Page 26

ROLLO

P ain came first.

A low, heavy pulse behind his ribs like the echo of thunder after a storm. His limbs felt leaden, thick with sleep—or magic. Maybe both. Something inside him stirred—his bear, sluggish but alive.

Then the scent hit him.

Cedar. Sage. And her.

Delilah.

His eyes cracked open to warm light spilling through wooden slats in the ceiling above—the familiar beams of his sanctuary cabin. The air hummed with the comfort of home, but it was the presence beside him that made his breath catch.

She was curled in the old armchair near the bed, knees tucked to her chest, one hand loosely holding his. Her head rested against the armrest, her hair a wild halo of curls and forest dust. Her boots were kicked off, and her shawl had slipped from her shoulder.

And still, she held on.

He tried to speak, but only a rasp came out.

Her eyes snapped open.

She blinked, sat up quickly, eyes searching his. “Rollo?”

He tried again. “You stayed.”

She nodded, brushing hair from her face. “Of course I stayed.”

He winced as he shifted slightly. “What happened?”

“You almost bled out,” she said gently, but her voice trembled. “I found you at the old site. The forest—” her hand tightened around his. “It helped bring you back.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Her eyes were puffy. Her hands looked like she hadn’t let go of him for hours.

“Delilah…”

“Don’t.” She shook her head, blinking fast. “Not yet.”

He nodded once, silent.

They sat like that for a stretch, the silence not cold, just heavy with everything they couldn’t yet say.

She spoke, voice softer now.

“I was mad. Furious, really. Still am, a little.”

“I know.”

“But then I saw you—” Her voice caught. “And everything else just… fell away.”

He watched her, his heart aching in ways the wounds couldn’t touch.

She leaned forward, her forehead gently resting against the back of his hand.

“You idiot,” she whispered. “You tried to face him alone.”

“I thought I had to.”

“You never have to do anything alone,” she said fiercely, looking up. “Not anymore.”

He blinked slowly, swallowing the emotion that choked his throat. “You came back.”

“I always will.”

He lifted her hand, rough fingers brushing her knuckles. “I believe you.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips, watery and fierce all at once.

She reached for the poultice near the nightstand and began checking his bandages, her movements careful but practiced.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered.

She stilled. “No. You don’t.”

He grimaced. “Fair.”

“But I don’t deserve you either,” she said, meeting his gaze. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

She leaned forward again, pressing her lips to his temple. “That we choose each other. Even when it’s hard.”

His chest ached—not from the wound, but from everything that lived beneath it.

“Delilah…”

She looked at him, open and waiting.

“I love you,” he said, voice thick. “I never stopped.”

Tears welled again in her eyes, but she smiled. And for a moment, everything else faded. The forest. The war stirring in the shadows. The pain.

All that remained was her.

And the home he’d never really lost, not as long as she still held his hand.