Chapter 22
Jessa woke to the gentle press of Tarek’s body against her back, his arm heavy and possessive across her waist, his breath stirring the loose strands of hair at her temple.
She didn’t move, unwilling to disturb this moment of perfect peace.
Morning light filtered through the gaps in the woven hanging that covered the window, painting golden stripes across the furs beneath them.
She had no real memory of falling asleep—only of sitting with Tarek by the fire as dawn broke, her head on his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of Dani’s breathing from the other room.
They must have stumbled to bed at some point. She thought she remembered him guiding her, half-carrying her when her exhausted legs threatened to give out. His arms had wrapped around her, pulling her close, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
Sleep now. I have you.
And she had. For the first time in days, she had slept without nightmares, without the constant gnawing fear that she would wake to find her sister gone.
She slowly eased out from under his arm. He stirred, a low sound of protest rumbling in his chest, but didn’t wake. She paused, studying his face in the morning light.
The harsh lines of tension that usually bracketed his mouth had softened in sleep.
His dark hair fell across his forehead in disarray, making him look younger and less guarded.
The faint glow of his green eyes was hidden behind closed lids, and without that alien luminescence, she could almost forget that he wasn’t human.
Almost.
But she didn’t want to forget. She loved the things that made him different—the slight point of his ears, the way his canines caught on his lower lip when he slept, the retracted claws that left faint indentations in the furs where his hands rested.
He was other, and he was hers, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
She brushed a kiss across his forehead, feather-light.
Sleep, she thought. You’ve earned it.
She slipped quietly out of the bedroom and made her way to Dani’s room.
The small space had been transformed since Dani decided to occupy it.
Where once it had been a bare storage alcove, it was now a proper bedroom with a bed built from salvaged wood and covered in soft furs.
A small shelf held Dani’s treasures—interesting rocks, dried flowers, and an abandoned bird’s nest she’d found in the garden.
Jessa had made the woven hanging that covered the entrance.
Dani lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, her dark hair a wild tangle across the pillow. Her breathing was deep and even, and there was no trace of the fever flush that had terrified Jessa for so long.
She’s going to be all right.
The relief of that thought drove the air from her lungs and made her eyes burn with sudden tears. She’d been afraid to believe it before, afraid that hoping would only make the disappointment worse if…
No. She wasn’t going to think about that anymore. It was over. Tarek’s medicine had worked, and Dani was going to be all right, and for the first time in years, she could imagine a future that didn’t revolve around her sister’s illness.
She reached out to check Dani’s temperature, pressing the back of her hand gently to her forehead.
Dark lashes fluttered and blue eyes—their mother’s eyes—blinked open, unfocused with sleep.
“Jessa?”
“I’m here, sweetheart.” She smoothed the tangled hair back from Dani’s face. “How do you feel?”
“Hungry.” The answer came immediately, followed by a crooked grin that made her heart clench with joy. “Really hungry. Like I could eat a whole pig.”
“We don’t have a whole pig, but I can make oatmeal. Would that work?”
“With honey?”
“With honey.”
Dani’s grin widened. “And berries?”
“If there are any left.” She couldn’t help but smile back. This was the Dani she remembered—bright and cheerful and endlessly demanding. The Dani who had been buried under layers of illness and exhaustion for so long that she had almost forgotten what she was like when she was well.
She built up the fire in the main room and set water to boil, humming softly as she worked. The den felt different this morning—lighter, somehow, as if the shadows that had gathered in the corners had been swept away by the dawn.
Home, she thought, and the word didn’t feel strange anymore.
She was stirring honey into the oatmeal when Dani padded out of her room, wrapped in one of the fur blankets like a small, disheveled queen. Her feet were bare, her hair still a disaster, and she was possibly the most beautiful thing Jessa had ever seen.
“Tarek’s still asleep,” Dani observed, settling herself at the table with the air of someone who expected to be waited on.
“He worked very hard to make you better.” She set a bowl of oatmeal in front of her sister, along with a small dish of the late-season berries she’d found tucked away in the cold storage. “He didn’t sleep for two days.”
