Things have finally started to calm down now, or at least, Alfie has closed the door and locked everyone out of my rooms so we’re removed from the commotion.
“I’m fine,” I bleat.
The lord growls in response. The growling started as soon as we got home. Bert and Sid attempted to help me off Gregor, and their assistance was met with some reluctance. It got significantly worse when I was in the bath and poor Mrs. Thompson knocked on the bathroom door to let me know that she’d heated some towels in the dryer for me.
The doctor has been in to assess me—he was growled at significantly and threatened with bodily harm when he pressedon a particularly tender spot on my ankle and made me wince. He iced my ankle and bandaged it well, all while keeping a close eye on the lord. He gave me something for the pain before leaving.
It’s a sprain, nothing more, so I’m right. I am fine. A little banged up and muddled by the events of the day, but I’m mainly fine.
Things have been a bit of a whirlwind since the doctor left. After my bath, Alfie dressed me—nonconsensually—in a pair of flannel pajamas, a woolly hat, and one of his thick sweaters. My good foot has two socks on it, one over the other.
Since then, he’s wrapped me in a pile of blankets and has made me drink so much tea that if I’m forced to have any more, my treatment will almost certainly meet the definition of waterboarding, despite how well-intentioned.
I’m currently curled up on the floor in my sitting room, in front of a roaring fire, trying to make sense of how I got here. We’re alone now, just me and the lord. He’s sitting behind me, legs splayed open, arms around me.
Things have slowed, but the growling persists.
Honestly, I can’t say I mind it.
It’s softer now that we’re alone, not loud or brash, rather a gentle vibration that warms me almost as much as the strong arms around me do.
“I’m okay,” I say again, softer this time.
The arms around me tighten and the sound rattling the windows drops a decibel or two. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
There are fingers on my neck, sweeping my hair out of the way, then lips and coarse hair, and finally, the soft, cool intake of air. My head lolls back against his shoulder as soft, happy sounds fill the room.
His sounds.
Mine.
Ours.
The pain meds kick in, slowing things further. My thoughts grow thick and woolly and my arms grow heavy.
“Sleepy?” asks the alpha at my back.
I nod and feel gentle pressure enveloping me as he picks me up and carries me to bed.
28
Jensen
Iwaketoadeep, bruising ache radiating from my left ankle. Though my eyes are still screwed shut, a lot of the confusion that yesterday brought has lifted, and I find myself deeply embarrassed by my actions. What was I thinking, going for a long walk without my phone when bad weather was threatening? And what the hell possessed me to go that far off-road? Who the hell do I think I am? Bear Fucking Grylls?
I feel shaken and unsettled by how quickly things went fromoh, isn’t this lovely and aren’t I mysterioustooh, fuck what if no one ever finds me, and I die all alone here?
To chase those thoughts away, I puff up the pillow under my head and gingerly open my eyes a crack. My field of vision is instantly filled by dark hair, dark eyes, and an alpha wearing the distinct expression of a man who has been watching me sleep.
“Good morning,” I chirp, feeling a bit awkward but also quite pleased.
“Good morning.”
There’s a drag in his voice. A sluggishness that’s more exaggerated than usual. He looks like hell, and a single deep breath tells me everything I need to know about why that is.
The rich, musky scent that filled my rooms last night and mingled with mine is muted. There’s nothing but a faint trace of it left behind. The air has thinned, as though a window has been left open for hours. Only the barest woody notes of his scent remain. Just enough to convince me that I didn’t dream everything that happened yesterday. The rest of it has been replaced by the cold, blank whiff of plastic. By nothing where everything should be.
