Warmth
832 Words
Elle POV
Warmth.
That was the first thing I felt.
Not the biting cold of metal.
Not the choking silence of the table.
Not the crushing weight of restraints pulling my limbs apart.
Warmth.
Soft.
Steady.
Alive.
Something — someone — held me.
My eyelashes fluttered against darkness.
Still blind.
The potion still thick behind my eyes, trapping me behind a curtain of black.
My heart lurched.
Had he left me again?
No.
No, I was… cradled.
My cheek rested against something solid — skin? Cloth? Armor?
I breathed in, and the scent answered the question.
Smoke.
Ash.
Dragon.
Blake.
My body stiffened instinctively.
The arm around me tightened by a fraction — not enough to restrain, just enough to anchor. Enough to tell me:
He noticed I woke.
My throat felt tight, raw from earlier panic.
“Little wolf,” he murmured, voice low, deep, and far too close to my ear.
A tremor ran through my body — betraying me instantly.
He exhaled, the sound a mixture of regret and something darker, heavier.
“You’re safe,” he whispered.
I wanted to believe him.
I think I did.
But my hands were still bound — crossed in front of me this time, wrists locked together in soft leather cuffs that pressed gently but firmly. My ankles felt free, but my eyes—
Still blind.
I blinked uselessly into the void.
Anxiety tightened in my chest.
I curled slightly, and his hold shifted to support me.
The bed dipped under his weight.
I was on a bed.
His bed.
I could tell by the smell, by the texture of the blankets, by the subtle heat radiating from the mattress.
I swallowed hard.
He lifted one hand — I felt the air move — then warm fingers brushed a strand of my hair away from my face.
“You were cold,” he murmured. “So I moved you.”
Moved me.
From the table.
From the restraints.
From that cold metal world where I’d been left to tremble.
My breath shuddered.
“Am I… still being punished?” I asked, barely audible.
His thumb traced along my temple.
“No,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“But I’m still tied.”
A pause.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Necessary.
“For your protection,” he said.
My lip trembled — but not from fear.
“From what?” I whispered.
His breath hitched.
It was soft, but I heard it.
“From me.”
The bed felt suddenly smaller.
Or I felt smaller.
Or he felt impossibly large beside me, all heat and danger and tension.
My fingers twitched against the cuffs.
He noticed instantly.
“Do they hurt?” he asked.
“No… just strange.”
“Good.”
His hand found mine — careful, deliberate — fingers brushing over my knuckles.
Heat surged through me, embarrassingly fast.
“Your breathing changed,” he whispered.
“I… didn’t mean to.”
“You react to everything I do.”
It wasn’t accusation or pride.
It was wonder.
Fear.
Longing.
My blind eyes burned, useless in the dark.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Still night,” he said.
His voice had softened to something warm, almost tender.
“Only an hour or two has passed.”
An hour.
It felt like a lifetime.
I shifted, trying to gauge his position. His arm tightened around my waist reflexively, steadying me.
“Don’t,” he murmured.
“Not until your vision returns. I won’t have you hurt yourself.”
His protectiveness curled around me like another blanket.
“Blake?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
I hesitated, then:
“Were you… angry? When those other voices came?”
A dangerous silence followed.
When he finally spoke, the darkness seemed to vibrate with the deep rumble of his voice.
“No one comes near you.”
His arm tightened slightly.
“No one hears you. No one even breathes outside that door without my permission.”
His breath fanned my cheek, hot and sharp.
“You’re mine to protect.”
A shiver pieced through me — fear, yes, but also something warm… something terrifying.
I swallowed.
“Why?” I whispered. “I’m just—”
His hand covered my mouth gently before I could finish.
“Don’t say that,” he growled softly.
“I won’t hear it.”
My heart pounded.
He let his palm linger for a moment, then slowly lowered it — tracing my jaw with his fingertips.
“You’re trembling again,” he murmured.
“I can’t see,” I said softly.
“You will.”
His voice dropped, almost a vow.
“As long as I’m here, you will.”
I let myself lean into him.
Just for a breath.
Just long enough to feel safe.
His heartbeat thundered beneath my cheek.
And through my blindness, one truth settled quietly inside me:
I feared him.
But I feared the idea of him leaving me…
More.
- Writer
