Help him heal faster,I told myself. I was an herb witch, and I’d pull out all the stops for him.
He looked around, his fingers fidgeting, his jaw tightening. He kept checking his wound as if looking at it might speed up the healing.
Good.I would encourage him to get out of here as as soon as he could.
“Would you like more?” I asked, noticing Alaric had finished his bowl and was staring at it.
“I’m not going to eat all your food–” he started to say when I took it from him. Our fingers brushed and Inoticed how cold his hands were. That was not a good sign.
“I cooked plenty,” I said, hurrying to the kitchen, my cheeks heating as his gaze followed me. “Besides,” I added. “I’d rather overfeed you then stitch you up again.”
When I returned, the huntsman leaned against the back of the settee, his face pale, like even eating itself wore him out. How old was he? I recalled him being very young. Was it three years older than myself?
Twenty-five.That sounded and looked about right for him.
“I will pay you back a hundredfold–” he said as I sat on the settee to gently hand him the bowl.
But I snapped back first. “I don’t want your blood money, whaler.”
The words were out before I could stop them, sharp as a foraging knife.
Silence fell between us.
He blinked, stunned. Not angry. Just… surprised. As if no one had ever spoken to him like that. My pulse raced, my fingers shaking as I handed him his bowl.
But I didn’t take my words back.
I’d spent years holding my tongue, shrinking myself to keep the peace. I didn’t know what came over me now. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the fear, or that I’d just done everything in my power to save this man’s life… and perhaps, in tending him, a dangerous feeling brewed inside.
Care.
He looked down at the bowl, then back at me, quiet now. Like a tide pulling back after a storm.
“Alright,” he finally said.
I exhaled, tension leaving my shoulders likesmoke. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“No, you did. And you should’ve.” His voice was rasped, softened. “I’ve hurt people. I know what I am.”
Something flickered in his expression. Regret, maybe? Or just the ghost of it.
Then, before I could turn away, he spoke.
“By the way…” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
I stilled.
The words were unexpected. Gentle. Real.
I swallowed hard. Nobody had ever…appreciatedme.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered.
I kept my head turned so I could see him in my peripherals. And, for a moment, we simply sat in the room's hush. The wind blew outside, the hearth crackled, the steam rose from the bowls. It wasn’t peace, exactly, but something like it. A small, shared quiet.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze following the motion.
I’ve hurt people. I know what I am.His voice rang in my mind.
