He understood that all too well.He sat beside her instead, close but careful, his arm draped around her shoulders without pulling her too tight. She leaned into him anyway, her head resting against his chest like it belonged there.
After a while, he spoke. “When you asked me if you were going to die… I didn’t answer because I didn’t know how without lying.”
She tilted her head up to look at him. “And now?”
“Now I know the question wasn’t really about dying.” His voice dropped. “It was about whether someone had decided you mattered enough to kill.”
Her breath caught. “Yes,” she whispered.
He tightened his arm around her. “They have. Which means we change how we move. How we live. Iwon’t pretend otherwise.”
She studied him for a long moment. “You’re not scared.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said honestly. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”
That earned him a faint, tiredsmile. “Good.”
Later, when the house had finally settled into something like quiet and the worst of her shaking had eased, Alaric made the decision. He didn’t announce it. He simply rose, held out his hand, and waited until Sera took it. The hot tub wasn’t about indulgence or escape. It was about loosening muscles locked too tight, about coaxing her body into believing she was no longer in danger. He moved slowly, matching his pace to hers as he led her toward the warmth, every step a calculated promise that nothing would be rushed and nothing would be taken.
He stopped her just beside the hot tub, hands settling at her hips with quiet authority. “Let me,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
He took his time undressing her, movements unhurried, easing fabric away from skin that was already bruising, already sensitive. He watched her face the entire time, adjusting his touch when her breath hitched, murmuring reassurances. When she stood bare before him, wrapped only in steam and heat and his attention, something fierce and protective tightened low in his chest.
Only then did he strip off his own clothes, quicker, more economical, his focus never leaving her. He drew her back against him for a brief, grounding second, his mouth at her temple, his hands firm and steady, before guiding her the last stepstoward the water.
He watched her walk, noted the careful way she moved, the moments where she leaned just slightly more into him. He adjusted the lights first, dimming them until the space became cocooned and private, then tested the water with his hand, adjusting it down twice before he was satisfied.
When they eased in together, the warmth closed around them, climbing over skin that was still buzzing with shock. Sera let out a breath she’d clearly been holding for far too long, her head tipping back for a moment as if the water itself had reached inside her and loosened something knotted tight.
Alaric watched her closely, every muscle in his body taut with attention. He catalogued the way her shoulders sank by degrees, the way her breathing deepened, the faint hitch that still caught whenever the water lapped too close to her ribs. He adjusted his position without thinking, angling himself so she could lean into him if she needed to, so his body formed a barrier between her and the open space behindthem.
She shifted, testing her range of motion, then stilled when a spark of pain flashed across her face. His hand tightened reflexively at her waist.
“Easy,”he murmured.
“I know.” Her voice was quiet, steadier than before. “It just seems strange. Like my body doesn’t trust that it’s over yet.”
“It might take a while,” he said. “We won’t rush it.”
Minutes stretched, unmarked by anything except the slow roll of water and the sound of their breathing. Steam curled upward, softening the edges of the world until it seemed smaller, contained. Safer.
Sera’s fingers drifted beneath the surface, brushing along his forearm. The contact was light, almost accidental, but it sent a sharp awareness straight through him. He didn’t move away. He didn’t lean in. He let the moment exist exactly as itwas.
Her touch traced the line of muscle, paused, then continued, more purposeful now. He could feel the faint tremor in herhand.
“You’re hurt too,” she said quietly.
He glanced down. “Nothing that matters.”
Her fingers stilled. “That’s not true.”
The simple certainty in her voice hit him harder than he expected. He turned slightly so he could look at her fully, the steam framing her face, her eyes dark and intent.”It mattersto me,” shesaid.
Something in his chest shifted, deep and dangerous. He lifted his hand from her waist just long enough to catch her wrist gently, not stopping her, just mooring her in the moment.
“Careful,” he murmured.
She met his gaze without flinching. “I am.”