Dani’s eyes went wide. “Two whole days?”
“Two whole days.”
“Wow.” The spoon paused halfway to her mouth. “He must really love us, huh?”
The casual observation made her freeze momentarily before she busied herself with pouring tea, hiding the sudden flush that crept up her cheeks.
“I think he does,” she said quietly. “Yes.”
“Good.” Dani resumed eating with the single-minded focus of the truly famished. “I love him too. He’s going to be my brother, right? When you get married?”
“We haven’t—”
“‘S okay.” Dani spoke around a mouthful of oatmeal, apparently unconcerned with manners. “I told him he should.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words died in her throat as a shadow fell across the table. She looked up to find Tarek standing in the doorway, his hair sleep-mussed, his eyes still heavy with exhaustion but glowing faintly in the morning dimness.
“What’s about time?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
“You asking Jessa to marry you,” Dani said at exactly the same moment.
His gaze met hers across the room, and then his mouth curved into the closest thing to a carefree smile she’d ever seen from him.
“Ah. That.”
“You didn’t ask yet?” Dani’s spoon clattered against her bowl. “But you said—”
“Perhaps I was waiting for the right moment.” He crossed to the table, dropping into a crouch beside Dani’s chair so that their eyes were level. “There’s something we need to talk about first. About the medicine.”
Dani’s face fell. “Did it not work? Am I still sick?”
“It worked.” He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly gentle.
“You’re not sick anymore. But I need you to understand—this wasn’t a cure.
Not entirely. The medicine treats the symptoms and helps your body fight the illness.
But to make sure it never comes back, you’ll need to take it regularly. At least for a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know yet. Months, probably. Maybe longer.” His hand dropped to cover hers where it rested on the table. “But I’ll make more. As much as you need, for as long as you need it. I promise.”
“Forever?”
The question hung in the air, impossibly heavy for such a small word.
“Not forever,” he said slowly. “Your body will get stronger as you heal. Eventually, you won’t need the medicine at all. Eventually, you’ll be completely well.”
“Promise?”
His jaw tightened. Jessa could see the conflict in his eyes—the healer’s reluctance to make promises he couldn’t guarantee warring with the male’s desperate need to reassure the child he’d come to love.
“I promise,” he said, “that I will do everything in my power to make you well. And I promise that I will never stop trying until you are.”
Dani considered this for a long moment, her expression far too serious for a child of her age. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied, and returned to her oatmeal.
“Okay. Can I have more berries?”
They spent the day together, the three of them, doing absolutely nothing of consequence.
It was wonderful.
Tarek built up the fire until the main room was warm enough that they could shed their blankets.
Jessa made lunch, a simple stew from the provisions in the cold storage, while Dani supervised from her nest of furs by the hearth, offering suggestions that ranged from helpful (“more salt”) to absurd (“we should add chocolate”) to downright dangerous (“what if you set it on fire?”).
After lunch, Dani insisted on getting up for the first time. Tarek carried her to the big chair by the fire and tucked blankets around her until only her face was visible.
“I look like a caterpillar,” she complained.
“Caterpillars don’t talk back,” Tarek observed mildly.
“They might. You don’t know. Have you ever asked one?”
Jessa laughed, the sound bubbling up from some place deep inside her that had been silent for too long. Tarek looked at her, his eyes soft with something she was afraid to name, and she felt her heart turn over in her chest.
Against all odds, she’d found a home. A family.
Someone to share the burdens and the joys, the ordinary moments and the extraordinary ones.
She’d had that once, before their mother died, before their Uncle Gerhard came to claim his “responsibility” over them.
She’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
“Tell us a story,” Dani demanded from her cocoon of blankets. “Tell us about the time Mama caught the fish that was bigger than her.”
“That story gets more exaggerated every time you tell it,” she protested, but she was already settling into her own chair, pulling her mending into her lap. “It wasn’t bigger than her. It was just… large.”
“Mama said it was bigger than her.”
“Mama had a flair for the dramatic.”
“Tell it anyway.”