You called the hospital?”

He nods. “They can take emergency cases, but anything else is being turned away.”

“Okay,” I whisper. I kneel next to Ellen, pushing back her hair. Even her breathing sounds harsh, loud and crackling. “Ellen. We’re going to move you into the main room, okay? So we can keep an eye on you.”

She doesn’t respond, and I swallow as Silas carefully gathers her up, following behind them as he walks quickly to the sitting room.

Kit is there, and I grab his arm, trying to pull him out. “You need to leave. Silas and I have both been around Ellen, but you haven’t.”

His brows drop down. “You must be joking. I’m not leaving you.”

“Please.” I’m trying not to panic. Ellen looks so weak as Silas lays her carefully on one of the mattresses. “Someone needs to stay away, Kit. Just in case.”

“Stasi’s right.” Silas sounds steady, but I can hear the worry. “Out, Kit.”

He purses his lips. “I’ll stay out of the room, for now. I’ll go and find Rafe. We’ll sort out some food.”

Relief squeezes my chest. “Good. Okay.”

I drop down next to Ellen as he leaves. Silas hovers as I dampen a small towel, dabbing at her forehead. “What about paracetamol?”

I shake my head. “It won’t work. I’ve given her some ibuprofen. The temperature… it can be a healthy response to fight off the infection. We just need to wait.”

But as the day passes into evening, Ellen doesn’t get any better.

I choke down the sandwiches delivered to the door by Kit. Shoo him out of the kitchen long enough to pull together a big tureen of soup.

Ellen rouses enough to take a few sips. “Not as good as yours,” I say softly. Her eyes crack open.

“Not so bad,” she whispers. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” I want to cry, but I push it back. Silas makes calls, trying to get someone, anyone with actual medical experience out here to help. But everyone is either sick themselves or busy elsewhere.

He swears, and I move over to him. “We’ll be okay.”

“Ellen is bad enough.” His voice sounds hoarse. “But if the twins go down – if you go down. I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey.” I feel his forehead. He feels warm, but I don’t know if it’s just the stress. “Sit down for a minute. I’ll get you some water.”

He drinks a full glass. “This was not what I expected when I said I’d spend every day making things up to you.”

“Oh, dear,” I tease, even though my heart feels anything but light. “Silas Tate not getting what he wants. The world is going to stop turning.”

He eyes me over his glass. “I’d spank you for that, if I had the energy. You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” I say softly. “Why don’t you lie down?”

He doesn’t argue with me. Not even a little bit. Although he refuses to take off his shoes, laying back on the mattress with his arms crossed. “Wake me up in ten minutes if I fall asleep.”

I don’t respond. He’s already asleep.

And his temperature creeps up, hour by hour. My stomach flips, twists, as I move between him and Ellen, checking them constantly. The only sound they make is coughing, the noise digging into my head, making it ache.

Dawn is creeping through the windows when Kit arrives at my door. “Stasi.”

His eyes are bright, his voice slurring my name. Too bright. And then he coughs, a hacking, rattling sound.

Shit. Shit, shit. “Where’s Rafe?” I ask him as I pull him over to a mattress. He mumbles something. “Kit!”

“Outside,” he rasps. “Walk.”

My head jerks towards the door. “When?”

I shake him, desperation making me harsher than I’d like. “When, Kit?”

But his eyes are closed. A sob slips out of my throat as I look around.

Don’t panic.

Most people come out of it within three days. That’s what Silas said, what the doctor on the phone told him.

I can get them through until then.

I check them once more before leaving, my heart in my throat as I push the back door open. “Rafe!”

There’s no answer. I take a few steps, squinting out towards the orchard. A figure is sitting beneath the tree, and my feet slowly break into a run.

I race down the path, my heart pounding in my throat. “Rafe!”

Nothing. And as I drop down beside him, I already know what I’m going to find. His skin is flush with the fever, his eyes barely open. “Stas…i.”

“I’ve got you.” I cast a look towards the house. It suddenly feels like thirty miles away. “I need you to help me, Rafe.”

He tries. He really does, but his legs won’t hold him up enough to walk more than a few steps before he collapses to his knees. “Leave… me here.”

“No.” My voice is strong, strong enough to cover the shaking of my hands. “I need you to get up. Please, Rafe.”

And I manage to pull him up, sliding his arm over my shoulders. He’s heavy, and my muscles begin to scream as I drag him, inch by painful inch. My lungs scream, but I don’t stop.

“Nearly there,” I gasp. “So close, Rafe. We’ve got this.”

He doesn’t answer, but his legs are still moving. The sob breaks free as we reach the kitchen door. “Okay. We’re going to the sitting room. Silas and Kit are there, Rafe. Just a few more steps.”

The steps.

I want to scream as we reach them. Scream, cry, throw something.

But I drag Rafe’s arm higher. Holding onto it tightly, as I lift.

Three steps.

Three fucking mountains.

But we make it. And I gasp into Rafe’s ear. “If you die on me after I’ve dragged you all this way, I will never forgive you.”

I nearly drop him onto the mattress, but I lower him down carefully, my arms shaking, weak and numb. My body folds and I collapse down beside him, sucking oxygen into my lungs.

One minute. Just one, just to catch my breath.

And then I crawl over to Kit, pressing my cheek against his chest. His breathing rattles, but it’s there. Ellen next, her breathing a little better than it was, even as her temperature still rages.

And then I crawl over to Silas. “Silas?”

His eyelids flicker, and I lift myself enough to get some water, spooning it carefully into his mouth.

“I need you here,” I choke out around the lump in my throat. “Everyone is sick, Silas. And I don’t know what I’m doing.”

A rasping breath is my only reply.

I can’t lose them. I won’t.

I try to use his phone to call someone, anyone, but I can’t even get through the locked screen. All I can do is pray.

I move between them, giving water and cool presses and talking to them quietly. I’m next to Kit when there’s a shout. My head jerks up.

Rafe.

He’s thrashing against the mattress, soaked with sweat when I reach him. My hands press into his shoulders. He cries out again, twisting violently.

“You’re okay,” I breathe, even as it feels like my heart snaps inside my chest. Because he’s crying, tears rolling from his sunken eyes. “Rafe. It’s Stasi. You’re going to be okay. This is going to pass soon.”

It feels like a lie. But he settles as I coax him back down, taking a little water from me before he starts to twist again.

“Stasi.” My head jerks up from his chest. “Stasi.”

“I’m here.” Frantically, I run my hands over him. Checking his eyes. But he’s not aware of me, even as he mutters my name again. “I’m right here, Rafe.”

“’M sorry.”

I blink. But he says it again. And then again.

My name and an apology. Over and over again. The tears stream down my face unchecked as I wipe his away, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Tell me when you’re awake, Rafe. Wake up and tell me.”

But he doesn’t wake up.

None of them wake up.

Not for a long time.