Chapter 38 #2
“Yes, with a sheet, and you have nothing under that shirt.” He extinguished his cigar and moved toward me, then leaned against the door, a breath away and far too close. “I don't want to have to kill anyone today, but I will if they get an eyeful of you.”
My eyes snapped wide, and I gasped. “That is ridiculous.”
“If you truly think so, my Lady, then don't leave.”
He'd been cold and distant for days. Now he was back to being possessive. I couldn't handle this. Trying to keep up with his moods screwed with my mind. I’d have better luck finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
As our gazes locked, I tried to compose myself. “Lord Nightblade—”
“Wolfe.” His voice was firm, and his eyes never left mine. “You call me Wolfe.”
My breath caught in my throat, and something dangerous fluttered in my chest at the raw command in his voice. “What if I don't want to?”
“You will call me Wolfe, as you always have.”
“You are the Prince of Galaythia, and I'm just a lowly mage. You will be king one day very soon. It's proper for me to call you Lord Nightblade.”
He inched forward, menace filling his stare and grin. “You will call me Wolfe, as you always have, Ziyka.”
A jolt of electricity shot through me, and the air between us crackled.
“Say it,” he murmured, his voice threaded with something dangerous that reflected in his silvery blue gaze.
“Wolfe.”
A possessive grin inched across his lips, revealing those dimples that could make a girl lose her dignity in a heartbeat. “Good. Now that's cleared up, I'd love to know what you remember.”
My knees threatened to buckle beneath me, and my throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. We were back to this again. Of course, in typical Wolfe style, he wouldn't let it go. My trembling hands gripped the sheet as I thought of the best answer that would get me through that door.
“I remember certain parts. Enough to know I was drunk out of my mind. Can I go now?”
“No. What parts do you remember? I'm just curious.” He braced himself against the door, then planted his hand beside my head to cage me in.
“Was it the part when you called me an asshole, a nasty piece of work, or when you said you couldn't stand me?” Those eyes searched mine, his question leaving me breathless.
“I, um... vaguely remember that. But I wasn't myself.”
“What about the other parts?”
The embarrassing parts that had pushed me to flee in a sheet? Yes, of course, I remembered. Damn it, Wolfe. But I brought this on myself. “I said some stuff I shouldn't have.”
“Oh, like how you hate that you like me and you hate that you still want me?”
The knot in my stomach squeezed and tightened with raw humiliation. “I said I wasn't myself. Wine can make people say all kinds of crazy things.”
“It also makes people tell the truth.” His crude gaze made me feel small, like I'd shrunk, and I wished a portal could swallow me now. But such wishes didn't work for me.
“What do you want me to say?” I decided to summon bravery from wherever I could find it.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Those words again. It was strange how such simple words had become so significant between us. He straightened, and the lighthearted humor faded from his eyes. Then his fangs shortened back to normal as his expression grew serious.
He stared at me as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Then his shoulders dropped slightly, and he said, “I don't just care about the ring.”
I stared back at him in pure disbelief; not sure I'd heard him properly. “What? What did you say?”
“I said, I don't just care about the ring.”
My heart stuttered, then began beating in an entirely new rhythm. “Don't you?”
“No.”
Warmth spread through me, hot and unexpected, and something long frozen inside me began to thaw, melting the fight from me.
Those simple words were the clearest he'd ever been with me. They carried the weight of a thousand things left unspoken, a balm on my desperation for what I yearned to know.
“So… am I correct in understanding that you care about something other than the ring?” My voice caught. “Something like… me?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his answer. No games. No riddles. Nothing to misunderstand. Just truth laid bare between us.
I was almost afraid to breathe in case I shattered this fragile, monumental moment.
“That's—” I swallowed hard. “That's good to know.”
His unwavering stare rooted me to the spot. I wondered what he was thinking—what his confession might change between us.
Before I could dwell on it further, he snapped his fingers, breaking the spell. In his hands appeared a light blue dress.
It was a delicate-looking everyday thing, made of homespun linen with a fitted bodice and a row of silver lacing that crisscrossed down the front. The skirt alternated in pretty tones of pale blue, giving it a quiet, earthy elegance.
