Chapter 7
ELIZA
Iwake to the scent of herbs and something faintly metallic, and for a moment, I have no idea where I am. The last thing I remember is running through the forest, stumbling over roots, hearing snarls, and then—darkness, the sensation of being lifted, the sheer force of him. Cade.
I turn my head slowly, trying not to move too abruptly.
My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache—arms, shoulders, ribs—but I can breathe without pain, and that’s something.
The room is small, warm, and surprisingly tidy.
Sunlight filters through a single window, illuminating shelves stacked with jars of dried plants, books, and some kind of bottles that look medicinal.
A woman is bent over a counter near the far wall, carefully mixing something in a small mortar. She has silver hair pulled back into a bun, blue eyes that seem to take in everything at once, and a calm, deliberate manner. She glances up when I stir.
“You’re awake,” she says softly, her voice soothing. “That’s good.”
I try to sit up, wincing.
“Where… am I?”
My voice is hoarse, my throat raw from running—or maybe from screaming.
The woman straightens, moving toward me slowly.
“You’re safe. I’m Clara Whitlock, healer. This is my home—and right now, you are my patient.” She pauses, looking at Cade, who is seated near my bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “And I assume this is your protector.”
I glance at him. He’s watching me intently, storm-gray eyes sharp and unblinking. His jaw is tight, and I can feel tension radiating off him. My first instinct is irritation.
“Protector,” I repeat dryly. “That’s… comforting.”
Cade doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward slightly.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. “Any pain I should know about?”
I swallow. My pride protests, but the lingering adrenaline and fatigue win over.
“Sore. Bruised. Some scratches. I’m… okay.”
“Okay isn’t enough,” he growls. “You were stupid. I don’t care what you say about curiosity or wanting to see the forest. That—” he gestures vaguely, but the meaning is clear, “—could’ve ended you.”
I glare at him, wincing when I try to shift slightly.
“I had to know what was out there.” My voice is firmer than I feel. “I’ve been hiding in a cabin, doing nothing, waiting for… I don’t know. Waiting for life to feel like something worth living again. And I couldn’t. So I went. I took the risk. And yes, it was dangerous. But I did it anyway.”
His eyes narrow, storm-gray locking on mine.
“So your answer to danger is to throw yourself into it?”
“Yes,” I admit, surprising even myself with the raw honesty. “Sometimes danger is the only thing that reminds you you’re alive.”
Clara steps closer, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“That’s a lot of honesty to bear right now,” she says softly. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience. Your body needs rest.”
I nod reluctantly, aware she’s right, but my mind keeps racing.
“What were those things?” I demand, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “The ones in the forest—how did he… how did he fight them? I saw him tear through them like they were… nothing.”
Cade stiffens beside me.
“You don’t want to know,” he says quietly. His tone is almost warning, but his wolfed instincts hum just beneath it. “It’s not something humans should deal with. It’s not… normal.”
“Not normal?” I echo, brows knitting together. “You mean… you’re telling me what happened out there was some kind of animal attack, but it wasn’t just an animal?”
He hesitates, jaw tightening.
“You’re not ready to understand yet.”
“Not ready?” I repeat, voice rising. “Cade, I was hunted. I ran for my life, and the man who—” I pause, breathing ragged, trying to rein in the panic, “—the man who saved me refuses to explain what it was he saved me from. That’s not ready. That’s fear.”
Cade shifts, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“It’s more complicated than I can explain without putting you in more danger.”
I stare at him, heart hammering.
“Then how about just this: I need to know what I’m dealing with. I need some sense of control, or at least understanding. I can’t just lie here and pretend the forest—or whatever was in it—was an accident.”
Clara interjects gently.
“He is right to be cautious. You’re vulnerable. And if you understand too much too soon, you may put yourself at risk—or make it easier for those creatures to track you.”
“Creatures?” I repeat, incredulous. “You mean… there’s more than one? And they… hunt me?”
Cade exhales sharply, finally meeting my gaze fully.
“Yes. There’s more than one. They’re… not ordinary. And yes, they hunted you. They know your scent. They’ve been tracking it for some time.”
I blink.
