Chapter 12 Alaric
ALARIC
Alaric added another log to the wood stove and tried not to watch her explore his cabin. Tried and failed.
She moved through the space like she belonged there. Running her fingers along the rough wooden counter. Peering at the books stacked on the small shelf. Holding her hands out to the stove's warmth.
His wolf tracked every movement. Every gesture. Every time she pushed her glasses up her nose or tucked hair behind her ear.
Mine, his wolf insisted. Ours.
Not ours, he corrected silently. Can't be ours.
But his wolf didn't care about orders or duty or the hundred reasons why claiming her was impossible.
"You really don't have much," Elara said, scanning the kitchen. "No coffee, no tea. What do you drink in the morning?"
"Water."
"That's depressing."
"It's efficient."
She opened a cabinet. Empty except for a few mismatched plates and mugs. "Do you even eat here?"
"Sometimes."
"Let me guess. Protein and vegetables. Nothing interesting."
"Food is fuel."
"Food is joy." She closed the cabinet and turned to face him. "You live like a monk."
"I live like someone who doesn't need distractions."
"Is that what joy is to you? A distraction?"
Yes. Because joy meant attachment. Attachment meant loss. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.
Elara moved to the window, looking out at the storm. "It's really coming down out there."
"It'll get worse before it gets better."
"How do you know?"
"Grew up in these mountains. You learn to read the weather."
She turned back to him. "Where did you grow up? Before here."
"North. Smaller town than this."
"Family?"
"Gone."
The word came out harshly. She didn't press, which surprised him. Most people pushed when they sensed a story.
"I'm sorry," she said instead.
He shrugged. "It was a long time ago."
"Doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt. Was it the same people you talked about early?"
“Yes,” he answered reluctantly.
She saw too much. Understood too much.
She walked to the couch and sat down, curling her legs under her. The firelight caught in her hair, turning brown to amber. Her glasses reflected the flames.
Beautiful. That's what she was. Sitting in his space, filling it with warmth he didn't deserve.
His wolf pushed forward, wanting closer. Wanting to cross the room and sit beside her. Wanting to know if her skin was as soft as it looked.
"So what do you do for fun?" she asked.
"Fun."
"Yes. You know, that thing people do when they're not working."
"I work."
"That's it? You just work all the time?"
"Pretty much."
"Don't you ever want more than just duty and orders?"
Every damn day. Especially now.
"Want doesn't matter," he said.
"Of course it matters. Want is what makes life worth living."
"Want gets people killed. I told you that."
"No, fear gets people killed. Fear makes you so careful that you forget how to actually live." She leaned forward slightly. "When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Not because someone ordered you. Not because it was your job. Just because it made you happy."
He had no answer for that. Couldn't remember the last time he'd done anything that wasn't about duty or survival or protecting someone.
"That's what I thought," she said quietly.
Alaric moved to the kitchen, putting distance between them. "You should eat something. Must be hungry."
"Changing the subject."
"Answering a practical question."
"Still changing the subject." But she stood anyway. "What do you have?"
He opened the small refrigerator. "Bread. Cheese. Some meat from yesterday."
"That works. I can make sandwiches."
"You don't have to."
"I know. But I'm hungry, and I assume you are too. Unless you plan to subsist on water and determination all night."
Despite himself, his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
She noticed. "Did you just almost smile?"
"No."
"You did. I saw it." She came to the kitchen, crowding into his space to look in the refrigerator, filling him with her aggravatingly alluring scent.
His wolf almost encouraged him to howl. She was right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to mark.
He stepped back, putting the counter between them.
"Bread's in the cabinet," he managed.
She grabbed the bread and started assembling sandwiches. "You know, for someone who insists I'm a threat, you're being awfully hospitable."
"Keeping you from freezing isn't hospitality. It's common sense."
"Right. Common sense. Not because you might actually care what happens to me."
He did care. That was the problem. He cared far too much for someone he was supposed to be watching with professional distance.
"Diana would never forgive me if something happened to you," he said instead.
"So this is about Diana."
"About not having to explain a dead journalist."
"Charming as always." She finished the sandwiches and slid one across the counter to him. "Eat. You look like you need it."
They ate in silence. Alaric tried not to notice how she hummed quietly while she chewed. Tried not to notice the way firelight played across her face. Tried not to notice how right it felt to have her in his space.
"Thank you," she said when she finished. "For letting me stay here. I know you didn't have to."
"Had to. Power's out."
"You could have let me freeze at the inn out of spite."
"I'm not spiteful."
"No. You're just grumpy and overprotective and allergic to fun." She smiled. "But you're not cruel. I figured that out today."
"What made you think I might be cruel?"
"The way you look at me sometimes. Like you're trying to decide whether to help me or throw me off a cliff."
Too accurate. Uncomfortably accurate.
"I'm not going to throw you off a cliff," he said.
"Good to know." She carried her plate to the small sink. "I should probably get some sleep. Long day tomorrow of annoying you with questions."
"Looking forward to it."
She laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was warm and genuine, and his wolf practically whined.
"Goodnight, Alaric."
"Goodnight."
She climbed the ladder to the loft. He heard her moving around up there, settling in. The rustle of blankets. The creak of the bed frame.
Alaric sat on the couch and stared at the fire. His wolf paced with frustration at the distance between them. Frustrated that she was up there and he was down here and they weren't together the way they should be.
The way they couldn't be.
He'd survived years of following orders. Years of putting duty before desire. But sitting in his cabin with her scent everywhere, with her warmth still lingering in his space, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep pretending his wolf was wrong.
That she wasn't exactly what he'd been missing.
That claiming her wouldn't be the best decision he'd ever made.
The fire crackled. The wind howled. And somewhere above him, his mate slept in his bed, close enough to touch but still impossibly far away.