His Regret: I Am Not Your Mate

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Eric's POV

Aiden and I rode out again, this time to deal with a rogue wolf that had been picking off stragglers near the eastern border. Should have been simple. Rogues usually were, half-starved and desperate, easy enough to put down.

We found him fast, cornered him against a rock face, and I moved in first like I always did.

That was when it hit me.

My chest seized up mid-stride, like a hand had reached into my ribs and squeezed. My legs kept moving but my mind went somewhere else entirely, somewhere dark and spinning, and for one terrifying second I couldn't remember why I was running or what I was running toward. The rogue's snarl turned into a blur of sound. My heart slammed so hard I thought it might actually crack open right there on the battlefield.

I stumbled. Actually stumbled, my knees buckling under me like a green pup's.

"Eric!"

Aiden's voice cut through the ringing in my ears. He was beside me a second later, taking down the rogue himself while I knelt there in the dirt, gasping, my hands pressed against the ground to keep from falling all the way over. My whole body shook. Sweat poured down my back even though the air was cold.

Aiden stared at me like he'd never seen me before in his life. Maybe he hadn't. I'd never let anyone see me like this, not once, not in all the years we'd fought side by side.

"What in the Goddess's name—" he started.

"Don't," I managed, forcing the word out through gritted teeth. "Don't say anything. To anyone."

"Eric, you're—"

"I said don't." My voice cracked on it, which didn't help my case at all. "If the men see me like this, it's over. They need to believe I'm solid. I need you to trust me on this, Aiden."

He looked torn, jaw tight, eyes darting between me and the rogue's body cooling a few feet away. But he'd known me long enough to know when I meant something all the way down.

"Fine," he said. "But you need help. Now."

He didn't wait for me to argue. He took off toward camp, leaving me shaking in the dirt, humiliation crawling up my spine right alongside the panic that still hadn't loosened its grip.

Flora's POV

I got the message that a warrior needed comforting out past the eastern ridge. That was all I knew. I grabbed my satchel and ran, my mind already sorting through breathing techniques, calming words, the usual routine I'd done a hundred times before.

I ducked into the tent and stopped cold.

Eric was on the ground, curled forward, his whole body shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His hands were pressed flat against the dirt like he was trying to hold the earth itself together.

My breath caught in my throat.

Part of me wanted to turn around and walk right back out. After everything he'd said to me, after every insult, every sneer, some ugly little part of me thought he deserved to sit in this alone the way he'd wanted me to believe I deserved his contempt.

But that part of me didn't last long. It never did. I wasn't built to walk away from someone breaking apart in front of me, no matter whose face it was.

I knelt beside him.

"Eric," I said softly. "I'm here. You're not alone."

He didn't answer. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, his breath coming in short, ragged pulls that scared me more than I wanted to admit. I laid my hand against his shoulder first, gentle, testing, and when he didn't flinch away I moved closer, sliding my palm down his trembling arm.

I started humming, low and steady, the same tune Daisy taught me years ago, the one that had pulled me back from my own darkest nights more times than I could count.

"Breathe with me," I whispered. "Just breathe."

His shoulders were rigid under my hands at first, fighting it even in this state, like some part of him refused to accept help even while falling apart. But slowly, so slowly, the shaking began to ease. His breathing started to slow, matching the rhythm I hummed without him even realizing he was doing it.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. I lost track, focused only on keeping my voice steady, my hands steady, pouring calm into him the way I'd been taught, the way I'd done for strangers and friends alike, never once for him.

Finally his breathing evened out. His eyes cleared, focus slowly returning, and I watched the exact moment he realized whose hands were on him.

"Flora?" His voice came out hoarse, confused, stripped of every ounce of arrogance I'd ever heard in it before.

I pulled my hands back and sat on my heels, putting a little distance between us before I said something I'd regret.

"You're okay now," I said. "The worst of it's passed."

He stared at me like he didn't know what to do with what had just happened, like the whole thing didn't fit inside whatever picture he had of himself. Good. Let him sit with that for a while.

I stood, brushing dirt off my knees, and looked down at him one last time before I left.

"I never wanted this for you, Eric," I said quietly. "I never wished this on you. But maybe now you understand why comforters matter. Why we're not a waste of time, or hand-holding, or lullabies for grown men." I paused at the tent flap, glancing back at him one more time. "Maybe now you understand what it costs, being the one nobody's allowed to comfort."

I didn't wait for his answer. I walked out into the cold morning air, my hands still trembling faintly from holding his panic back with my own two hands, my heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the work I'd just done.

Behind me, I heard him call my name, low and rough, like he wanted to say something he wasn't ready for yet.

I didn't turn around.