Chapter Three
Only One Bed
Thorne
The first thing I notice when I wake is warmth.
Real warmth.Not the brittle heat of fever or the biting burn of rejection, but something steady.Heavy quilts weigh down on me, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke, pine, and ...something else.
Him.Altero.I remember his name, vaguely.
My lashes flutter open and for a moment, the world blurs.Shadows ripple across rough-hewn walls, the orange glow of firelight painting everything in gold.A low creak of wood answers the hiss of flames.
I blink until the cabin comes into focus.
A small room.Four walls of timber and stone, the seams chinked with resin.A woodstove crackles in the corner.A battered table, two chairs, a stack of split logs by the door.And the bed—broad, hand-carved, and its frame scarred by age but sturdy.The mattress sags beneath me, piled with quilts that smell of cedar and smoke.
And him.
He sits in the chair beside the bed, half-shadowed, elbows on his knees.His dark hair falls loose around his face, his jaw rough with stubble.His eyes, stormy and unreadable, are fixed on me like he’s been watching for hours.
Maybe he has.
“You’re awake.”His voice is low, rough.
My throat is dry, my lips cracked.I manage a whisper.“Where...?”
“You’re in my cabin.”
I shift slightly, the quilts heavy, the fabric scratchy against my skin.Pain throbs deep in my chest, but it’s muted, dulled by exhaustion.
“Why?”
“You’d be dead if I left you.”His answer is simple.Flat.But his eyes burn, even if the rest of him doesn’t move.
I swallow hard, my gaze flicking around the room again.The reality settles like a stone in my gut.There’s no second bed.No couch.No pile of furs on the floor.Just this.
My cheeks heat.
Only one bed.
And I’m in it.
He notices the way my eyes linger.His jaw flexes, and he leans back in the chair, deliberately putting space between us.
“You needed rest.”
It’s the safest explanation, but it doesn’t erase the awareness buzzing in the air.The bond hums low between us, steady and insistent, like a song only we can hear.I press the quilt tighter to my chest, trying to anchor myself.I also have to hide my nudity from him.Unlike with Gabriel, sexual awareness and attraction hangs thick between us.
“Did you undress me?”
“The dress was wet,” he mumbles.“I didn’t do anything.”
It wouldn’t have mattered.I clearly wouldn’t have known but it’s nice to hear the words.
“You should have left me,” I whisper, shame creeping hot into my throat.“You don’t understand.I’m nothing now.Broken.Rejected.”
