He’s already moving toward the small kitchen area. I watch as he opens a cabinet, revealing a modest but neatly organized collection of non-perishables. He turns back to me and signs what I think is a question about what I want to eat.
"Anything is fine," I say. "Really. You've already donewaytoo much."
He stares at me in surprise, then nods and turns back to the cabinet. I take the opportunity to observe him more carefully as he works. Despite his size, he moves carefully, like he's afraid he’ll break everything he touches. He pulls out bread and peanut butter, then goes back to the cabinet for honey and retrieves a red apple from a small basket on the counter.
This giant alpha is making me a sandwich.
Of course, this could all be a ruse to get into my pants, but my instincts rage against the idea immediately. That isn't what's happening here. Wraith is sincere. I feel it in my bones.
Wraith returns with a plate holding a neatly cut sandwich, apple slices arranged on the side with extra honey and peanut butter, and a glass of ice water. He sets everything on the coffee table in front of me. Before I can thank him again, he turns to leave.
"Wait," I say. "Aren't you going to eat, too?"
He freezes, then slowly turns back. With hesitant movements, he points to his mask, then makes a gesture like removing it, followed by a head shake.
"Because of your mask?" I ask. "You don't want to take it off?"
He nods, eyes wary, like he's waiting for me to push or pry or demand to see. People probably have before. The way those arena staff were talking about him, speculating about what's beneath the mask, making it sound like entertainment...
"It's okay," I say softly. “I won't watch you.”
He shakes his head again, more emphatically this time. He isn't going to starve himself because I'm up here and he doesn't take his mask off, is he? All the more reason to recover as quickly as possible so I can leave and let him get back to his life.
"You could sit with me, if you want to," I offer, scooting aside to make more room on the couch.
After a moment's hesitation like this is a really big deal, he nods and carefully lowers himself onto the opposite end of the couch. The cushions immediately shift with his weight, and I have to brace myself to avoid sliding toward him.
I pick up half the sandwich and take a bite. It's just peanut butter and honey, but after weeks of vending machine granola bars and chip packets, it tastes like a gourmet meal. I can't help the appreciative sound that escapes me. Not quite a purr, but along those lines.
Wraith watches me eat, his hands resting on his knees. His fingers twitch occasionally like he wants to sign something but isn't sure what to say. The awkwardness of him just sitting there should probably be uncomfortable, but there's something endearing about it.
Abouthim.
When I’ve eaten what I can manage right now, I turn back to him to break the silence. “So… is it always this quiet in the pack house?”
He shakes his head.A-L-P-H-A-S… N-O-I-S-Y… D-O-W-N-S-T-A-I-R-S.He pauses, then signs emphatically,W-H-I-S-K-E-Y.
I laugh softly. "So you stay up here to get away from the noise?"
Wraith's hands pause mid-air after signing about Whiskey, like he's suddenly self-conscious about sharing even this small insight into his life. I catch a fleeting wistfulness in his eyes before it vanishes behind his usual guarded expression.
"Must be nice having your own space," I say, wrapping my arms around myself. Even with Wraith’s hoodie and the blanket, the fever chills are coming back. I overdid it with the walk here, apparently. Especially after clobbering an alpha with a fire extinguisher.
Wraith notices. Without a word, he rises from the couch and disappears back into the closet, returning with an armful of blankets. The dark fabric is worn but soft, and when he drapes the first one over my shoulders, the weight of it settles around me like a warm hug.
"Thanks," I murmur, pulling it tighter. "I don't know why I'm still so cold."
S-I-C-K… R-E-S-T,he signs, then pauses again and points to his bed, then back to me. He mimes sleeping with his hands next to his head, then points to himself, then to the window we came through.
"You want me to take the bed while you... what? Go out on the roof?" I ask, horrified at the thought of kicking him out of his own space.
He shrugs like he does it all the time.
"No," I say firmly. "This is your home. I'm not chasing you out."
Surprise and disbelief flicker in his gaze. He points to me, then spells out,S-C-A-R-E-Dand gestures like it's a question. Then points to himself again.A-L-P-H-A.
"I'm not afraid of you," I say, surprising myself when I realize it's the truth. I'm completely sure of that now, and it isn't just on an instinctual level.
