Chapter 27
Jensen
For a house that’s normally quiet and sedate, there’s been an awful lot of shouting this evening. Mrs. Thompson has barked out orders like a sergeant major on steroids, and the ground floor has been teeming with people charging around, attempting to carry them out to her satisfaction.
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 pressed on 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.