Chapter 10 #2
When the doctor finally arrived, Alaric watched every movement with ruthless focus. The man’s hands were steady. His questions specific. He checked Sera’s pupils, her reflexes, pressed carefully along her ribs while Alaric counted her breaths with her, silently, willing them even.
Every small win became survival. Every hiss of pain cut deep.
Alaric caught himself clenching his fists and forced them to relax. This wasn’t about him staying checked. It was about her feeling safe enough to heal. The doctor examined Sera carefully while Alaric stood close enough to touch, close enough to see every flicker of discomfort cross her face.
“Bruised ribs,” the doctor finally said. “Whiplash. Mild concussion symptoms, but nothing alarming. No fractures. No internal bleeding that I can detect. You were lucky.”
Alaric didn’t believe in luck.
“She shouldn’t use heat yet,” the doctor continued. “Give it an hour. Then warm water only. Not hot. Ten minutes at a time. And no alcohol for a bit.”
Sera glanced at Alaric. “He’s going to ignore that.”
Alaric shot her a look. “I’m not.”
The doctor’s mouth twitched. “One drink later, if you insist. And only after you’re settled.”
Magnus assigned guards to patrol the grounds before leaving.
When they were finally alone, the house felt too quiet.
The silence pressed in, thick and unnatural after the violence of the night.
Alaric moved through the space methodically, checking doors, windows, sightlines, even though he knew Magnus had already done the same.
Only when everything was secured did he allow himself to focus inward again.
He guided Sera to the couch slowly, every step measured. When he knelt in front of her, the distance between them became unbearable even though he was close enough to touch.
His own body had begun to protest now, deep aches setting in along his shoulder and spine, but he ignored them. Pain was background noise. Her breathing was everything.
“You should lie down,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t want to close my eyes.”
He understood that all too well. He sat beside her instead, close but careful, his arm draped around her shoulders without pulling her too tight. She leaned into him anyway, her head resting against his chest like it belonged there.
After a while, he spoke. “When you asked me if you were going to die… I didn’t answer because I didn’t know how without lying.”
She tilted her head up to look at him. “And now?”
“Now I know the question wasn’t really about dying.” His voice dropped. “It was about whether someone had decided you mattered enough to kill.”
Her breath caught. “Yes,” she whispered.
He tightened his arm around her. “They have. Which means we change how we move. How we live. I won’t pretend otherwise.”
She studied him for a long moment. “You’re not scared.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said honestly. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”
That earned him a faint, tired smile. “Good.”
Later, when the house had finally settled into something like quiet and the worst of her shaking had eased, Alaric made the decision.
He didn’t announce it. He simply rose, held out his hand, and waited until Sera took it.
The hot tub wasn’t about indulgence or escape.
It was about loosening muscles locked too tight, about coaxing her body into believing she was no longer in danger.
He moved slowly, matching his pace to hers as he led her toward the warmth, every step a calculated promise that nothing would be rushed and nothing would be taken.
He stopped her just beside the hot tub, hands settling at her hips with quiet authority. “Let me,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
He took his time undressing her, movements unhurried, easing fabric away from skin that was already bruising, already sensitive.
He watched her face the entire time, adjusting his touch when her breath hitched, murmuring reassurances.
When she stood bare before him, wrapped only in steam and heat and his attention, something fierce and protective tightened low in his chest.
Only then did he strip off his own clothes, quicker, more economical, his focus never leaving her. He drew her back against him for a brief, grounding second, his mouth at her temple, his hands firm and steady, before guiding her the last steps toward the water.
He watched her walk, noted the careful way she moved, the moments where she leaned just slightly more into him. He adjusted the lights first, dimming them until the space became cocooned and private, then tested the water with his hand, adjusting it down twice before he was satisfied.
When they eased in together, the warmth closed around them, climbing over skin that was still buzzing with shock. Sera let out a breath she’d clearly been holding for far too long, her head tipping back for a moment as if the water itself had reached inside her and loosened something knotted tight.
Alaric watched her closely, every muscle in his body taut with attention.
