My eyes flutter open, and I find myself cradled securely in Nickolas’s arms as he strides through the castle’s imposing entrance hall. I blink owlishly, taking in my surroundings with a mixture of confusion and lingering exhaustion.
“You’re awake,” Nickolas rumbles, his deep voice vibrating against me in a way that has warmth blooming low in my belly.
“Yeah,” I murmur, making a halfhearted attempt to extricate myself from his hold. But Nickolas simply tightens his grip, his arm like an unyielding band across my back.
“I didn’t wake you when we arrived,” he explains, his tone brooking no argument as he begins ascending the staircase. “I wanted to carry you.”
I frown up at him, puzzled by his uncharacteristic tenderness. “Why aren’t we going to my room?” I ask as he pushes through his room doors and lays me on the bed.
Nickolas parts his lips to respond, but whatever he was going to say is cut off by the sound of the door banging open behind us. We both whirl towards the noise, and I feel my breath catch in my throat at the sight of the newcomer.
“Amelia!” Beatrice cries, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she takes in my appearance. Before I can so much as open my mouth, she’s crossing the room in a flurry of skirts, pushing Nickolas out of the way and enveloping me in her arms.
“Beatrice,” I manage to choke out, returning her fierce embrace and breathing in the comforting herbal scent of hers. Over her shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Nickolas moving towards the bar cart as he pours himself a generous tumbler of amber liquid.
“How are you, child?” Beatrice asks, finally releasing me and holding me at arm’s length to give me a critical once-over. “Are you alright?”
“I’m good,” I assure her with what I hope is a convincing smile. In truth, I feel anything but “good” – my body is still aching from my ordeal, and my heart is a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. But the last thing I want is to worry her further.
“And your wolf?” she presses, her keen eyes raking over me in a way that makes me feel utterly exposed. “Is she recovering?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Almost fully healed.”
Beatrice’s lips purse in a tight line, but she gives a curt nod of acknowledgment before her gaze shifts, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. “Something’s changed,” she declares, her tone making it clear this is not a question.
“Really?” I ask, feigning innocence even as my heart kicks up a staccato rhythm against my ribs. Surely she can’t know… can she? “What do you mean?”
“Did something happen between the two of you?” Beatrice blurts out, her words causing Nickolas to choke on his drink, spraying the expensive whiskey across the polished floor in a fine mist.
“No!” he sputters vehemently, swiping at the droplets clinging to his lips with the back of his hand. But I can see the way his shoulders have gone taut, the muscle ticking in his clenched jaw as he struggles to regain his composure.
My gaze darts back to Beatrice, who is watching the entire exchange with narrowed eyes. “Why do you ask?” I hedge, trying to keep my voice light and casual.
Beatrice’s lips purse in a thin line as she scrutinizes me. “I just have this feeling that something… significant happened between the both of you,” she says, her tone laced with a hint of reproach as her gaze flicks briefly to Nickolas.
I can see him stiffen out of the corner of my eye, his throat working convulsively as he avoids Beatrice’s pointed stare. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and I feel a sudden, irrational surge of anger towards him. If he’s going to be this obvious about what happened between us, why did he even bother sleeping with me in the first place?
“Nothing happened,” I lie, turning my attention back to Beatrice and holding her gaze steadily. “We’re both just… tired from the journey, that’s all.”
Nickolas makes a small noise of agreement, finally tearing his eyes away from the whiskey stain on the floor to meet my gaze. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw, and I can see the sheen of perspiration beading across his brow. But he doesn’t contradict me, simply giving a tight nod of confirmation.
Beatrice’s eyes narrow further, flicking between the two of us with an inscrutable expression. For a long moment, the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air.
Then, finally, Beatrice seems to deflate with a weary sigh, reaching out to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “Alright, if you say so,” she concedes, though her tone makes it clear she isn’t fully convinced. “You must be famished after everything. I’ll prepare something for you right away.”
She leans in to press a soft kiss to my forehead, her lips lingering for the barest moment before she pulls away. “I’m just glad to have you home safe, my dear,” she murmurs, her eyes shining with a complicated blend of emotions.
“Me too, Beatrice,” I whisper, my throat tight with a sudden swell of affection for her than I thought possible.
With one final, inscrutable look at Nickolas, Beatrice turns and sweeps from the room, leaving an expectant hush in her wake. I can feel Nickolas’s eyes burning into the back of my head as he moves away from the bar, his footsteps slow and measured as he approaches the bed where I’m seated.
“Please leave,” I say, turning around and lying down, my voice slightly more than a hoarse rasp as I tug the plush duvet around my shoulders. “I’d like to rest before Beatrice returns with food.”
For a long moment, there’s no sound but the crackle of the fire in the grate and the thud of my own heartbeat in my ears. Then, finally, I hear Nickolas exhale – a soft, shuddering breath that raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
“I still want you,” he murmurs, so low I almost don’t catch the words over the rush of blood pounding in my ears.
And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a sort of finality that makes my chest ache in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. Slowly, I turn to stare at the heavy wooden door, my brow furrowed in confusion and a thousand other emotions I can’t even begin to untangle.
What did he mean by that? Does he regret what happened between us, or does some deeper part of him still crave the intimacy we shared? And why does the thought of him wanting me again fill me with equal parts longing and dread?
With a weary sigh, I flop back against the pillows and squeeze my eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet the endless loop of questions swirling through my mind. I don’t have the energy to make sense of Nickolas’s mixed signals right now. All I want is to give in to the bone-deep exhaustion pulling at me and let the world fade away, if only for a little while.
Maybe when I wake, I’ll have found some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos. Or maybe I’ll simply have to accept that when it comes to Nickolas, I may never truly understand the depths of his feelings – or my own