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That was the thing about a depressive episode. She bounced back usually but sometimes, she didn’t. Sometimes, it changed her just enough for her to notice. Sometimes, she just wanted to stare at the wall and let everything pass by, no matter how good things seemed to be going.
A weight got on the bed with her.
Bear.
He whined softly, and lay by her side, and Zephyr smiled, petting his soft fur.
“You think we’ll be okay?” she asked him quietly.
He pressed his head to her stomach.
“I don’t know where I’ll go from here.”
Arms slid under her knees and neck, picking her up easily.
“For now, you’re going in our bedroom,” her husband declared gruffly, carrying her through the adjoining door and dropping her on the bed.
Zephyr bounced once before settling, watching him shut the doors and take off the loose vest he wore at home, watching his muscles ripple as he stripped and prowled to the bed. She backed up instinctively, never having seen this side of him, her eyes taking in his scars, his tattoos, his muscles, his everything.
He put his hands beside her head, his single eye focused on her. “You sleep here now.”
Zephyr swallowed. “You’re only doing this to lure me back in.”
“Damn right I am.”
Zephyr held his gaze, and slumped down. She was tired. Turning on her side, she looked out the tall glass doors that led to the balcony, listened to the sound of the gushing waterfall and animals, and felt him slide behind her.
She slept fitfully through the night, and he held her tight, not letting her out of the circle of his arms once, for once giving and giving and giving while she only took and replenished herself.
***
It was the heat that woke her up in the morning. Zephyr felt like a furnace, sweating, caged against a very hot, literally hot, body. She groaned, turning her neck to see and actually believe she was in the master bedroom where her husband had carried her (carried her!) after bringing her back home.
He was asleep.
She turned as gently as she could to not wake him, taking him in the early morning light.
He slept, his leather eye patch on the bedside table, the scarred side of his face still in the permanent scowl but the other side relaxed, eased, his brow not as severe as it was when he was awake. Zephyr leisurely clocked every detail of him, going down from his face, down his neck. The big scar extended down, over his right pec, ending just under his ribs where a larger clutter of tissue had healed together, almost as if someone had dragged a knife down and stuck it in his ribs. Tribal tattoos decorated around the scars, almost as though he’d seen them and decided to highlight them on his body. The tattoos didn’t have any particular shape or writing, just designs.
Other smaller scars littered his torso. Zephyr counted them. Nine. So many scars.
She touched the one beside his light abs tenderly, softening, wondering again at how hard it must have been for him to not only survive but survive alone while leading a tribe of his own. Even though she was mad at him, it was commendable.
“Your touch.” His voice, deep and grainy from sleep, startled her. She pulled her hand back but he snatched it with lightning-quick reflexes, placing it on the scar again. His golden eye opened drowsily, the other sealed shut by the mottled tissue, and she marveled again at the fact that he was letting her see under his skin.
“My touch?” she asked, urging him to complete the sentence.
One of his large hands came up, stroking the side of her cheek. “I didn’t realize how much I missed your touch. You gave a man starved a feast every day until he forgot what hunger felt like, and then took it away.”
God, he spoke like the boy she’d once known. Younger Alpha had said the most beautiful things to her, whispered them to her in private while he still remained a badass on the streets.
“I’m sorry I forgot you,” he told her quietly, and Zephyr soaked up the moment, his sincerity, his softness, his touch.
She patted his scar. “It’s not your fault.”
He leaned in, giving her a tender kiss. “We’ll make this work?”
It was the first time he asked, and not told her, to be back.
