Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
S carlett shrugged, keeping the gesture light and casual. She’d suspected it was too soon.
“That’s fine. Let’s see what you have in the pantry.”
A quick glance revealed a sparse assortment of dried meat and some rather shriveled root vegetables—basic supplies but enough to work with.
She inspected the jars of preserved foods as she considered her options. The fading daylight caught the glass, creating patterns on the newly cleaned shelves. She pulled out a jar of dried meat and some wrinkled potatoes, pleased to find they were still firm.
“Do you have any seasonings?” she asked, peering into the darker corners of the shelves.
A grunt answered her before he reached past her, his chest brushing against her back as he retrieved a small cloth bag from a high shelf. The brief contact sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.
“Salt and wild garlic.” His deep voice rumbled close to her ear.
She busied herself with examining the contents of the bag, trying to ignore how his proximity affected her.
“This will work perfectly. I can make a stew.”
Her hands moved with practiced efficiency as she assembled ingredients. The kitchen might be unfamiliar but cooking always centered her, gave her time to think. She’d expected to feel trapped, terrified even. Instead, she felt… intrigued. The way he watched her, those flashes of vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior—it stirred something in her she couldn’t quite name.
“Where do you keep your cooking pot?” she asked, turning to find him still hovering nearby. His blue eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he studied her, making her heart skip.
“Under the counter.” He moved to retrieve it, his movements fluid despite his size, then studied her face again as he handed it to her. “You’re… different than I expected.”
The admission seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. She blushed and focused on filling the pot with water, hiding her smile.
He went to fetch more wood for the stove before she could ask him, then returned to her side. His presence should have made her nervous, but instead she found herself relaxing into their shared domesticity.
“Could you slice these?”
She pushed the remaining root vegetables toward him as he picked up a knife. She stole glances at him while she worked, fascinated by the precise control with which he handled the knife.
The stew began to bubble, the aroma of the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the small kitchen. Leaving it to simmer, she opened the cupboard where she’d stored the beautiful dishes she’d admired earlier, running her fingers over the delicate pottery.
“These are too pretty to leave hidden away.” She selected two bowls, their glazed surfaces decorated with swirling patterns that reminded her of wind through trees. “We should use them.”
He gave her an unreadable look as she placed the bowls on the table, but he didn’t object. She added two carved wooden spoons and arranged everything just so, smoothing out the clean cloth she’d found earlier to serve as a tablecloth.
“There.”
She stepped back to survey her work. The table looked inviting in the warm glow of the lamp, transforming the once-dusty cottage into something that felt like home. The thought startled her—she shouldn’t be thinking of this place that way. She was a captive, wasn’t she? But as he moved around her to stir the stew, his movements perfectly coordinated with hers, it didn’t feel like imprisonment at all.
“Just one more thing,” she said thoughtfully and headed for the door, aware of his eyes following her every move.
The evening air carried a hint of spring chill as she picked her way across the overgrown courtyard to the purple and white wildflowers she’d spotted earlier. As she selected the prettiest blooms, she heard his footsteps behind her. He filled the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with narrowed eyes. The suspicion in his stance made her want to laugh—as if she’d try to escape when dinner was almost ready.
Instead, she flashed him her brightest smile as she returned with an armful of flowers. His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture softened slightly.
Back inside, she arranged the wildflowers in a clay pitcher she’d washed earlier. The white blooms caught the lamplight, casting subtle shadows across the table’s surface. She stepped back, pleased with how the simple addition transformed the space from merely clean to welcoming.
“Perfect. Now we can eat.”
She ladled the fragrant stew into the beautiful bowls, the steam rising between them like a veil. After she placed them on the table she hesitated, then went to her basket and retrieved the loaf of bread, a tacit acknowledgement of the change in her plans. Her stomach growled as she sat down. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d become after the long climb and the afternoon of cleaning. The stew wasn’t fancy but it smelled wonderful.
He sat opposite her, his big body dwarfing his chair. His spoon looked equally tiny in his huge hand, but he handled it with his usual grace. The lamplight cast shadows across his angular features, softening them.
The silence between them felt comfortable rather than strained. Still, she couldn’t help sneaking glances at him between bites. Twice their eyes met across the table, and her heart skipped a beat, the intensity in his gaze heating her cheeks.
After they finished, she brought out the berry tarts while he poured them each a glass of cider from a dusty bottle he’d brought to the table, the amber liquid catching the light as she swirled it in her glass. Neither of them moved to clear the dishes. Instead, they sat back in their chairs, the moment stretching out between them like honey dripping from a spoon.