There was nothing grand about it like the others Arielle had given me, but what made it special was that it came from Wolfe.
He handed it to me. “Put this on.”
I took the dress and clutched it to my chest, unsure of what to say.
He watched me for a few heartbeats, his gaze soft but unreadable. “I won't look.”
He turned around. No demand. No teasing. Just... space.
I gazed at his back, a wall of dark ink and muscle guarding me from the rest of the world, including himself.
Stepping back, I turned away, too, and let the sheet slip away from my body. While it floated down to the floor, I took off his shirt and quickly slipped on the dress.
I picked up his shirt and held it for a moment, remembering the solace it gave me. The scent of him had soothed me like his strong arms were wrapped around me, like safety made tangible.
Allowing myself to entertain such thoughts pushed me down that dangerous path again. One that had become even more treacherous now that he'd told me he cared about me.
I straightened and turned back to him, still clutching his shirt. “I'm dressed.”
Slowly, he faced me and looked me over. He wriggled his fingers, and soft slippers appeared on my feet.
“Thank you. Thanks for the dress, too.”
“You're welcome.”
I handed him back his shirt. He took it and held it at his side, then we stared at each other wordlessly. The door was still locked, so I couldn't leave. I took that to mean he wasn't finished with me yet.
“We're still brainstorming ideas for the spell,” he said, his voice returning to its normal sternness.
Gods, he was actually giving me the long-awaited update. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No more than what you're already doing. I think dragon magic may be the key to helping us, but I'm not sure what exactly we're supposed to do. The plan now is to try everything. We may be able to start testing later next week or the week after.”
“That's… dangerously close to my reset.”
“I know. But there's not a lot we can do about that. Our only other option is talking to the Seer.”
“A Seer?” I'd read about seers in Grandmother's books. I knew they were fascinating beings who were hard to come by.
“Yeah, but at the moment, I can't reach her. But if I do, I hope that she may be able to tell us what to do.”
That didn't exactly sound promising. “What happens if you don't find her and if nothing works?”
“I have to believe that something will work. I don't think either of us would have come this far to fail. We just have to figure out a way to succeed.”
His words held the sort of inspiring conviction that moved people to have faith in themselves. I wanted nothing more than to do just that, but I was at odds with myself. When the reset occurred, I would have moved several places backward to get to this point all over again.
“Don't worry about the curse.” He spoke as if he could see straight into my thoughts.
“It's hard not to.”
“I know, but we'll deal with it together when it happens.” The tenderness of his promise warmed my heart.
“I appreciate that.” It was strange feeling like I could trust him.
“Just keep journaling and try not to write about how much you hate me.” He smirked, lightening the mood.
“I'll do my best.” I offered him a small smile. Possibly the first. I couldn't remember smiling at him before. But my smile withered when I thought of my family. “I suppose I won't be seeing my family any time soon.”
“Don't worry about them. They're okay.” He sounded certain. Like he knew.
“Are they, Wolfe? You haven't exactly told me anything regarding their wellbeing.” Back on the ship, he said he'd make sure they didn't suffer. When I tried to press for details on what he'd do, he shot me down but still managed to assure me.
“I may have arranged for a wealthy lord from the North to discover your grandmother and mother's healing talents.
He's hired them as his personal physicians to tend to his sickly heir.
He's paid them a year's treatment fee in advance, plus a bonus of gold worth more than your home to ensure their sole priority.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, the revelation stunning me to my core. I pressed my hand to the doorframe to steady myself. Even the fog from my hangover had lifted, replaced by pure astonishment. “You did all of that?”
“Yes.” He sighed then continued. “I've also sent spies to the mortal realm, who have been feeding false information and fake evidence to your witch hunters—Chancellor Blackthorne and Friar Jameson.
They're now pursuing a bunch of made-up heretics in the borderlands who they believe are trying to set up a new faith by using black magic.”
I released the burning breath from my lungs and simply stared at him, shock still writhing through me.
Everything I thought I knew and believed about Wolfe Nightblade crumbled in an instant, and he was starting to feel more like a protector than the dark captor who took me.
All this time, he'd been caring for my family in ways I never knew, protecting what mattered to me most.