MOONBOND: A wolf's claim

CHAPTER THREE

Warmth. That was the first thing Evie became aware of as consciousness slowly returned.

It seeped into her aching limbs, throbbed through her bruised ribs, and coaxed the ice from her battered bones. Her body felt foreign, every muscle protesting with dull, relentless pain.

She tried to shift and felt the sharp tug of a bandage wrapped tightly around her neck, a sling holding her arm close to her chest, and the plaster on her forehead pressed against her temple.

Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and the taste of iron and blood lingered faintly on her tongue. She was alive. Somehow, impossibly, she was alive.

Her eyelids fluttered open and immediately slammed shut against the brightness. Firelight danced across stone walls, making her head throb harder. She tried again, blinking slowly, letting her vision adjust.

A woman sat nearby, in a high-backed armchair, her dark auburn hair tied in a messy bun. She wore a chunky jumper and jeans, hands wrapped around a steaming mug that smelled like rich tea with honey.

"Easy," the woman said gently, her voice soft and warm. "You took quite a knock. Best not to move too fast."

Evie’s fingers grazed the plaster, then traced the stiff bandage along her neck. The pain radiated through her shoulder and arm, shooting down to her hand curled in the sling. Her body was heavy, bruised, every joint reminding her of the car, the snow, the spinning, the sound of metal crunching into stone.

"I… where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, cracking as she spoke.

"Thornwood Estate. You collapsed in the snow, and Nate brought you in," the woman said, standing gracefully. "I’m Sophie. How are you feeling?"

Evie pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to piece together the fragments: the snow, the car spinning, the wall, the taste of blood, the blur of white, the panic clawing at her chest.

"I… I’m… alive," she whispered, more to herself than to Sophie. Her lips curled in a small, incredulous smile. "I’m really alive."

Sophie’s expression softened, knowing but careful. "You’re in one piece, mostly, though it’s clear you’ve taken a serious hit. That plaster is for your head, the sling’s for your arm, and the bandage around your neck… you were lucky to survive."

Evie’s eyes swept her body. She looked pale and disheveled, flannel pyjamas that weren’t hers clinging to her sore limbs, hair damp and plastered against her face. Every movement sent jolts of pain through her broken, bruised body, and a part of her marveled that it was even working at all.

"The car," she murmured, voice trembling. "The accident… I—"

"It’s okay," Sophie interrupted softly. "You don’t need to relive it now. You need to rest. You were severely injured. You were lucky." She moved to a side table and poured more tea from an antique pot. "Drink this. It will help warm you."

Evie accepted the cup, feeling warmth seep into her chest, the taste of honey masking the lingering metallic tang in her mouth. She held it as if it were a lifeline, listening to the snowstorm continuing outside while her body felt heavy and fragile, a broken thing that somehow kept moving.

A knock at the door made her start, and then the tall figure appeared. He filled the doorway completely, broad shoulders, powerful frame, and hair dark as the firelight flickered across it.

Evie froze, her heart hammering in her bruised chest, drawn first to the amber of his eyes, glowing like honey threaded with gold, before the rest of him registered.

"You’re awake," he said, voice deep, rough around the edges. "How are you feeling?"

Evie blinked, overwhelmed. She wanted to answer but found herself lost, mind scrambled, body too heavy and sore to fully respond. "I… I think… I’m alive, thanks to you," she finally managed, voice small and fragile, almost swallowed by the room.

He stepped closer, the scent of pine and smoke trailing him like a cloak. She noticed every detail... the curve of his jaw, the ease of his movements, the quiet intensity in his eyes but her attention faltered, her body still tight and aching, half-distracted by the pain in her neck and arm.

"You were collapsed just inside the gates," he said, amber eyes scanning her face as if reading every thought she hadn’t spoken. "Nate," she corrected herself, swallowing a shiver.

"You don’t owe me anything," he said, still watching, the tension in his presence both protective and overwhelming. "Your car is in our garage. We’ll have it looked at tomorrow."

Evie’s lips parted, hesitating. "I… I can’t afford—"

"We’ll sort it," he interrupted softly, but firmly. "You don’t need to worry about that tonight."

Sophie stepped forward, collecting her mug. Her eyes flickered briefly between Evie and Nate, an unreadable expression lingering. "I’ll let you rest. Third door on the left if you need anything. I’ll come back to check on you later."

And just like that, the room shrank. Evie was left with the heavy quiet, the flicker of firelight against the stone, and the presence of Nate, standing there, observing, waiting.

"You should eat something," he said eventually, but it was quieter, measured. "You’ve had a shock."

"I… I don’t want to trouble you," she whispered, voice shaky, aware of every ache and bruise, every weak joint.

"You’re a guest in my home," he said, firm but not unkind. "We look after guests properly."

Evie’s gaze flitted across the room, the four-poster bed, the stone walls, the tapestries, the fireplace and back to him.

The room was enormous, yet she felt exposed, fragile, her body a map of pain and survival. Her heart was still racing, but a part of her marveled at the improbable fact: she had made it through the storm, the crash, and she was here.

Nate’s expression softened, but it was careful, controlled. "I’ll leave you to rest now. Pull the cord if you need anything."

Evie swallowed, reaching out to him almost instinctively. "Thank you," she whispered, voice barely above the crackle of fire. "For saving me."

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and then turned, his presence still lingering like a shadow of warmth and danger.

Alone, Evie sank back against the pillows, the aches in her body screaming with every small movement. She touched the plaster on her head, the bandage around her neck, the sling holding her arm, and then let her gaze wander to the nightstand. Her phone lay there, charging, silent.

Her fingers twitched toward it, a longing she could not resist, a need to reach out to someone, anyone. She hesitated, breath shallow, her mind spinning with pain, exhaustion, and the strange pull of the night’s events.

Her hand stretched out, trembling, and she picked up the phone. She stared at the screen, blinking past tears, and for the first time since the crash, she wondered: who do I call?