Bound to The Blanchard Brothers

Chapter 3: One Night Stand

AVA

It hurts.

It hurts to breathe, it hurts to feel, it hurts to even open my eyes.

But when I finally manage, I feel something… off.

Something… warm. Solid. Silent. Enveloping.

Moonlight spills in from a window beside me, and my gaze drifts to the ceiling above.

“Huh?” I murmur.

I try to move, but my muscles cramp in rebellion.

“Where… am I?”

Fingers trace the thick blanket underneath me. Bandages wrap my feet. The oversized shirt hanging past my thighs feels foreign.

“What… happened?”

Pain slices across my ribs the second I try to sit up. I hiss, collapsing back onto the sheets.

Scenes flash through my mind: the ball. Joanna. Jason. The Clover Pack.

“Him!”

Almost on cue, the door creaks open, and there he is.

The one who brought me here.

The one who saved my life.

My eyes trace every inch of him.

Down his tall figure to his broad shoulders and the way the hem of his black shirt clings to him.

Sleeve rolled up to his elbows, a noticeable tattoo trails down his forearm, stained by a bit of blood.

Might be his, maybe mine, maybe not.

A calm breeze drifts from outside, carrying his scent. The instant I catch it, something inside me stirs.

Almost embarrassingly, he notices.

He turns, and the moment his silver eyes rest on me, my heart skips.

“Mnn?” He groans.

When he takes a step in my direction, I flinch. Not enough to move, but enough to react.

“Are you really afraid of the man that saved your life?” He asks, teasing, but edged with something untradable.

I want to snap back, but my throat is tight.

My body burns with adrenaline and something else I'm not ready to name.

“I'm… not afraid” I manage, my voice firmer. “And can you please stop looking at me like I'm some piece of meat.”

“Piece of meat?” He chuckles. “I think you're confusing admiration with… something else, Ava”

Heat rushes to my cheeks.

I want to ask who he is, what he wants, how he knows my name, but my tongue feels heavy, useless.

He steps closer, the heat from his body warming me up without even touching me.

Suddenly the room feels smaller. Tighter.

“Is there something you want to ask?” He says, picking me apart with a glance.

I swallow, trying to force my voice past the lump in my throat.

“Who… are you?”

He tilts his head, “Is that really necessary?”

My heart hammers.

“Well you know who I am” I manage, each word a battle. “It’d only be fair if—”

“I know many things about you, actually. But if you're so invested in a proper introduction, I'll give you one later.”

I blink, the space between us vibrating with something raw.

Still, my body refuses to move back.

He steps closer again.

“If you're feeling skeptical, can the fact that I didn't do anything to you while you were unconscious at least prove my innocence?” He says. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would've done it already.”

I eye the fireplace, the cabin, the stitched wounds, then try propping myself up on my elbows.

“Saying it like that doesn't exactly help your cause” I sit up straight, feet dangling over the wooden floorboards.

“You needed rest. And healing. You’d had a long night, and I simply helped.”

I blink, trying to process it all. Long night?

He probably doesn’t even know the half of it.

“You really expect me to just… take your word for that?”

“Yes. I do.”

My jaw tightens, and his gaze softens in response.

Once again, he seems to notice my hesitation.

“I saw what happened at the party.”

The words make my chest tighten.

“You were… watching me?”

“I was watching everyone. You just stood out.”

The tension between us coils tighter.

He… saw everything then.

“I don’t need your pity—”

“Good. I wasn’t offering any.”

God, he has a reply to everything.

I glance away, trying to collect myself, but the truth is, every muscle in my body feels like it’s been frayed.

He’s close, too close, and I can’t seem to shake the warmth radiating from him.

Noticing, he moves closer, sitting on the edge beside me.

For some reason, I don't move away.

“Your body’s stiff. Probably cold as well. You’re not fully recovered just yet” he says quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough that I hear.

“And how do you know that? You psychic now or someth—”

When I turn back to him, his face is right in front of me, the warmth from his skin now just millimeters away.

I can't take my eyes off his lips, but I force myself to, and look deep into his eyes.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

I don't answer. I don't think I want to. So he answers for me, pulling over a thick blanket from the nearby chair and draping it around me.

Just being near him is almost enough to uncoil the tension in my chest.

“You’ve been through a lot the last couple hours. Letting someone help you doesn't make you weak.”

I hesitate, my guard’s still up.

But why do I trust a stranger more than I trust myself?

Leaning slightly into him, I stopping myself before I go too far.

“I'm gonna go make you something warm” he says, about to stand. “Would some hot cocoa—”

I gently pull him back by his shirt before he can stand.

“This'll do just fine” I say.

The fire flickers, throwing shadows across the room as we stare at each other.

He doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t try to close the distance further. He simply lets me rest against him, letting the silence, the heat, and the gentle pressure of his presence speak.

The tension between us doesn’t vanish.

It lingers.

Electric. Simmering.

Not too much. Yet somehow, just enough.

A soft stirring moves through me, deeper than usual.

It takes a moment to notice, but when I do, the culprit's crystal clear.

My wolf. Vera.

It's the first time since last night I can feel her.

I can feel it. She can feel it too.

Something faint but undeniable.

Something… new.