7. Chapter 7
Nadia woke to unfamiliar softness.
The mattress beneath her back cradled instead of bruised. Blankets held warmth without weight. Morning light filtered through curtains that actually blocked the wind.
She lay frozen, listening before her eyes opened fully.
No scent of other wolves in the room. Door still locked from the inside. She could hear the bolt settle in place. Window secure. One exit through the door. A second if she broke glass.
Pain locked her left flank when she tried to sit up.
Nadia breathed through the pain, forcing her body upright. Running had taught her to move through agony. Four months before that had taught her that showing weakness invited worse.
The room looked the same as it had last night. Small. Warm. Empty except for her.
Safe, the wolf said inside her.
A knock sounded at the door, three measured taps.
Maren left fresh clothes and food outside the door without knocking twice.
The bolt slid back with a soft click. Nadia opened the door just wide enough to see the hallway.
Empty.
A basket sat against the wall, clothes folded neatly on top, the scent of fresh bread rising from beneath.
Nadia grabbed it and locked the door again in one motion.
Her wolf keened protest. Something in her chest reached constantly, an ache that pointed downstairs. Toward him.
She ignored it.
The clothes fit well enough. Soft fabric that didn’t chafe against bruises. The bread was still warm, butter melting into its center.
Nadia ate standing by the window, watching the compound below.
Wolves moved through the snow with easy confidence. A group of young males sparred near the training grounds, their movements powerful but controlled. Females crossed between buildings without looking over their shoulders. Children played, their laughter carrying on the wind.
Normal pack life.
The young males stopped sparring when an older female called them for a meal. No dominance display. No posturing.
A male stumbled in the snow, his load of firewood scattering. Three wolves stopped to help him gather it without being ordered.
Children ran past an elder wolf who smiled instead of snarling at the disruption.
Wrong.
The ache beneath her ribs deepened.
Nadia pressed her forehead against the frosted glass, breathing through the urge to go downstairs. To find him.
No.
She’d trusted before. Believed soft words and gentle touches meant safety. Her scars proved how that ended.
Another knock. Three taps.
“Jace Holbrook.” A pause, careful and deliberate. “I’m not asking you to open the door. Just want to talk through it if you’re willing.”
Nadia stayed silent.
“There’s a cabin on the eastern boundary. Small. One room. Close enough to pack lands that we can help if you need it, far enough out that you’ll have privacy.” A pause. “It’s yours if you want it.”
She swallowed past the ache.
The words hung in the air long after he left.
A cabin on the boundary. Close enough to run. Far enough to breathe.
Nadia’s wolf signaled approval even as her human mind sensed the trap. Isolated. Alone. Easy to control once she was away from witnesses.
But something beneath her sternum bent her toward the eastern boundary.
He’d be there. Rhys.
She unlocked the door.
The cabin was smaller than she’d expected.
One room with a wood stove, a narrow bed, a table with two chairs. Windows on three sides, excellent sight lines. Door that locked from inside. Back wall solid against the forest.
Defensible.
Nadia circled the space three times, checking corners and testing floorboards. The wood was solid. No hidden doors. No obvious traps.
“Why?” The word escaped before Nadia could stop it.
“Why what?”
“Why give me this? I’m nobody. I have nothing to offer your pack.”
Maren’s expression softened. “You’re a wolf who needs shelter. That’s enough.”
She left without waiting for argument.
The door closed. Nadia locked it immediately, then checked the windows. All secure. All offering clear views of the surrounding forest.
The pressure beneath her ribs shifted, unmistakable. West.
The supplies Maren had left included fresh clothes, blankets, and enough food for a week.
Kindness without demands.
Her wolf settled slightly, the constant edge of panic easing.
Nadia made it until sunset before the compulsions started.
Counted steps to the tree line. Tested the back wall.
Then she did it all again.
A dull ache from the injury settled in. Exhaustion made her vision blur.
But she couldn’t stop checking.
Because the moment she stopped checking was the moment they’d come.
Rhys smelled her panic before he saw the cabin.
He approached slowly, his leg making speed impossible anyway. The cabin’s windows glowed with lamplight. He could see her shadow moving inside, pacing the same path over and over.
The door opened.
Nadia stood in the frame, backlit by lamplight. Her hair was tangled. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She held herself like she’d been moving for hours without rest.
“You’re supposed to be giving me space.” Her tone was ragged.
“I am.” Rhys gestured at the distance between them. “Fifty feet. That’s space.”
“Then why are you here?” Nadia asked.
“Because you haven’t slept in three days and you’re wearing a path in the floorboards.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know?”
“I can hear you pacing from the ridge.” Not entirely true, his hearing was good but not that good. But he’d been checking on her from a distance, unable to stay completely away. “You need to rest.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” He braced against his good leg, the bad one protesting. “But I’m going to stay out here tonight anyway. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case you need something. In case Thornwood sends scouts this far. In case—” He stopped. “In case you want company without having to ask for it.”
