“Easy,” I murmured as she stumbled on the threshold.My arm tightened around her waist, feeling ribs too prominent beneath the thin fabric of her torn shirt.My cut still hung from her shoulders, the leather worn and heavy against her small frame.
The door swung shut behind us, sealing out the night and whatever had hunted her through it.Inside, the familiar scents of my home greeted us -- leather and woodsmoke, coffee and the faint tang of metal from my workbench in the corner.The main room opened before us, cathedral ceiling made of exposed beams stretching overhead.River stones formed a massive fireplace dominating the far wall.We had some chilly nights, but the days were sweltering in the summer.My furniture was simple but solid -- leather couch worn smooth from use, mismatched armchairs arranged for conversation rather than appearance.
“Sit.”I guided her toward the couch.“Lyssa’s bringing supplies.”
Her legs finally gave out as she reached the leather cushions, collapsing onto them with none of the wariness she’d shown before.Pure exhaustion.The fever burned bright spots of color across her cheeks, making the bruises and dirt stand out in stark relief.My cut slipped from one shoulder, and she pulled it back with trembling fingers, clutching the leather like a shield.
A soft knock at the door had her tensing again, fingers digging into the leather.
“It’s Lyssa,” I said, crossing to answer it.
Lyssa stood on the porch, medical kit in one hand and a stack of folded clothes in the other.Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, blue eyes sharp and assessing as she took in my expression.
“Beast said something that made me realize your girl would need a few things,” she said, stepping past me without waiting for an invitation.She flashed Callie a smile and set a bag down on the table.“Clean things sized to fit.I’ll send food over shortly, something easy on an empty stomach.”
“You’ve done enough already,” I said.“But thanks.”
Callie watched her but didn’t make a move toward the clothes.Lyssa noticed her hesitation, gave her another smile and backed up a step.“Anyway, if you need anything else, just give me a shout.We help each other around here.”
“Thank you,” Callie whispered, the words careful, as if gratitude felt unfamiliar on her tongue.
Lyssa looked at me.“Beast wants an update when you’re able.”
I nodded.“After she’s settled.”
When Lyssa left, silence enveloped the cabin.Callie sat motionless on the couch, hands resting in her lap, bandages stark white against her skin.
“Bathroom’s through there.”I nodded toward a door off the main room.“You can change.Door locks from inside.”
Something like surprise flickered across her face at the mention of a lock, as if privacy was a luxury she’d forgotten existed.She rose unsteadily, gathering the clothes from the table.My cut slipped from her shoulders again, and she hesitated before carefully removing it and holding it out to me.
“Keep it.For now.”
She clutched it back against her chest, fingers tracing the stitched emblem absently.“Thank you.”
I nodded, stepping back to give her space.“Take your time.”
In the bathroom, the door closed with a softclick, followed by the distinct sound of the lock engaging.I heard water running, then silence.Minutes stretched longer than seemed necessary for changing clothes, but I didn’t call out or check on her.Some things needed privacy.
When she emerged, the transformation was striking.The dirt and blood were gone from her face and hands, revealing skin pale from exhaustion but cleaner.Lyssa’s clothes -- a soft T-shirt and drawstring pants -- hung loose on her frame.She’d rolled the pants at the waist and the sleeves of the shirt exposed her bandaged wrists.Her damp hair was pulled back, highlighting the sharp angles of her face, the dark circles beneath her eyes.
My cut remained draped over her arm, and she held it with careful reverence, like something precious and fragile.The juxtaposition struck me -- this broken, exhausted woman cradling the symbol of a life built on strength and power.As if sensing my thoughts, she slipped it back over her shoulders.
* * *
The stew arrived in Lyssa’s hands, steam rising from the ceramic bowl like morning fog off the lake.Callie needed calories, real food to fight the infection still burning through her.I set the bowl on the kitchen table along with a chunk of bread warm from the oven and gestured for her to sit.She approached the chair like it might be booby-trapped, each movement deliberate, gaze flicking between me and the food as if expecting one or both to vanish.
“Eat.”I kept my voice neutral.Not an order, just permission.“It’ll help with the antibiotics.”
She slid into the chair, shoulders hunched beneath my cut.Her fingers wrapped around the spoon like she was afraid someone might snatch it away.The first bite was cautious, testing.The second came faster.By the third, hunger had overridden caution, and she was eating with single-minded focus.
I sat across from her, coffee mug warming my palms.Didn’t speak, didn’t push.Just witnessed.The cabin settled around us with familiar sounds -- the refrigerator’s low hum, wind against the windows, the occasional distant rumble of motorcycles as brothers returned to the compound or headed out on night runs.I’d built this place myself, designed it for solitude but not isolation.Never thought I’d be sitting here with a claimed woman, watching her eat Lyssa’s stew like it was her first real meal in months.
Maybe it was.
The fire I’d started in the hearth popped and crackled, pushing back the night chill.Callie’s gaze darted toward the sound, then returned to her bowl.The wariness never fully left her, even here, even now, reminding me of a feral kitten.She ate with one hand, the other remaining in her lap, ready to push back from the table if needed.Ready to run.
When the bowl was empty, she set the spoon down carefully.Her gaze finally lifted to mine, something like surprise flickering for a moment.As if she couldn’t quite believe I’d let her finish the meal in peace.
