Claimed by the Alpha Who Raised Me

Chapter 5

Elowen's POV

When I came out of the washroom Kael was gone from my room, but I could hear his voice through the door. He was in the corridor with Stellan, speaking low enough to be private, but I caught enough to understand.

"She saw it happen," Stellan said. "Her parents dying right in front of her. The shock alone should have broken her. The fact that she's still functioning at all says more about her strength than anything else."

There was a pause and I heard the faint scratch of Stellan flipping through pages. "The meat aversion, the fear of darkness, the insomnia, those are all normal responses to what she went through. She's cooperative and she's got a gentle nature. If you're patient with her she could recover in a year or so."

Another pause. "The rash will heal well with the salve. If she keeps applying it, it won't scar."

"Thanks," Kael said, and I heard him stand.

I scrambled back to the bed and pulled the blanket over my head because I didn't want him to know I'd been listening at the door.

He came into the room and the door closed behind him. I heard the chair scrape against the floor and everything went quiet. Five minutes passed, then ten, and he didn't move or speak.

He just sat there watching me and I couldn't stand it anymore. I pulled the blanket down just enough to peek over the edge with one eye, and there he was, sitting in the chair beside my bed with a thick stack of documents spread across his lap, signing them one after another with a steady focus that shut out everything else in the room.

He looked different when he worked, less sharp and more settled, like the cold edges he carried around all day finally had permission to soften. The lamplight caught the angles of his face and the scars on his hands moved with each stroke of the pen, and I found myself staring again without meaning to.

He must have felt it because he turned his head just enough to meet my eye over the edge of the blanket.

"Staring again. Rude."

“Well, it’s either you or the ceiling. I chose the better view.”

Something quickly flickered in his eyes and my face burned, realizing what I just implied.

“I didn’t mean you’re handsome or anything. There was nothing else to look at.”

He didn’t reply but a smirk crossed his lips as he continued to work on his files.

“So, have you thought about it? Can I move in with you?”

"That depends,” he replied, not raising his head.

“On what?”

“Whether you are useful to me.”

His eyes found mine and there is no humor in them. They had the look of a man who measured everything in terms of function, so I sat up a little straighter and tried to match his tone.

"I can be useful. Don't underestimate me."

He turned his chair to face me and I caught the faintest trace of interest in those amber eyes, like I'd said the one thing he hadn't expected.

"And how exactly might you be of use to me?"

I thought about it seriously because this felt like a test I couldn't afford to fail. "I can cook for you."

He scoffed. "I could hire a chef for each day of the week if I wanted to. Hard pass.”

"Then," I hesitated, pulling the blanket up to my chin while I worked up the nerve, "I'll take care of you when you're old."

It was hard to tell if his mouth moved or not, but his tone stayed dry even as the edges of it softened just barely. "If you don't sleep soon, we'll see which one of us ends up taking care of the other."

I lay back down and pulled the blanket to my nose and watched him through the gap above the fabric. He went back to his documents and the steady scratch of his pen against the paper filled the room with a rhythm that was quiet and constant and strangely— safe.

I don't know when my eyes closed, only that the sound of his pen was the last thing I heard, and for the first time since the incident, I didn't dream about blood.