Page 9

Chapter 8

Rolf

R olf let out a sigh, watching her muscles twitch. Adeline went lax as her body sank to the ground and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Damn if she wasn’t a fighter. The creature of the night mumbled something incoherent, still fighting to get upright, though her body was no longer under her command.

He kept a fair bit of distance between them, observing her for signs that she was faking it. But as the herbs flooded her system, little by little, he noticed how hard it was for her to have the barest of movements.

A twinge of guilt wrapped itself around his ribs and squeezed, and though he had sworn he wouldn’t talk to her any more than necessary, he found himself saying, “I can’t have you in my cabin for long, especially when your coven might be looking for you. You’re going to be so mad at me when you wake up.”

He withdrew another handful of dried fruit and shoved it into his mouth.

“Ba—” she stuttered. And though she couldn’t open her eyes, she took a deep breath and slurred the rest: “Basssstard.”

“I know,” he said, his heart breaking at how weak she looked. Gentlemen never treated their guests this way, but he didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to find a way to live. “But I don’t see another way around this. Trust me, you won’t want to be here in a few days, either.”

“Who—” she started. Rolf exhaled and wiped his forehead, thankful he had the foresight to give the rabbit more dried juniper berries. Her lips barely moved, but she managed to whisper, “Wha’re you?”

“Not something you want to mess with, I assure you,” he whispered, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. If she could move, she would have recoiled—should have recoiled—from his touch. “I promise you, though, that I won’t hurt you.”

Yet, he thought to himself. He wouldn’t hurt her yet.

Her head lolled on her chest, and delicately, he scooped her up. Once more, he placed her in his bed and covered her with furs.

He skinned the rabbit carcass and tossed the meat into the stew. His stomach growled again, and he was quietly relieved that the juniper and garlic worked so well, because at least he could let his guard down for a few more hours. He debated, briefly, chaining her up in case she woke too soon, but he didn’t have it in him to make her even angrier .

And with the snow piling higher, they were going to be stuck here, together, for a while. Maybe, by the time she’d had proper rest and the blood had a chance to nourish her enough, they could be civil, he could outfit her for the trek down the mountain, and he would never see her again. Adeline was someone important, and her coven was sure to come after her. Covens usually did when one of their own went missing. The faster he could get out of this mess, the better.

Adeline cried out, her body paralyzed and the words still muffled, but despite his head screaming that he shouldn’t get close, he pulled his chair over to the edge of the bed and wove his fingers through hers. Almost instantly, she calmed. Though he knew he should let go of it, he stroked her hand with his thumb. She looked so helpless in his bed, the strength having left her body when the juniper berries took hold.

He ate his stew with his free hand and watched as her dreams played out across her face. Another violent nightmare tore through her, and she sobbed, tears pouring down her cheeks. Carefully, he put down his bowl and brushed a strand of her hair from her face. The guilt flooded him, and he almost wanted to wake her, but he let his hand cup her cheek until she settled. He was shocked that she was warm to the touch. He thought she would have still been ice cold; she was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

What kinds of terrors wove through her dreams to make her cry out in such a way?

Another tear rolled down her cheek. It settled in his palm, and he had this strange feeling that he had done this once before. But he couldn’t recall anything in great detail, as if he were looking through a linen sheet hung to dry in the heat of the summer. Occasionally, the wind would blow and share a glimpse of what was behind it, but then it would settle, and only long shadows would play against the canvas.

He shook his head, wondering if he was trying to recall a memory or if his loneliness was merely playing tricks on him. She cried out again, and he stroked her cheek, wiping away any evidence of her pain. Adeline sighed contentedly and rolled over. Slowly, he pulled away and tucked her hands under the furs.

Soft orange firelight danced along her back, silhouetting her shadow onto the wall. He traced the lines of her body, his hand hovering in the air above her figure, moving in time with her deep breaths. She sighed again, and the furs slipped from her shoulders. Several marks peeked out from underneath her corset.

He jolted in his chair, anger coursing through him at the thought of anyone laying a hand on her. Which was foolish since he had only talked with her for a few hours. But he already felt protective of her. He shook his head, trying to free his thoughts.

Bad idea . She will kill you. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

Rolf leaned back in his chair, folding his arms tightly across his chest, forcing his body to give her a wide berth. But how was he supposed to get space when the snow piled higher and higher every minute?

He groaned and ran his hands over his face. His scraggly beard caught in his fingertips, and he scratched at the skin underneath, his mind whirling with ways to keep himself at a distance.

The snow touched the base of the window, and if it kept falling at this rate, they would be completely snowed in by the morning. He bent down to retrieve his stew, and her scent filled his nose again, weaving its way deep into his subconscious. He cursed and tossed the bowl into the sink with a clatter, not even bothering to see if she stirred from the sound. Then he yanked his chair back by the fire, resolved to put as much physical space between them as he possibly could. If only he knew it would work.

“Adeline, Adeline,” he exhaled, and he paced the room.

She cried out again, and he forced his feet to stay planted by the front door. The room darkened as her crying intensified, and he wondered, for a moment, if the shadows in the cabin could sense her distress. His hands flexed at his sides, and he knew that he couldn’t drug her again. Already, he felt like he had broken some sort of gentleman’s code.

But he was no gentleman.

The next time she woke, she would be furious. He would take her wrath, because he always did what he had to for survival.