Chapter 5: The Bond Doesn't Know

Alaric's POV

The castle had been quiet for eleven days, and I could not stand it.

Linnet never made much noise.

She walked softly and spoke softly, and she left doors open a hand's width so the rooms would breathe.

I had not known that was a sound until it stopped.

On the twelfth morning I found Biscuit's basket in the kitchen bin.

It was the wicker one with the worn cushion, and someone had thrown it out with the eggshells.

I took it out and carried it up to my study and set it by the window.

I did not know what else to do with it.

The Luna suite had been repainted.

Verity had asked for it, and I had said yes.

She had waited eleven years, and I had no right to say no.

She came to my study at noon with a tray of tea.

She was wearing the lavender again.

My wolf drew back from it, low in my chest, and I did not know why.

"You're pale," she said, and set the cup by my hand. "You haven't eaten."

"I'm fine."

"You're grieving," she said. "Your mother, and all of this."

She touched my sleeve.

"Let me look after you, Alaric. I've wanted to for so long."

I looked at her hand.

It was a kind hand.

She had sat by my bed when I was twenty and half dead from the river.

Hers was the first voice I heard when I woke.

I owed her my life, and I had owed her this for eleven years.

I told myself so, and it felt like a debt being paid and nothing else.

On my desk, under a paperweight, lay the royal vet's written report.

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