He catalogued the way her shoulders sank by degrees, the way her breathing deepened, the faint hitch that still caught whenever the water lapped too close to her ribs.
He adjusted his position without thinking, angling himself so she could lean into him if she needed to, so his body formed a barrier between her and the open space behind them.
She shifted, testing her range of motion, then stilled when a spark of pain flashed across her face. His hand tightened reflexively at her waist.
“Easy,” he murmured.
“I know.” Her voice was quiet, steadier than before. “It just seems strange. Like my body doesn’t trust that it’s over yet.”
“It might take a while,” he said. “We won’t rush it.”
Minutes stretched, unmarked by anything except the slow roll of water and the sound of their breathing. Steam curled upward, softening the edges of the world until it seemed smaller, contained. Safer.
Sera’s fingers drifted beneath the surface, brushing along his forearm. The contact was light, almost accidental, but it sent a sharp awareness straight through him. He didn’t move away. He didn’t lean in. He let the moment exist exactly as it was.
Her touch traced the line of muscle, paused, then continued, more purposeful now. He could feel the faint tremor in her hand.
“You’re hurt too,” she said quietly.
He glanced down. “Nothing that matters.”
Her fingers stilled. “That’s not true.”
The simple certainty in her voice hit him harder than he expected. He turned slightly so he could look at her fully, the steam framing her face, her eyes dark and intent. ”It matters to me,” she said.
Something in his chest shifted, deep and dangerous. He lifted his hand from her waist just long enough to catch her wrist gently, not stopping her, just mooring her in the moment.
“Careful,” he murmured.
She met his gaze without flinching. “I am.”
The space between them tightened, charged with everything they weren’t doing. Every breath became premeditated now. Every inch of distance a conscious choice.
He released her wrist slowly, his fingers trailing back to her waist, resting there with unmistakable intent but no pressure. She leaned into him then, just slightly, her shoulder brushing his chest. The contact was almost nothing, and yet, like everything.
Alaric breathed her in. Warm skin. Heat and clean water. Her. The reality of her alive and here pressed against him settled something brutal and aching inside his ribs.
“For a second,” he said quietly, “when you didn’t answer me… I thought I’d lost you.”
Her breath caught. She turned her face toward his, close enough that the warmth of her words brushed against his skin. “I heard you,” she said. “I just couldn’t move yet.”
The knowledge hit him hard and clean. He tightened his arm around her without pulling her closer, just enough to let her sense the truth of it.
“I won’t let that happen again,” he said.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t make light of it. She just nodded once, slow and solemn, as if she understood the strength of the promise he was making.
The water lapped gently against them, the warmth deepening as minutes passed. Alaric glanced toward the edge of the tub, counting time automatically, then back to her face.
“We should get out soon,” he said, even though every part of him resisted the idea.
“In a minute,” she said softly.
He let himself have the minute.
She shifted again, carefully this time, turning just enough that her knees brushed his beneath the water. The contact sent a slow, undeniable awareness through him, heat coiling low and dangerous. He stilled, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to keep his hands where they were.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
The moment stretched, taut as a wire.
When he leaned in, the kiss was slow and restrained, his mouth brushing hers. No rush. No demand. Just the promise of everything waiting between them, held back by choice rather than doubt.
She responded instantly, her lips parting on a soft breath, her hand curling lightly into his shoulder as if to steady herself. The contact deepened the ache instead of relieving it.
Alaric broke the kiss before it could tip them over the edge, hovering so close he could feel her breath against his mouth, both of them breathing a little too hard.
“Not tonight,” he said quietly, his mouth still close enough that the words brushed her lips. It was restraint, not reluctance.
Her eyes darkened, heat and need flickering there without apology. “Yes, tonight,” she said softly. “I want us to let go.”
Alaric’s hand flexed once at her waist, possessive and dominating, as if reminding them both how thin the line already was. “Then hold on,” he said low and intent, his grip tightening just enough to make the meaning unmistakable. “Because when I let go, I’m not stopping.”