She found herself studying the way his hands curled around his glass, those deadly claws retracted. When she looked up, she caught him watching her again, his blue eyes gleaming in the lamplight.
“Tell me about your grandmother,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “The one you were going to visit.”
She blinked, surprised by his request, and traced her finger around the rim of her glass.
“We were always close but she raised me after my mother died.” That loss still closed her throat, but Grandmother had always been there for her. “She left her home and moved into my mother’s cottage in the village until I was old enough to manage on my own.”
Happy memories flooded back—her grandmother teaching her to work the loom, the scent of fresh bread in their tiny kitchen, the sound of her humming as she worked in the garden. “We didn’t have much, but we were happy. She taught me everything I know.”
“But she doesn’t live in your village?”
“No, she lives at the edge of the woods on the far side of the mountain.”
He frowned at her. “That’s Vultor territory.”
“Well, she’s lived there for as long as I can remember. I told you I used to play in these woods as a child—I used to visit her all the time. She stayed with me as long as I needed her, then returned to her own home. She prefers living on her own.”
“But why in Vultor territory?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“You’re the only one who seems to call it that. And she told me something once—that the Vultor don’t believe they own the land, that anyone actually owns the lands.”
“To a certain extent that’s true. But we do claim our territory.” His eyes glowed very blue in the lamplight. “And protect it from those who would try to take it from us.”
She looked down, toying with her cider.
“But you couldn’t protect it from the humans who came after your family.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his past.
“I tried,” he said bitterly.
“What happened?”
His jaw clenched, but to her surprise, he answered.
“My mother…” He paused, his claws spring out. “She tried to negotiate. Thought we could share the land.”
The pain in his voice made her stomach clench as she waited for him to continue.
“But they wanted it all. They torched our den. Tortured my family and left them to die in the fire. My sister…”
His words ended in a growl that vibrated through her bones as he surged to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. He snatched up their empty bowls, the muscles in his arms rigid.
“Enough talking.”
She sat frozen, her heart pounding as she watched him stack the dishes with controlled movements that barely contained his rage. The story fragments he’d shared painted a very different picture than the tales she’d heard about the savage Vultor who’d terrorized innocent villagers. Her heart ached for him.
She took a deep breath and pushed back her chair, ready to help with the cleanup, but his growl stopped her.
“Stay. You’ve done enough.” His gruff tone contrasted with the careful way he gathered the remaining dishes.
She settled back, unable to keep her eyes off him as he moved around the small kitchen space. Even though his muscles were still rigid from their discussion, he moved with his usual grace.
A yawn escaped before she could stifle it, and he turned, catching her mid-stretch.
“Time for bed,” he ordered.
Her gaze darted to the curtained alcove where the bed platform lay hidden in shadows. It was the only sleeping space in the entire cottage. Heat crept up her neck as she remembered how the furs had felt in her arms, imagining their softness against bare skin.
“I…” The word caught in her throat as she looked back at him, suddenly very aware of their isolation and the growing intimacy between them.
“You’ll sleep on the bench by the fire,” he snapped.
She gave it a doubtful look but nodded. It wasn’t padded but it was wide enough, and it would definitely be… safer than sleeping with him.
Sternly suppressing an unexpected pang of disappointment, she rose to her feet.
“I’ll get ready for bed.”
She’d only taken two steps towards the small bathroom before he stopped her, tossing her a worn but clean linen shirt, one of his by the size of it.
“In case you want something to sleep in,” he said gruffly.
She whispered a quick thank you and fled to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The small mirror over the washbasin showed a woman with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her red hair tumbling wildly around her face. She looked alive, vibrant. Happy, even.
That was ridiculous. She’d been kidnapped. Brought to the middle of the wilderness by a huge male who claimed she was his captive. So why was her heart fluttering like this? Why was her skin tingling at the thought of him sleeping just beyond a curtain? Why did the sight of the big, cozy pile of furs suddenly make her think of sharing it with him?
Stop it . She splashed cold water on her face and forced herself to take slow, calming breaths. This was crazy. He was a Vultor, and she was human. Their species were enemies, weren’t they? His people had killed hers, and her people had killed his. It was an endless cycle of violence that left nothing but destruction in its wake.
The bathroom was small but perfectly functional and she took a quick shower, washing away the exertion of the day before slipping into his oversized shirt, the worn fabric soft against her skin. The hem fell almost to her knees, and the collar hung loosely over her collarbone. It was like being wrapped in his scent, and she felt a rush of pleasure at the thought.
Then she took a deep breath and returned to the main room.