Page 18

DORIAN

T he attic had been restless again—floorboards groaning without reason, the temperature shifting like someone was pacing back and forth behind the walls.

He’d gotten used to that kind of unease, but tonight, something had changed.

There was a different kind of weight in the air, like the house was holding its breath.

Then he smelled blood.

Not much. Just enough for his instincts to rear their head.

He found Autumn curled up in one of the guest rooms on the second floor, her back against the door like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her arms were wrapped around herself, head tilted down, and her entire body was stiff with the kind of stillness that came from trying not to break.

The moment she looked up, his chest tightened with the need to comfort her.

Her eyes weren’t crying, but they were hollow. Tired. Distant.

And then he saw the blood.

His bear surged forward so fast it made his hands tremble.

“You’re hurt,” he said, already crouching beside her. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I didn’t—” She shook her head, the motion quick and frustrated. “It wasn’t that bad. I just needed… space.”

He didn’t argue. Not yet. Not when she looked like she was one touch away from unraveling completely.

“Let me see,” he said softly.

She hesitated, then slowly lifted the hem of her sweater. Four deep scratches marred the skin along her ribs, angry and red, already beginning to welt. He inhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

“Damn it, Autumn.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not. These look infected already,” he said, voice low, even.

Before she could protest, he stood and reached down. “Come on. Bathroom. Let me patch you up.”

She looked like she wanted to argue. But she took his hand anyway.

They moved slowly down the hall, her steps light but uneven. He didn’t miss the way she winced every time she shifted her weight or the tight way she held herself. Protective. Wary.

He led her into the master bathroom—newly remodeled, mostly functional—and started the tap in the clawfoot tub. Steam began to rise, curling through the air like lazy ghosts.

“I can handle this,” she said quietly, watching him pull a clean towel from the cabinet.

“I know,” he said. “But I want to help.”

That seemed to settle her.

While the tub filled, he grabbed the small tin of salve Missy had made him last fall after he’d stepped on a cursed nail. Smelled like peppermint and power. He set it on the edge of the tub along with a clean washcloth and a glass of water.

Autumn stood still, her arms wrapped tightly around herself again.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“I know,” he repeated. “But I’m going to.”

She watched him for a moment, as if she were trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded and peeled her sweater off, slow and deliberate, revealing a simple sports bra and the angry red marks down her side.

Dorian didn’t stare.

Didn’t gawk.

He just stepped forward, dipped the cloth in warm water, and knelt beside her as she sat on the tub.

“This might sting,” he murmured.

“Go easy on me, Ranger Bear,” she tried to joke, but it came out wrong as she winced and her breathing hiccuped.

He pressed the cloth gently against her ribs, watching her jaw tighten as the warmth seeped in. Her skin was soft and marked by more than just these wounds—old scars, faint freckles, the evidence of a life lived quietly, and a body that carried more than its fair share of weight.

“You get used to pain?” he asked after a while, voice low.

She didn’t answer immediately.

“Not really,” she said eventually. “You just learn to expect it.”

He nodded. “That’s a damn sad way to live.”

“I don’t remember the last time it was any other way.”

He wanted to say something. Offer comfort. But she didn’t need soft words—she needed someone to stay.

He rinsed the cloth, squeezed out the water, and reached for the salve.

“This’ll help with the swelling,” he said, opening the tin. “Mind if I…?”

She shook her head.

So he dipped two fingers into the cool balm and gently spread it along the edges of the scratches, careful not to press too hard. Her breathing hitched once. He paused.

“You okay?”

“Just cold,” she said too quickly. Lie.

He didn’t call her on it.

After a few quiet minutes, he sat back on his heels. “The tub’s ready.”

She looked at it, then at him. “Are you leaving?”

He hesitated. “I can. I just want to make sure you don’t pass out is all.”

She pulled her hair over one shoulder and slipped out of her leggings as he looked away, then eased into the bath, hissing softly as the heat touched the scratches.

“Holler if you feel faint or need anything.” He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

“You can stay. If you want.”

He paused.

Slowly, he turned back and sat down beside the tub, back against the tiled wall. “You always this stubborn?”

“It’s the only way I know how to be.”

They didn’t speak for a long time after that.

The water lapped gently around her, steam curling around the edges of the room. She leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, eyes closed, tension easing just enough for him to see the woman underneath all the armor.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she murmured eventually.

“Do what?”

“Let someone take care of me.”

“You’re doin’ fine,” he said, voice softer now. “You don’t have to get it perfect.”

She cracked one eye open. “You always say the right thing?”

“Not always. But I mean it when I say I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Autumn didn’t reply. But after a moment, she leaned just slightly toward him, her fingers brushing his.