Chapter 22
ROWAN
Minutes tick by, and still he doesn’t let go. We just stand there beside the bed, his arms like iron around me, his body trembling with fury while mine shakes from pain. And yet…everywhere our skin touches, warmth spreads, threading through me as if he’s fire and balm all at once.
It’s the bond, Wolf murmurs, softer than usual, reverent almost. He’s healing you just by touch.
How?
I understand what she’s said, but I don’t understand how it’s possible.
That’s just what mates do for each other, Wolf states, her voice remaining quiet. You complete one another. Whatever you need, he provides, and the same of you for him. We’re injured. Our supernatural healing would be sufficient to survive wounds like this, but with Cade, it’s supercharged.
So that explains why it feels like invisible needles are stitching my shoulder blade back together. At least I really hope that’s what this is. Otherwise, I’m experiencing the weirdest near-death hallucination of my life.
But Wolf doesn’t get the chance to say more. Cade finally moves, lowering me carefully onto the bed. His eyes are brighter again, golden sparks breaking through the storm, but the torment carved into his face makes it almost painful to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice raw as gravel.
“That wasn’t—”
His sudden snarl slices the air. I flinch before I can stop myself, but then his palm presses gently over my shoulder, right where the pain is most severe.
His hand is warm, steady, achingly careful, and just like that, the fear is gone.
I close my eyes, sink into the pillow, and let myself melt into his touch.
He’s taking care of me.
And deep down, I know it’s more than that. I know this man isn’t just chasing away my pain—he’s anchoring me, tying me to something I don’t know I’m ready for. But right now, I can’t process any of that. All I can do is let him.
His hand presses a little firmer, then he reaches with his other hand, grabbing the throw blanket.
It’s only then that I remember I’m naked.
Well, mostly. His shirt is barely covering my most intimate parts.
But I don’t even care. Not now. Not when he moves with the kind of protectiveness that makes me feel less like prey and more like I’m finally home.
Without missing a beat, Cade leans down, close enough that I feel his breath against my hair. For a heartbeat, I swear he’s going to kiss me. Instead, his lips brush the air beside my temple as he whispers, “I’ll be right back. Please don’t move.”
The ache in his words pins me harder than his arms ever could. Even if I could get up, I wouldn’t dare.
Water runs from inside the ensuite, the sound muffled by the walls. I listen, waiting for anything else. When he returns, my eyelids are heavy as lead, but I manage to notice the damp washcloth in his hand.
“May I?” he asks, holding the washcloth aloft like it’s some kind of sacred offering.
I can only nod. Words don’t seem possible when he’s looking at me like this, when he’s this close and intense. For once, sarcasm abandons me. My usual shield is gone, leaving me raw and bare under the weight of his focus.
There’s blood streaked across my skin—stains I hadn’t even realized were there. Cade noticed, though. Of course, he did. And I know, with absolute certainty, that he won’t rest until every trace of the previous battle is gone.
He doesn’t say anything else, just takes the cloth and begins.
The warmth spreads as he drags it slowly across my skin.
One hand wipes away the crimson, tender and almost reverent, while the other rests against my shoulder, his touch thrumming with energy.
Wolf had been right. It’s more than physical contact.
His essence seeps into me, weaving through aching muscles, stitching broken pieces together with invisible thread.
Healing me.
I watch him as much as I feel him. His eyes don’t linger in the way men’s eyes usually do, not hungry or greedy. He’s looking at me like I’m something precious worth mending, something he refuses to let break.
This man—this beast who stormed into my life with growls and teeth bared—is going to ruin me with a washcloth.
He only wants to take my pain away.
Nothing more, nothing less.
It’s a truth I can’t ignore the longer I lie here.
When he seems pleased, he adjusts the pillow behind me and grabs the comforter under me, tugging until it slides out from under me. Once I’m properly covered, he kneels next to the bed and, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he grabs my hand.
With my eyes still on him, I’m locked into his stare, unable and not wanting to look away as he speaks.
“I’m sorry, Rowan,” he says again, his voice rough, carrying more agony than anger this time. “I should have taken you away from here. It’s not safe anymore. The rules of NightShade… They don’t matter. Not when the world knows what you are. Iris wants this place to be a sanctuary, but it isn’t.”
“Maybe not,” I whisper, forcing my voice through the tightness in my throat, “but this wasn’t your choice to make.
” My hand tightens faintly in his, my body aching but my will unbroken.
“This thing,”—I wave a shaky hand between us—“I feel the bond. I know it’s real.
But I’m still me. I get a choice in what I do and when I do it.
Everyone thought it was best to stay, and I agreed.
What happened today? That could’ve happened anywhere. ”
I don’t know if I believe that, but I hope it’s true. Because Cade doesn’t deserve to drown in this guilt. Not when I’m still here. Not when he’s holding me together with both hands and refusing to let me fall apart.
By now, witches will be tracking you, Wolf warns, her tone tight. There isn’t anywhere you can hide for long unless you get one of them on your side to give us a cloaking spell.
Weird, but helpful. I share it with Cade, watching the way his jaw flexes like he’s already cataloging the possibility.
“So, no more apologizing,” I add firmly, my voice steadier than I feel. “We need to get me ready to fight. You made the right choice in training me today. We’ll keep doing that until we can’t. I won’t run from this. I can’t.”
Those last words burn like a truth branded into skin. Because no matter how much I want to deny it, I know they’re right. There’s no turning back. Not after what I’ve seen. Not with what I’ve felt building inside me.
For the last year, I’ve been alone in my grief. I’ve thought that there was nothing left in this world that I would be a part of. No family to claim me. Only survival. But now? Now, I have so much more than I could have ever imagined.
My ferret, who I thought was going to be knocking on death’s door any day, is likely going to live decades more. I have a grandmother—batshit crazy and meddling, yes—but a grandmother, nonetheless. I’ve found a new friend who actually gives a damn about whether I live or die.
And I have Cade.
I may not be ready to decide in what capacity that is, at least for right now. But I can’t deny it anymore either. He’s here. He’s fighting for me. And no matter how much I try to shove down the bond, I can’t ignore the way he aches to protect me.
Or the way I’m beginning to feel about him in return.
“I may have underestimated your strength, Rowan Prescott,” he says at last, his voice softer, though still carrying that edge of gruffness that seems to be carved into him.
“I think we both have.”
Because I’ve been holding back. Afraid to accept this new world as mine.
Scared to believe the prophecy wasn’t just some cruel joke with my name scribbled between the cryptic lines.
But people are coming for me. They’ll keep coming.
And if I hesitate—if I hide—then the ones I’ve come to care about will bleed for it.
That, I can’t live with.
So, no more denial. No more clinging to the girl who didn’t know what she was.
It’s time to embrace this. Time to take the prophecy seriously.
More than all of that, it’s time to decide who the hell I’m going to be.