Chapter 7 #2
But he’s not entirely wrong. I am scared. Not of him but this unfamiliar feeling in my chest.
Slowly, I stand. My leg aches. He’s right about that too. The ride today followed by hours of wandering in the forest has turned the old injury into a constant throb.
I cross the room towards him.
“I don’t fit,” I say, looking down at the bed. I’m six-foot-four and broad across the shoulders. It’s going to be a disaster with the two of us.
“Then we’ll make it work.” Garrett scoots to the far side and pats the space he’s made. “See? Plenty of room.”
That’s not plenty of room. That’s barely enough space for half of me. But I’m committed now. The exhaustion is making my arguments seem thin even to myself.
I sit on the edge of the bed first, testing it.
This is a terrible idea. But I swing my legs up anyway and try to arrange myself in a way that doesn’t take up the entire bed.
My shoulders are too broad for my half of the mattress.
I end up on my back, stiff as a corpse, trying to take up as little space as possible.
Garrett makes a sound that might be a laugh. He shifts, and I feel the mattress dip as he moves closer. “Your leg is still bothering you.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re in pain,” he says quietly. “You’ve been favoring your left leg all day.”
Damn him for being observant.
The punishment from the Judge’s cane bit deep into my bones.
They broke my leg in multiple places and healed it just enough that I could walk.
Some days my knee has this dull ache. Other days, like today after hours of riding, it’s fire.
The Hlaryan healers Garrett hired worked miracles.
The knee is better than it was, but it’ll never be right. Some things can’t be completely undone.
“I saw you limping when we watered the horses.” He’s still watching me carefully.
I could deny it. The lie forms on my tongue, ready. But Garrett will see through it. He’s gotten frustratingly good at seeing through my bullshit. Somehow he’s learned to read me better than anyone ever has.
He sits up, studying me. Before I can protest, he’s sliding down to the foot of the bed. “Let me help.”
“You can’t help with this.” I pull back slightly.
His hand moves to my left thigh, resting there gently. “Is the pain here?”
I tense. “What are you doing?”
“Helping. If you’ll let me.” He applies gentle pressure. Even through my leathers I can feel the heat of his palm. “I learned some things during my training in Kvatosh Temple. Muscle manipulation and pressure points might ease the pain. Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t need taking care of,” I rasp.
“Wolf.” His voice is exasperated now. “Stop being stubborn and let me do this.”
“Fine,” I mutter.
His hand moves in slow circles over the injury, applying steady pressure. It’s careful and bears nothing inappropriate. But my body doesn’t care about the innocent contact. Every touch sends sparks up my spine.
“You’ll need to take off your breeches,” he says after a moment. “I can’t work through the fabric properly.”
“Fuck no.”
“Wolf—”
“Absolutely not.”
His sigh is soft, resigned. “You can cover yourself with the blanket. I promise I won’t do anything weird.”
“This is already weird.”
“Fair point.” He doesn’t move his hand. “But it’ll help. Trust me?”
I do trust him.
“Fine,” I say again. “But turn around.”
His mouth quirks up at the corner. He turns and faces the wall while I awkwardly work my trousers down. The blanket is thin and doesn’t cover much, but it’s something. My smallclothes stay on at least.
I clear my throat. “Done.”
He turns back, and his eyes don’t stray from my face.
“May I?” He doesn’t move until I give a short nod. Then his hands are on my bare thigh and I have to bite back a sound.
His touch is warm and firm. He finds the damaged muscle, applying pressure that borders on painful but somehow feels good at the same time. His fingers work in steady circles, kneading the tight tissue.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says quietly.
It’s already too much. Not the pressure on my leg, but the intimacy of this whole fucking thing.
“I can handle it,” I grit out.
He works in silence for a while. His hands move with practiced skill, finding knots of tension and working them loose. The constant ache starts to ease, just a little.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s... nice,” I answer truthfully.
Better than nice to be honest. I can feel him smile even though I’m not looking at him. His hands slide higher over my inner thigh, dangerously close to territory that has nothing to do with my injury. I tense.
“Garrett,” I say in warning.
