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Chapter Ten
I awoke to the soft sounds of Wicked’s breathing, his face just inches from mine. He lay on the bed, his top half still bared and his hands folded over his stomach. I didn’t move a muscle, only sca
A moment later, the back of my neck prickled. I looked up to find him watching me, his gaze thoughtful and brimming with concern. I became immediately aware we were both half naked, though I was on my stomach. It occurred to me he must have seen my bared chest while he was tending to me, and I frowned. But his touches had only been tender and caring last night.
He’d said he wasn’t that kind of monster, and I was inclined to believe him on that, at least.
“I hope it’s okay. I wanted to keep an eye on you, and I guess I dozed off before I could move to the sofa,” he said. It took me a moment to realize he was apologizing for falling asleep in the bed. I moved my head, my hair rustling against the mattress.
“It’s fine.”
He relaxed visibly at that. Neither of us moved while we lay there in silence, our gazes meeting and then pulling away as though neither of us could quite figure out what to do with ourselves. Finally, he sat up, and I did my best not to notice the flex and pull of the muscles in his back and his arms while he leaned over to stretch and then rubbed his hands down his face.
“How are you feeling?” he finally asked. I shifted, testing my shoulder, and winced at the stab of pain.
“Okay. A little sore.”
“Hungry?” he asked, looking over at me, and I quickly averted my gaze lest he catch me staring. “I’ll make you some more tonic for the pain, too.”
“Sure, thank you,” I replied before he scooted off the end of the bed and padded over to the kitchen. He got to work as I closed my eyes, curiously soothed by the now familiar sounds of him cooking.
For the next few days, Wicked tended to me, changing my bandages regularly and bringing me food and water and more pain tonic. While I healed, I drifted in and out of sleep until I could finally sit up and move my arm again. The wound was still healing, but I’d improved considerably.
Wicked didn’t leave the entire time, save once, to pick up the healing ointment he’d promised, tending to me with all the attention of a doting nurse. Why was he bothering? Did he need his sacrificial lamb in tiptop shape the next time he abandoned me in the forest?
Still, I couldn’t fault him for the careful way he tended to me, even if it was technically his fault I’d been hurt in the first place.
It was about a week later before I could move around and take care of myself again. I’d been sleeping in his bed every night, but now that I was feeling better, the question hung between us.
“We can keep sharing the bed,” he said, not meeting my eye as he cleaned up the dishes after supper. “If you want.”
The discomfort of sleeping in my cell overriding any of my reservations, I nodded. Wicked had been the perfect gentleman already, clearly going out of his way to stay on his side of the bed. If he’d wanted to try something, he’d already had ample opportunities.
“I’ll have to chain you to it, though. I can’t have you ru
I folded my arms. “Absolutely not.”
He turned to face me, leaning against the counter and crossing one ankle over the other, hands braced against the edge. “Then you can sleep in your cell.” The look on his face brooked no argument, and I knew I wouldn’t win this one.
My nostrils flared in indignation. “Fine.”
“Glad you can see reason, Princess,” he said in the most condescending voice possible. I wrapped my hand around my butter knife, strategizing on where I could shove it so it would do the most damage. He caught the movement and then smirked.
“Don’t bother. I’m a hundred times stronger than you could ever hope to be, Princess.” He rewarded my glower with a smug smile before he turned his back on me, confident I posed absolutely no threat.
Later, when I crawled into the bed at my place against the wall, he did what he’d promised, digging out one of those manacles he’d used on me earlier, securing it to my ankle and then the bed. It left me free to move, but fuck if it wasn’t demeaning. He then gave me a pointed look and stuffed the key deep into his pocket, as if to remind me there was no way I was getting to it.
“Don’t think I’d hesitate to reach in your pants for the key if the opportunity arose,” I said, not entirely sure if it was a joke. Instead of the reaction I’d expected—a roll of his eyes or a glare—his mouth fell open and then snapped shut and...gods, was he blushing?
Suddenly I didn’t know where to look as my own face heated. He cleared his throat before he looked away, pretending to busy himself with his boots as he pulled them off.
He turned down the lamps, leaving only the glow of the hearth, and lay down next to me. As the mattress dipped, I felt the tangible weight of his presence like a flashing beacon. The silence we normally shared had shifted, stretching between us with a tension molded from what felt like a thousand thoughts neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
Trying to scatter the heaviness in my chest, I rolled to my side, my back facing him. It did nothing to quell the uncomfortable tightness that pulled low in my stomach.
“Good night,” he said softly, but I didn’t answer.
A few days later, Wicked a
The reality of my situation came crashing to a shuddering halt. We’d been enjoying an easy sort of truce while I’d recovered from my fall. I’d almost forgotten why I was here and why he’d stolen me from my home. Maybe some part of me had thought he’d changed his mind, but clearly I was wrong. Why had he bothered to take care of me at all?
“Can I come?” I asked, and he pi
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Princess.”
I shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
There was a small tug at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing while he continued dressing. When he was done, he’d erased all traces of humor before he pointed me back to my cage.
This time, he did me the courtesy of cleaning it up and providing some blankets and pillows, along with food and water and even a few books to pass the time. It was still a cage, but it was a little more pleasant. A small part of me could hardly blame him for locking me up. I wouldn’t trust myself either, and I was far from finished with my escape attempts. As far as I was concerned, that dagger still had his name on it.
After he locked it, he stared down at me for a moment and I stared back, my expression defiant, willing him to feel the shame of what he was doing. There was a flicker in his gaze. A hairline crack in his stony facade that I pla
His footsteps crunched in the snow, fading away before I sat back and waited.