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Waiting for me.

He hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

18

ALARIC

Thud.

The rear door slammed hard. I lifted my head from staring at nothing. Because every thought still led back to her. Her panic. Her fear. Her howling need to run. I gripped the hilt of the knife she’d dropped. And I’d let her, didn’t I?

I let her go.

Let her tear away from me like a frightened animal.

I closed my eyes.

She was pure instinct.

Pure terror and I let it all happen.

“Fucking idiot.”

Then the silence shifted. I opened my eyes, listened harder. My pulse was steady. Too steady. Where was she? Footsteps. Hard. Heavy. Slow at first. Then suddenly faster. Was she thinking about leaving? Had she already made up her mind? Did I scare her with the knife? Did I scare her with me?

I swallowed hard.

Now my damn pulse thundered.

I pushed up from the chair. The squeal echoed. Fruit. That’s what I can do. I took a step, then stopped in the doorway. Fruit? Did I even hear myself? Still, it didn’t stop me, did it? No. It just haunted me all the way into the kitchen.

I grabbed a plate. A pear. My fingers moving over the flesh finding any soft spots. There were none. I sliced it and thought of her. It seemed to be all I could do. My hands moved over the counter. I pressed the button on the jug, boiled the water. Grabbed the cup she seemed like the most. The one with the chip on one side.

She liked broken things, this one.

Maybe I liked them too.

I carried them together.

Fruit.

Tea.

Small things.

Things that didn’t frighten her.

My steps slowed at the entrance of her wing. The night air clung heavy. Thick with the scent of pine and rain. I lowered my gaze. Mud. Wet. Tracked on the carpet runner all the way to her room. She’d been amongst the trees… what was she doing out there?

I slowed at her door. Lifted my hand to knock.

Once.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

But it was a knock, right?