“Sorry.” His hands pause but don’t move away. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. “Just... unexpected.”
“I’ll be more careful.” His hands remain where they are, warm and steady. “Didn’t mean to cross a line.”
“You’re fine.”
The moment stretches. His touch burns through my skin even though he’s barely moving.
“How did it happen?” he asks quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I could refuse to answer. But the darkness makes confession easier and his hand on my leg makes me want to give him something real.
“A contract went bad years ago.” It’s not the whole truth, but close enough.
“The one where you didn’t kill the merchant’s son?”
Of course he remembers that. “After. The guild doesn’t tolerate disobedience. They made an example of me.”
Garrett’s face hardens into something I’ve never seen before. The warmth drains from his eyes, replaced by ice. This is what his enemies must see right before he cuts them down. The darkness he keeps carefully hidden behind smiles and charm.
The darkness that lives underneath all that gold.
I’ve never seen him look like this before. His hand tightens slightly on my knee. Not painful, just there. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I made my choice.”
He’s quiet for a moment. His thumb moves in small circles over the injury. We’re quiet again. Outside, the village sleeps. The mill wheel creaks. An owl hoots somewhere in the darkness.
Then he withdraws, moving back to his side of the bed. I realize how much I miss his hands on me already.
“Better now?”
“Much.” My voice sounds rough. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He settles back against his pillow, facing me. The moonlight through the window catches in his eyes. “Now will you sleep?”
I get up to check the window one more time to make sure we’re actually safe.
Fingers grab my sleeve. “Wolf. Don’t go.”
The plea stops me. I wasn’t expecting that.
The grip on my sleeve tightens. The smart thing would be to push him away.
But I’m tired. So fucking tired. Not just from lack of sleep, but from years of being vigilant and alone.
Years of watching shadows and waiting for knives.
Years of being nothing more than a weapon someone else wields.
Instead of pulling away, I let my body sink into the mattress. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I let myself just be.
“Alright,” I hear myself say. Just for tonight.
He smiles and it’s beautiful in the moonlight. “Thank you.”
What the fuck for?
I turn onto my side, facing away from him. It’s easier this way and less tempting. Behind me, Garrett shifts closer. I feel the warmth of him through both our shirts. Before I can protest or pull away, he presses against my back and wraps an arm around my waist.
I go absolutely still.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out strangled.
“Keeping warm. Told you I was cold.” His breath is warm against the back of my neck. “Is this alright?”
No. Yes. I don’t fucking know.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it. Every nerve in my body is screaming alert, danger, too close. But underneath that, something else. Something that feels almost like... safety.
“Wolf?” His voice is quieter now, uncertain. “If it bothers you, I can move.”
“No.” The word comes out too fast.
“This is fine,” I say, forcing my voice level.
He relaxes against me. I feel some of the tension drain from his body. We lie in bed with neither of us moving. I’m acutely aware of every point of contact. His chest against my back. His arm around my waist. His knees tucked behind mine. His breath on my neck.
Garrett’s body heat seeps into my back. He smells good, like sandalwood mixed with that fancy soap Kitty would spend half a month’s pay on.
“I’ll kill them.” His voice cuts through the darkness, quiet and deadly. “Whoever did this to your leg. I swear it.”
The vow catches me off guard. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
He laughs softly against my back. “Everyone deserves someone willing to fight for them.”
His persistence should annoy me instead it makes warmth bloom.
Garrett’s breathing evens out completely and I know he’s asleep. I try very hard not to notice how right this feels. How the sound of his breathing makes this tiny room feel almost like home. His arm stays wrapped around my waist, resting there like it belongs.
Maybe it does.
That’s a dangerous thought. Dangerous and completely foolish.
But I let myself think it anyway. My eyes start to drift closed despite my best efforts.
The exhaustion I’ve been fighting for days finally catches up with me, dragging me down into darkness.
Garrett’s arm tightens slightly around my waist in his sleep, anchoring me.
I hear him murmur something too quiet to make out.
The last thing I’m aware of before sleep finally claims me is the warmth of his body against mine and the strange, terrifying, wonderful feeling of not being alone.