“I’ll stay here,” he says, leaning against the wall.“You don’t have to come near me.”
My leopard huffs inside me.I ignore her.I swing my legs off the bed.My feet hit the floor, cool and solid.The world doesn’t tilt.That’s good.My pulse thunders a little too fast, but that’s normal.Expected.
I stand.My legs tremble, not from pain, but from not being used, from nerves.Silas watches, still and steady, like a guard or an anchor or something in between.Not pushing.Not coaxing.Just there.
I take a breath and take one step.One.
My muscles protest, stiff from sleep and fear and too much stillness.But I don’t fall.I take another step.And another.My breathing eases.My leopard stretches inside me, curious.Awake.
“You’re doing well,” Silas says softly.
I swallow, not looking at him.“It feels strange.”
“How?”
“Like the room is too big.Like there are too many directions I could run.”
“You don’t need to run,” he murmurs.
“I know.But my body doesn’t.”
He nods.“Then we’ll teach it slowly.”
I walk to the dresser.Then to the window.Then back to the bed.Each loop gets easier.Silas watches me like every step is a masterpiece.My chest warms again.I hate how easily he makes that happen.But I don’t want it to stop.
After a few minutes, I sit on the bed again.My breathing is shallow but not panicked.
He approaches slowly, checking my face for signs of distress.“Are you okay?”
I nod.“Just tired.It was ...more than I thought.”
“That’s enough for today,” he says gently.“You did well.”
The praise hits me harder than it should.I look down, embarrassed.“It’s just walking.”
“It’s recovery,” he corrects softly.“Recovery is never just anything.”
My throat tightens.No one has ever spoken to me like this.Not even the other leopards.Not even the healers back home.Certainly not the Hunters.Silas sits back in his chair.Not as close as yesterday.But not far, either.My body relaxes.
“Can I ask something?”he says after a moment.
The question is soft.Careful.Like he is afraid of spooking me.I nod.
“When you panicked earlier ...you said the Hunters howled before they brought someone new.”His voice stays gentle, but I can feel the tension beneath.“Did that happen often?”
My mouth goes dry.I don’t want to remember.I don’t want him to picture it.I don’t want to be seen as the fragile thing they made me.But the bond flickers again with warmth, urging gently.My leopard presses closer, whisperingsafein the back of my mind.
I breathe slowly.
“They brought in shifters,” I whisper.“All kinds.Wolves.Bears.Foxes.Some of them were half-wild.Some were ...broken.”Silas’s jaw clenches.“They didn’t tell us what happened to the ones they took away,” I continue softly.“But sometimes we’d hear screams.Or growls.Or nothing.”
His eyes darken with fury he tries to swallow.
“They used the howl as a warning,” I say.“So, we’d know to behave.Or else.”
Silas lowers his head, rubbing his hands over his face.“Goddess, give me calm.”
My heartbeat quickens.I shouldn’t have told him.He already carries too much weight.Too much anger.
