Chapter 26 Peanut Butter #2
How did he get this? She had it the night she was murdered, but it was never recovered.
I would’ve stayed out here in the snow on my hands and knees if it weren't for Andrik. He carries me inside despite my protests, tucks a blanket around my shoulders, starts a fire, and places a mug of something warm into my hands.
I think I nodded when he spoke—maybe even answered. But it’s all static.
The world is moving too fast and too slow at the same time.
I saw him. I heard him.
And I can’t stop seeing her scarf—smelling the hint of her perfume. It’s like a piece of her is back in my arms again.
“L?venkae, are you listening?” he says gently. “There was a note... with the flowers.”
My stomach rolls again.
“What?” My voice is raw. “Show me, I need to see it.”
I shoot off the couch, the blanket pools at my feet.
“I have it right here.”
I spin on my heel and stalk toward him. He unfolds the paper and hands it to me.
“So bold, following my shadow. You won’t have to wander long, little dove. I’m coming for you soon—
as I always was.”
Andrik pov-
I smelled it before I saw it.
The subtle scent of flowers, spice, and rot hit me before the cabin even came into view. Beneath it, Lumi’s panic bleeds into the snow—fear rolling off her in waves I can‘t outrun.
She bolts from my arms the second she spots the bouquet on the doorstep. Her scent sharpens the moment her eyes land on the scarf tied around the stems.
I recognize the scent from the locket; it's Anna's.
She drops to her knees and retches into the snow. I drop beside her, gathering her hair, whispering words of comfort—but she doesn’t come back to me.
I lift her into my arms, but she fights me the whole way to the door. There’s a note tucked underneath the flowers. I slide it into my pocket.
Inside, I wrap her in a blanket, light the fire, and press a warm mug into her hands, though I know she won’t drink it. She’s elsewhere now. Lost in the dark.
“Lumi?” I try. But she doesn’t respond.
I take the mug back before it spills and crouch in front of her. “Sael?n?”
Still nothing. Her eyes don’t even track me. She’s frozen in a storm I can’t stop.
I kneel, and the note rustles softly in my pocket.
I hesitate.
Part of me wants to burn it, to keep his darkness from touching her again. But she’d rather fall apart from the truth than be protected with a lie.
“There was a note,” I murmur. “With the flowers.”
That snaps her out of her trance.
She flies off the couch, “What? Show me. I need to see it.”
“I have it right here.”
She tears it from my hand with shaking fingers. Her eyes shift frantically left to right, scanning over the words. I don’t know what they say, but I see the look in her eyes.
It’s Mark—or someone willing to cross a line so violent, so intimate, they’re not just playing with her grief anymore.
They’re trying to take it.
She doesn't say a single word, just calmly sets the note down on the arm of the couch, and stares into the fire, hollow-eyed and unreadable.
I lower myself slowly, resting my forehead against her stomach as I wrap both arms around her hips.
“Lumi?”
There's no answer besides the slight tremble under her skin.
“I'm going to draw you a bath,” I whisper. “I won't force you to get in, but I think it would help.”
I don't wait for a reply. I rise with her still wrapped in my arms and carry her into the bathroom.
I set her gently on the bench before turning the water slightly warmer than usual. I toss a handful of dried herbs from the forest—sweet fern, crushed birch leaf, powdered snowdrop root. They all aid in relaxation.
The scent drapes across the air like a silk veil.
I light a ring of candles and turn off the overhead light.
“Hey, L?venkae...” I murmur. “Wanna get in?”
She doesn't say anything, but her fingers twitch towards me, and that's enough.
I reach for the hem of her shirt, slow and careful, giving her every chance to pull away.
She doesn't.
She lets me undress her in silence.
There is nothing lustful in the way I touch her, only care.
The bond finally yields.
I gather her in my arms and ease her into the water. It ripples around her like a second skin, clinging gently to every curve.
The steam curls around her throat like a ghostly scarf.
I sit beside the tub, resting one hand in the water, brushing my fingers lightly against hers where they float.
“I'm right here, my love,” I whisper. “Even if you're not ready to come back yet.”
Hair sticks to her cheek in long, dark strands. Tiny beads of water cling to her lashes. One drop falls, not a tear, but something inside me shatters anyway.
“He's not here anymore, Sael?n.”
I keep my voice soft, careful not to speak his name. My hands tremble as I reach for the soap behind her. I nearly drop it.
Gods. I'd rather her kick, scream, rage. Anything but this stillness—the silence makes it feel like I've already lost her.
I only wash the places she scraped when she ran. I let her soak until the water cools, then wrap her in a thick towel and carry her to bed.
I don't bother with clothes. I just tuck her between the flannel sheets and pile furs over her shoulders.
I curl around her and run my fingers through her hair until her eyes finally flutter shut.
But I don't close mine. I lie awake as the light outside fades. She doesn’t stir even when I shift beneath her to hold her tighter, cradling her to my chest.
Her breath stays soft, steady. One hand rests limp on my chest, fingers barely curled into my fur.
The warmth of her breath ghosts over my collarbone. I listen for every flicker of distress, but none comes. She sleeps like there’s nothing left worth waking for, as if her body has finally surrendered. I won't let it, not for long.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest. I count them slowly—four hundred and twenty-three—until her hand twitches in her sleep, and she wraps her whole fist around my thumb. My thal'kisha. I hum, low and deep in my chest, so she feels me beneath her. So she knows: she’s not alone.
If I close my eyes even for a second, I might dream this isn’t real, so sleep isn’t a luxury I can afford right now. If it’s ever a choice—rest or watching the soft rise and fall of her chest while her breath warms the place my heart melts a little more each day—
I choose this.
Every time.
Every life.