Chapter 28 #2
Karl looked at the bowl like it had personally insulted him.
Leon smirked. “If you die from this, I want it on the record that it wasn’t me.”
“Noted,” Karl said dryly.
Leon hesitated, then sat beside him. “Want me to…?”
Karl took the spoon with the suspicion of a growl under his breath. “I can feed myself.”
The determination with which he forced the mess down made something inside Leon soft and warm. He didn’t know what to do with that feeling, so he said the only thing that came to mind.
“You want to use my comb?” he asked, casual as anything.
Karl blinked. “What?”
He gestured to the table. “My comb. I mean, you don’t have to. Just, it’s right there if your hair’s annoying you. Or you want to look presentable when Michael shows up to kill us.”
Karl blinked again. “You’d let me use your comb?”
Leon crossed his arms. “Don’t make it into something.”
Truth was, part of him already regretted the offer. Not because he didn’t mean it, but because Karl might recognize the offer for what it was—so far past Leon’s usual boundaries they weren’t even in the rearview.
“You’d let me use your sacred comb?” Karl asked. “The one you’ve treated like a holy relic since Ruth passed it over?”
Leon had to hide his wince. Damn it. Karl did see it. Worse, he was smiling about it. Not cruel or unkind, but fond. Amused in a way that made Leon feel ten times more exposed.
“I’ll take it back,” he said, a little too quickly.
Karl grinned at him, lopsided and happy, and Leon had to look away before he did something dangerous again.
“I’m honored. Truly.”
Leon rolled his eyes. Damn wolf. “Just don’t lose it.”
Karl’s grin widened briefly, as if he were considering doing just that, but then he turned more serious. “Ruth hasn’t come back.”
Leon’s smile faded too. “I noticed. Seemed in a hell of a hurry, too, and it all changed after that ridiculous wolf pup. You think she’s gone to tell Michael what really happened?”
“Maybe,” Karl said. “Not that it changes anything.”
“Maybe it will. Maybe they’ll realize you’re a hero and award you the freedom of the pack or something. Even just the freedom to leave would be nice.”
But he didn’t believe it, and neither, he saw, did Karl.
Knowing that Karl had saved Charlie might make Michael less eager to dispose of them, but it didn’t change the fundamental calculation—he believed, for some incomprehensible reason, that allowing them to leave would threaten his pack.
And an alpha’s one, sacred trust was to protect their pack.
Reminded of the stakes, they were silent a while. Karl dug into his bowl of slop, determined and grim like it could heal him on its own.
Leon watched him, the blanket draped haphazardly around his waist, the flex of muscles in his arm, the breadth of his shoulders.
“I can’t wait to undress you properly,” he said without thinking.
Karl choked on a mouthful of oatmeal.
Leon smiled serenely and leaned back on his hands. “Just saying. Get well soon.”
KARL
Karl was just swallowing the last mouthful of what Ruth considered food when Leon hit him with that line.
He choked. Not on the food, but on the mental image—full technicolor, vivid, inescapable—of Leon, undressing him with deliberate, teasing slowness. Which was deeply unhelpful when he was supposed to be focusing on healing. Not imagining himself tangled up with Leon, naked.
Leon, of course, looked delighted at his reaction. He was the picture of smug satisfaction as he leaned back on his hands, all innocence and feline grace.
Karl held out the empty bowl with what he hoped was a withering look. Judging by the smirk it earned, it probably came off more dazed than intimidating.
“You done?” Leon asked, as he took the bowl.
“With the food,” Karl muttered.
He was also done with lying here, even if part of him wanted to stay exactly where he was—close to Leon, warm, and vaguely dreaming of a future that might include comb sharing and innuendo over breakfast. But the rest of him knew how much danger they were still in, with no way of knowing when Michael would make his move.
Which meant Karl needed to know what his body could do. Right now.
“Help me up.”
Leon was instantly serious again as he put the bowl on the table. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” Karl admitted. “But I need to.”
