I pull back the blankets despite his weak protest, needing to check his wound. The bandages I applied days ago are still in place, no fresh blood visible. I peel back the edge carefully, examining what I can see of the injury. The stitches are holding, the skin around them isn’t especially red or inflamed. No obvious signs of infection in the wound itself.
But something is clearly wrong. Cillian’s eyes are too bright, his breathing too shallow and rapid. His normally pale skin has a grayish undertone that speaks of exhaustion and illness.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I might need a minute if you need any dragons slayed.”
The attempt at humor, weak as it is, makes something twist in my chest. Even now, even like this, he’s trying to be strong. To make light of his condition. To reassure me when he’s the one who’s suffering.
Another violent shiver wracks his frame, and without thinking, I lift the edge of the blankets and slide in beside him. The heat of his fever-warmed skin hits me immediately, but I ignore my own discomfort, focusing instead on how his shivering eases almost instantly as I settle against him.
I fit against the lean curve of his body with a naturalness that surprises me. My back to his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin, my knees aligned with his. Like puzzle pieces designed to interlock. It’s impossible not to notice how well we fit together, how right it feels despite every logical reason it shouldn’t.
A low curl of desire clenches in my belly, unexpected and unwelcome. I try to ignore it, to focus on the practical reasonsI’m here, to provide warmth, to monitor his fever, to make sure he doesn’t get worse through the night.
But my body has other ideas, responding to his proximity with a rush of awareness that has nothing to do with caregiving and everything to do with the way his scent wraps around me, subtle but unmistakable. Clean snow and pine needles, crisp and somehow comforting.
Cillian’s nostrils flare slightly, his body tensing behind me. He’s noticed. Of course he has. Alpha senses are too acute to miss the subtle shift in my scent that signals arousal, no matter how much I might wish to hide it.
“How areyoufeeling?” he asks, his voice low and rough near my ear.
“Confused,” I admit, the word slipping out before I can censor it.
I feel him nod slightly, his chin brushing against my hair. “I’ve noticed you’re avoiding Logan.”
The observation is so unexpected, so disconnected from our current situation, that I let out a short, humorless laugh. I’d been thinking of the decision to fight or flee, but I can’t pretend that a potential rebellion is the only thing on my mind. “Can you blame me?”
“You can’t just avoid going anywhere near him forever.”
“Why not?” I ask, forcing another laugh that sounds brittle even to my own ears.
His arm tightens slightly around my waist. “Because you want him too much to avoid him forever.”
The words might as well be a blow to the gut, stealing my breath. I jerk away from him as much as the narrow bed allows, twisting to face him with indignation burning in my chest.
“I don’t want anything from Logan,” I snap, the denial automatic and fierce.
Cillian’s pale eyes meet mine, fever-bright but clear with certainty. “Even with the bond shredded, I can still feel both of you,” he says quietly. “I know exactly how your body reacts when Logan is around.”
Glaring at him, I shift away further, putting precious inches between us in the small bed. “Are you really suggesting that I just forgive him and move on? After what he did to me?”
“I’m not telling you to do anything,” Cillian says, his voice still maddeningly calm. “I’m just reminding you that something will have to give, eventually. You want Logan, whether you like it or not, and Logan wants you so desperately that he lost the capacity to be rational a long time ago.”
I scoff, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Right. Poor Logan, so overcome with desire he just had to force a bond on me. How romantic.”
“He wanted you before you’d ever even met,” Cillian says, surprising me again with this unexpected revelation. “From the moment he opened your file from the Enclave and smelled your scent sample. Once he saw you in person, it was over. I’ve never seen him so determined to have anyone. You were it from the beginning.”
The information lands strangely, neither comforting nor disturbing but somewhere in between. I relax slightly, though my body remains stiff with tension.
“Telling me about Logan’s obsession doesn’t make me any less afraid of him,” I say finally.
Cillian studies me for a long moment, his gaze intense despite the fever clouding his eyes. “What would make you less afraid of him?”
I don’t have a good answer to that question,
The question hangs between us, weighted with possibilities I’m not ready to examine. What would make me less afraid ofLogan? Nothing, I want to say. Nothing could ever make me trust him again after what he did.
But before I can form the words, something else entirely slips out.
