Perhaps I’m being too unkind,I thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Alaric than the beast persona he wore. Something in me still wanted to believe in second chances, even if I believedIcould never receive such a merciful thing.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALARIC
The days bled together.
Sleep. Wake. Eat. Sleep again.
My body refused to cooperate, and that alone was enough to make me irritable. I hated weakness. Hated the way my limbs trembled when I tried to sit up too long. Hated the distant throb of pain in my side that reminded me I was still alive, but not by much.
She didn’t hover, which surprised me. The girl—who, frustratingly, would not tell me her name–moved around the cottage quietly, like wind threading through the fibers of the sail. She tended the herbs hanging from the beams, stirred the pot without a word, wiped my brow when a fever broke, then left me to my silence.
That silence unnerved me.
No one in my world was ever quiet. They shouted orders, barked commands, spilled blood while laughing or crying. But she had a stillness about her, a kind of grounded calm that filled the room without demanding anything.
And maybe that’s what caught me off guard. Not herbeauty, though she had it in spades. Warm brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, hair like black water. But her presence…
Unshaken. Even now, with a wounded stranger in her home.
She didn’t fear me. Not quite.
Furthermore, she held herself like a polished princess. There was nothing rough or sharp about her.
Each footstep was graceful.
Each word was spoken clearly and gently.
She never raised her voice, and kept her chin up.
That behavior strangely reminded me of Sereth, but in a whole other way.
I shifted beneath the blanket, trying not to grimace. The wound tugged with every breath. She’d stitched me up like a sailor patching torn sails. Deft and fast, not pretty, but it’d hold.
The door creaked. I turned my head slowly to find her bringing in some herbs. She noticed my empty bowl and picked it up.
“Round four?” I rasped, voice rough as driftwood.
She offered a faint smile. “It’s actually round five, but who’s counting?”
My mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. How long had I been here, eating her home cooked meals that made my heart twist with nostalgia?
She set the bowl beside me and turned to grab a cloth, probably to cool my forehead again. I cleared my throat.
“My men.”
She paused, glanced at me. “Yes?”
“My crew. They’ll think I’m dead by now. Or captured.” I forced myself upright, teeth clenched against the pain. “I need to send word.”
“I can send a message,” she said, gently but firm. “But you need to rest.”
“If they think I am in danger…”
“I’ll tell them you’re alive. Just healing, but safe. And that you should stay put.”
I studied her. “You don’t know them. They won’t take your word.”