“Tracking me?” My stomach drops. “Why… why would they do that? And why me?”
He looks away briefly, jaw tight, before replying, “I don’t know yet. But it’s connected to the attack. That much I can tell you. The forest isn’t safe right now, not for you.”
I take a deep breath, trying to digest everything.
“So you saved me because… you were supposed to? Or because you… care?”
Cade’s storm-gray eyes flick to mine, intensity sharpening.
“Both,” he admits quietly. “I don’t leave people behind. And… there’s more to it than that. You… you matter. More than you realize.”
I feel my cheeks heat, unsure whether to be flustered or terrified by the way his gaze pins me.
“I… don’t even know what that means yet,” I whisper.
“It means stay close,” he says simply. “Stay near me, and you might make it out of this forest alive. Step out of line, and I can’t promise the same.”
I swallow hard, feeling a rush of both fear and something more complicated, something stirring deep inside me that I can’t name.
My pulse thuds as I realize this isn’t just about safety.
Not really. It’s about him. About… the way he moves, the way he watches, the way his presence fills the room even when he’s silent.
Clara moves behind me, checking the scrapes on my arms and shoulders.
“You’ll heal,” she murmurs, “but your body, mind, and instincts need rest. It’s going to take time to process what happened.”
I nod, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to will my racing thoughts into stillness. And for a fleeting moment, I allow myself to imagine safety—not in the forest, not in the cabin, but here, with him, beside me. The thought is dizzying, disorienting, but strangely grounding.
I hear him shift beside the bed.
“I’ll stay,” he says quietly, voice low. “Until you’re ready to face the world again.”
I catch the edge of something raw and unyielding in his posture.
“Why?” I ask softly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Because you’re mine,” he replies, voice steady, dangerous. “And I will not let anyone—or anything—take you from me.”
I don’t respond immediately. The words hang in the air, heavy, and I feel a mix of fear, fascination, and a pull I don’t understand. Mine. The idea echoes in my mind, unsettling and compelling in equal measure.
I want to argue. I want to deny it, to push him away. And yet, when I look at him, I can’t move. My instincts scream to stay, to trust, to cling, even as my rational mind shouts caution.
“You’re relentless,” I murmur finally, voice low.
“And you’re stubborn,” he says, a faint edge of humor undercutting the tension. “Good combination for survival, though. It’ll keep you alive.”
I swallow, heart hammering in my chest. The fear is still there—oh, it’s still very much there—but beneath it, something else grows, something impossible to name.
I realize, with a jolt I don’t quite understand, that this man—this protector, this enforcer, this storm of instincts and strength—is not going anywhere. And I’m not sure I want him to.
He leans back slightly, letting Clara tend to me, but his eyes never leave mine. My thoughts scatter, and I feel the pull stronger, the awareness that the bond—whatever it is—has already begun to weave itself around us both.
And as the sunlight shifts across the cabin floor, catching on dust motes and herbs and the faint scent of him that lingers in the air, I understand, with a strange mixture of awe and terror, that nothing will ever be the same again.
I shift slightly under the blankets, careful of my ribs, and force myself to meet his eyes.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to call you,” I say, voice low, almost teasing, though my heart hammers. “Protector? Wolf? Some kind of… superhuman wilderness hero?”
Cade’s lips twitch, barely a smile.
“Call me whatever you want,” he says, tone even, but I can feel the underlying warning. “Just know that whatever you call me, I’m still going to do my job. Keeping you alive is my responsibility. And I take responsibilities seriously.”
I chuckle softly, the sound brittle from exhaustion.
“Then you’re probably going to get tired of me asking questions.”
“Good,” he replies, voice calm but edged with something deeper. “I don’t like it when people stop asking. Curiosity keeps you sharp.”
I stare at him a moment, thinking of the forest, the way he tore through those creatures, the way he carries a calm ferocity that makes me feel both safe and exposed all at once. My throat tightens.
“Sharp enough to survive this,” I whisper. “I hope.”
He leans back, finally allowing a fraction of distance, though his gaze never wavers.
“You will,” he says, soft but certain. “As long as you stay near me.”
And I know, deep down, I want to—though I’m not ready to admit that out loud.