“Wait until you taste it before you commit to that assessment.”
He carries the plates over and sets mine down in front of me. Our fingers brush during the transfer, and goosebumps trail up my arm. I don’t pull away, and neither does he. For a long moment, we stay frozen with our hands touching, and something passes between us that I don’t have words for. My wolf stirs and scratches against my consciousness with an approval I’m not ready to share.
Then he withdraws to take his own seat, and the moment breaks.
I take my first bite and have to stifle a groan of appreciation. The meat is tender and flavorful, seasoned with rosemary and something new. It’s better than anything I’ve eaten since leaving Sera’s house.
“Okay,” I concede, “you were right to be confident.”
“Years of practice.” He takes a bite of his own food, and I notice he seems more relaxed than I’ve seen him since this nightmare began. “The herbs here are different from what I’m used to, but the principles are the same. Season well, cook slowly, and don’t burn anything.”
“Words to live by.”
“They’ve served me well.”
We eat in a silence that feels different from the heavy quiet of the past few days. Something has eased between us, though I couldn’t say exactly what or when it happened. The meal might have caused it, or perhaps the conversation we had earlier finally broke through my defenses. Exhaustion could also explain why I can’t seem to keep my walls at full height anymore.
I watch him across the table as we eat, studying the angles of his face in the firelight. He has a strong jaw and full lips, and his eyes keep moving between amber and gold depending on how the flames dance. My wolf purrs with satisfaction every time I look at him, and I’m getting tired of arguing with her about why that’s a problem.
I drop my gaze to my food and focus on finishing my meal without making eye contact again. The last thing I need is for him to know how often my thoughts drift toward things that have nothing to do with escape plans or pack politics.
After dinner, Patrick cleans up while I return to my spot on the bed. The routine we’ve established plays out the same way it always does, with him preparing to sleep on the hard floor while I take the only real comfort the cabin offers. But tonight, watching him arrange his thin blanket near the fire, something gives way inside me.
“Patrick.”
He looks up.
I reach for one of the blankets I’ve been using and hold it toward him. “Take this. The floor is cold.”
He stares at the blanket like I’ve offered him something precious. Gratitude floods his face, and my heart flip-flops behind my sternum.
“Thank you,” he says quietly as he takes the blanket from my outstretched hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He wraps the extra blanket around his shoulders and settles onto his spot near the fire. I lie back on the bed and pull my remaining blanket up to my chin. The cabin falls quiet except for the pop of burning wood and distant sounds of the forest outside.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come right away. Instead, I find myself replaying the evening in my mind, turning over each moment like stones in a riverbed. His story stays with me, along with the smell of roasted herbs, the brush of his fingers against mine, and the gratitude on his face when I offered him a blanket.
I still don’t know what to do with a man who isn’t the monster I expected.
But maybe I’m starting to figure it out.
Chapter 12 - Patrick
The rabbit I caught this morning is the smallest one yet, with barely enough meat on its bones to feed one person, let alone two.
I’ve been tracking the decline for days now. When we first arrived at the cabin, the forest teemed with game. Rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional grouse were all easy to find within a short walk of our door. Now the snares come up empty more often than not, and the animals I do catch are scrawny things that wouldn’t survive the winter, anyway. A week of hunting the same stretch of woods has depleted the local population, and venturing further from the cabin means risking exposure to Thornridge scouts who are certainly still searching for us.
We can’t survive on game alone forever, anyway. We need real supplies like salt, flour, vegetables, and medicine. The kinds of things you can only get from a town or a pack with actual resources and trade connections. Out here in the wilderness, we’re slowly starving, no matter how skilled a hunter I might be.
Caelan sits at the table with one of the old books she found on the cabin’s single dusty shelf as her silver-blonde hair falls across her face. She’s been more relaxed around me since the night she offered me the blanket, though relaxed might be too strong a word. Less hostile would be more accurate.
She’s willing to share meals without looking at me like she’s planning my slow and painful death, and she’s started asking questions about my past that suggest genuine curiosity rather than interrogation. Yesterday, she even laughed at one of my jokes, a real laugh that made her whole face transform into something so beautiful I had to look away before I did something stupid.
It’s progress, but progress won’t keep us alive when Thornridge finds this cabin.
“We need to talk,” I declare.
