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“But first food.” I stilled. My smile dying slowly. “Then… if you’re ready… we go to the training room.”
She looked up at me. Swallowed, the nodded.
I saw it then. More clearly than anything my returning vision had given me. I saw her. Her heart. Her courage. Her. Fuck. Her belly grumbled once more.
“Right.” I rolled off her and held out my hand. “Shower for you while I rustle up some food.” I crossed the room and opened my closet, then stopped. “Do I even have any shirts left?”
She giggled then and that sound was… everything.
“Go,” I growled playfully turning to the gaps in my closet. “Before I change my damn mind and keep you in bed all to myself.”
That only made her laugh harder. Then—
“Fine.” She rolled out of bed. Grabbed my shirt and put the damn thing on. She walked to the door, then stopped. “Oh, and Alaric?”
I turned to her. “Yeah?”
I caught the tilt of her head. “I like you shirtless anyway.”
“Do you just?” I turned toward her, then nodded, smirking. “That’s good to know.”
The door opened. Then closed. She left behind a giggle. And I was alone once more. Only now the loneliness didn’t feel as cold… or as cruel as it used to. I didn’t reach for a collared shirt. I pulled on a black t-shirt instead, followed it with black sweatpants and trainers, then headed out.
I wanted her to take her time in the shower. To have these few stolen minutes to herself. To laugh. To smile. I’d protect that for as long as I could.
My thoughts drifted to the training room. The place where trust had begun. Today it’d become something else. Truth. A savage anger settled deep inside me. To know my world had reached her before I ever did…
Christ.
It made me want to tear the while damn thing apart.
I reached for the knife. A pear, an apple still crisp. The strawberries were too soft. The dragonfruit now gone. A twitch came at the corner of my mouth at that.
I needed to be more focused.
Not just on the fruit.
On her body.
Her mind.
And most of all… her heart.
I stilled. The apple in one hand. The knife in the other. The vow heavy on my tongue. I wanted to do more than take care of her heart. I wanted to be worthy of it. My grip tightened. The knife trembled. I sliced, clean and even, then placed them on the plate.
Eggs were next. I shattered the shell. Broke them clean. The whisk in my hand smooth and exact. I poured them into a pan, listening to the instant sear of butter. I cooked, plated, arranging the plates carefully on a tray and poured her tea first, letting it seep while I poured my coffee.
Footsteps.
Soft.
The drag.
I smiled and carried the tray out of the kitchen and headed to the dining room.
“That smells incredible.”
I smiled and bent down, placing the tray onto the table in front of her then froze—