Leon came back to his side as he shoved back the covers and swung his legs off the bed. That movement alone made his ribs protest and his thigh burn like fire. But he gritted his teeth, dug in his heels, and stood.
His leg buckled the instant he put weight on it.
Leon caught him before he could fall. “Okay. That’s enough heroics for one morning.”
Karl growled. “I’m not done.”
“Yes, you are,” Leon said. “You can barely stand.”
“I need to know what I can manage.”
“You need to not make it worse.”
What he needed, more than anything, was to be able to get Leon out of here if things went bad.
Leon wouldn’t leave him, which meant Karl had to be able to move.
He shook Leon off, clenched his jaw and tried again, shifting his weight more slowly this time.
The pain flared, but the leg held. He took one small step.
Then another. Leon hovered beside him like a protective shadow, arms half-raised, ready to catch.
By the time Karl had completed a full, limping circuit of the room, sweat was slick on his brow and his breath came fast and shallow. His ribs ached, and his thigh was on fire, but he’d done it.
Leon guided him gently down onto the bed and pulled the covers back over his legs with infuriating tenderness.
They both knew what that walk had told them. Karl wasn’t ready. And they didn’t have time. He met Leon’s gaze, the frustration in his chest easing slightly at what he saw there—not pity, but understanding. They were in this together, for however long they had.
Leon retrieved the second bowl from the table, and brought it over with a spoon. “Breakfast.”
Karl eyed the congealed gray sludge with deep mistrust. “That’s your breakfast.”
“I don’t need it. You do.”
Damn cat. When did he start being the voice of reason? Because he was right. Karl’s body needed sleep more than anything else to heal, but fuel would help speed things along. His continued weakness worried him.
Actually, if he were completely honest, it scared him.
He’d been injured before, but he’d never been this weak for this long.
Must have been a doozy of an infection his body was still fighting—he could feel his pulse was still too fast, he was still too warm.
Maybe, if he did that honesty thing again, which he was learning to loathe, he’d been…
not at his best before he got hurt. Exhausted, stressed, and not always eating.
Leon handed him the bowl. “Eat. Just pretend it’s food.”
Karl forced down a few bites, chewing with the enthusiasm of someone consuming wet cardboard.
After a moment, Leon said lightly, “You know, you’re kind of a marshmallow.”
Karl turned his head, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
Leon looked far too pleased with himself, and Karl was going to need to learn not to react to his provocations, because that damn cat loved it.
“I saw you with the pup. You’re supposed to be this terrifying wolf, hypercompetent with nerves of steel, and there you were, being gently mauled by a baby. And smiling.”
Karl tried to scowl. “I did not smile.”
“Oh, you smiled.” Leon shifted to sit beside him on the bed, shoulder to shoulder. “All warm and gooey on the inside. Hidden beneath seventeen layers of sarcasm, brooding, and threat.”
“I will feed you this bowl.”
Leon grinned. “Threats, marshmallow. Not fooling anyone.”
Karl grunted, but didn’t push him away. Especially not when Leon leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“You scared me before,” Leon murmured. “Don’t do that again.”
“I’ll try to schedule my injuries around your emotional needs,” Karl said dryly.
Leon smacked his shoulder gently. “Do that.”
An easy silence settled between them as Karl forced himself to finish the oatmeal, handing Leon the empty bowl. He bent over to place it on the floor, then stretched on top of the covers, like a cat, folding his arms behind his head. Which just happened to show off his body. Not that Karl noticed.
“Sleep,” he said to Karl. “Heal. I’ll stay on watch.”
Karl didn’t sleep when there were threats. He never had. Yet he knew he could trust Leon. Trust his word, and his abilities.
He lay back down and willed himself to sleep. Duty demanded it. Yet somehow, when the soft edges of sleep found him, Leon’s warmth close beside him meant he forgot duty, forgot everything except an unfamiliar feeling of peace.