Nadia stared at him. The lamplight caught the amber flecks in her dark eyes.
“I don’t need a guard.”
“I’m not hovering. I’m sitting.” Rhys lowered himself to the ground, his back against a tree. The movement was awkward, his leg refusing to bend properly. “Fifty feet away. Not hovering.”
“You’re going to freeze.”
“Probably.” He pulled his coat tighter. “But I’m staying anyway.”
Nadia’s knuckles whitened against the back of the chair. “If you’re staying, you’re staying inside.”
“I’m fine out here,” Rhys said.
“You’ll freeze and then I’ll have to listen to your teeth chatter all night.” She gave the door space. “Inside. But you stay by the door. And if I tell you to leave, you leave.”
“Deal.”
The cabin was warm. Small enough that fifty feet became fifteen. Close enough that her scent wrapped around him, fear and exhaustion and underneath it all, the sweetness that made his wolf howl.
He sank down against the wall by the door, stretching his leg out in front of him.
Nadia watched him from across the room.
“Why?” The question was barely a whisper.
“Why do you keep your distance? The bond—” She stopped, her throat working. “You could claim me. Force the bond. I couldn’t stop you.”
Rhys’s voice went rough. “Is that what you think mating is? Force?”
“That’s what it’s always been.”
The silence between them was heavy, heavy with history he couldn’t fix.
“Males don’t think that way.”
“This one does.”
She studied him, searching for the lie. Rhys let her look. Let her see the exhaustion in his face, the damage to his body, the conviction in his eyes.
“I don’t understand you.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Sleep when you’re ready. I’ll be on the other side of the door.” Rhys leaned his head back against the wall. “I’ll keep watch.”
“I know. But not tonight.”
“If you try anything—”
“Nadia.” He waited until she met his eyes, then nodded once.
Silence settled between them. Nadia’s breathing was too fast, her pulse visible in her throat. But slowly, incrementally, she moved to the bed.
She sat on the edge, not lying down. Still dressed. Still ready to run.
Nadia woke screaming.
The nightmare released her in fragments, hands holding her down, weight crushing her chest, pain that went on forever.
She thrashed against blankets that had become restraints, the wound screaming.
“Nadia.”
The voice reached her under the panic. Familiar. Steady.
“The door has two bolts. One’s the wolf-lock. You’re in your cabin. No one is touching you.”
Rhys.
She gulped air, her vision clearing. He was still by the door. The same spot as when she’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t approached.
Even now, with her terror scenting the air, he stayed where he’d promised.
“Breathe.” He pitched his voice low, grounding. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. You’re safe.”
Nadia pressed her palms hard against her face, fingers digging in. The nightmare’s echoes clung to her skin.
“Do you want me to leave?” Rhys asked.
“No.” The word escaped before she could stop it.
He nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly. The nightmare had felt so real. The hands. The pain. The helplessness.
“It was just a dream,” she whispered.
“Dreams can be worse than reality sometimes.”
Something in his voice made her look at him. Really look. The scars across his face. How he held his leg. The exhaustion that went deeper than physical.
“You have them too.” Not a question.
“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate.
Nadia swallowed hard. “How do you make them stop?”
“You don’t. You just learn to breathe through them.” Rhys shifted slightly, wincing. “And you find people who understand that waking up screaming doesn’t make you weak.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction.
The certainty in his words cracked something open in her.
Nadia lay back down, pulling the blankets up. Pain bloomed in her hip. Her hands still trembled. But the nightmare’s grip was fading.
Rhys stayed by the door.
Morning light woke her.
Nadia sat up slowly, checking her surroundings. Cabin. Locked door. Windows showing empty forest.
Rhys was gone.
Disappointment hit before she could stop it.
Then she saw the basket by the door.
Fresh bread. Butter. A thermos that smelled like coffee. And underneath, wrapped in cloth.
Nadia held her breath.
A knife. Small but well-made, the blade sharp enough to catch the light. The kind of weapon that could defend or threaten depending on who held it.
A note was tucked beside it, the handwriting precise.
For peace of mind. Not because you need protecting, because you deserve the right to protect yourself.
Nadia picked up the knife with shaking hands. The weight was perfect. The balance precise.
A weapon. Given freely. With no expectation that she’d use it for him instead of against him.
Trust, given before it was asked for.
Nadia pressed the knife against her chest, something hot and sharp burning behind her eyes.
Protection without possession.
Choice without chains.
Maybe, just maybe, Blackridge was different after all.
A low warmth threaded beneath her skin, steady as a second heartbeat.
And Nadia didn’t try to ignore it.
A howl cut across the forest.
Not Blackridge. Too sharp. Too controlled.
Nadia stopped breathing.
Another sound followed. Movement through brush beyond the tree line. Not hunting. Watching.
Her grip tightened on the knife.
Fifty feet from the cabin, Rhys stepped into view from behind a pine. His posture shifted. Alert.
The presence in the trees withdrew. Slow. Careful.
Not gone.
Just measuring distance.