4

~Vaela 

Just as he’s about to leave the room, I call for him to stop.

“I know you’re immortal and all, but you don’t have anything for me to tend to my wound?” 

Both Hale and I’s eyes drop to the wound. Frankly, it’s disturbing, and if I don’t disinfect and wrap it, the fire isn’t going to end up being enough to save me. 

“Follow me,” he instructs grimly.

I scramble after him, surprised as the warmth of the fireplace follows me from the room. It still hasn’t managed to get under my skin yet, to warm the deepest parts of me that are currently still glacial.

Staring at Hale’s back as we walk, I’m surprised the hallway we have entered into isn’t cold and constricted like the one’s past the door. There’s a subtle, earthy smell to everything that is rather pleasant, and the generous velvet rugs under foot almost have me forgetting I’m in a cave with a Pureblood.

Hale cuts around a corner, before shouldering a door open. It reveals a bathroom, like one I would find in my home. There’s a bath, and granite countertops…There’s even a mirror, which I merely glance at.

I don’t need to see how dishevelled and miserable I look in front of Hale, who appears effortlessly perfect.

“This place is incredible, for a cave,” I say.

“I had it built so I could stay away from people.” There is a hint of amusement in his tone, although I get the feeling that there is plenty of truth to that. 

“You must get tired of it…”

“No. Not really.” He shrugs. 

I watch him quietly. There’s a sadness to him, that honestly makes my heart hurt, even though only minutes ago he was contemplating killing me. He may not like people, but the air of loneliness about him is hard to ignore.

He nods toward the counter. “Sit.”

I follow his gaze. “On the counter?”

“Do you need help or something?” He questions. 

“No…I’m fine,” I say quickly, turning my back against the counter before hoisting myself up. Avoiding Hale’s gaze, I press my back against the cold mirror, trying to avoid slipping into the sink. 

My legs dangle, my wounded knee graphically on display. I look at that, instead of Hale, as he approaches me. 

He grabs the thigh of my other leg, pushing it apart to make room for him to assess my injured one. I jump, biting down on my bottom lip, my leg burning from the weight of his borderline possessive touch, even if it’s just through my clothes. 

His silver gaze rises to mine, consumed by ulterior meaning. I look away.

He exhales, waving his hand to the left of him. A basket appears, seemingly out of nowhere, filled with bandages and other medical supplies. 

“Woah,” I marvel. “Magic.”

“Mmm.”

He pulls a small bottle out, twisting the cap before positioning it over my leg. Knowing what’s coming, I manage not to flinch despite the overwhelming sting the liquid causes as it glides through my shredded skin. 

Being mortal is rough. 

Once the pain finally dissipates, Hale puts the bottle down and starts dabbing the area around the wound. The more he cleans away, the better it actually starts to look. From what I remember, this shouldn’t take too long to heal. 

Hale’s expression is stoic and bored, until his brows crease ever-so-slightly. 

“What’s with that look?” I ask softly. Seeing lines, as faint as they are, etched into his flawless skin makes him finally look real. I can only imagine what he would say if I brought it up. 

He shouldn’t be real. I shouldn’t even be here right now. 

“It’s strange, being around someone so…” he breaks off, looking at me through thick, dark lashes. 

“What?”

He shakes his head, looking back down at the wound he dabs away at. 

“Say it, I won’t burst into tears,” I prompt flatly. 

“Someone so youthful.” He says it like it’s a swear. I would kick him if he wasn’t tending to my knee at this very moment. 

“I’ll have you know, I died young in the mortal realm, and spent sixty-seven years in Death’s realm, serving my sentence. I’m no child,” I inform him. Sixty-seven very long, lonely years. None that can compare to his though, I imagine. 

The bloodied rags vanish before he can even place each one down on the counter. More magic. His ease of use with it suggests what he is truly capable of is hiding somewhere deep and untouched within himself. 

“Do you know how old I am?” His question has so much weight to it. He’s really asking, do you know anything about me?

“Old. Like really old,” I reply. 

His jaw sets tightly, a muscle faintly quivering. “Mmm.”

“I did some research before coming up here.” I thread my fingers through my hair, watching him. He doesn’t react, concentrating on his work. I’m surprised by how adept he is, his fingers moving fluidly. 

“And what made you come up here?”

Has he always been this close? I’ve been trying not to stare at him, as tempting as it is. I stare over his bowed head, through the gentle, sweeping black curls, and at the bath. A bath would be excellent right now, considering how much further the cold has dug itself within me. Were I not so hyper focused on Hale, on what he is doing to my leg right now, and how heavenly masculine and rich he smells, I would probably be going mad with the feeling. 

“Curiosity,” I force out. 

He shifts, squeezing some cream from a tube onto my knee before gently smearing it with another soft rag over the wound.  

Suddenly, he nudges a particularly tender part of the wound with the rag, making me yelp in response, reaching out on instinct to grip his shoulder tightly, my entire body shifting forward in protest. 

Hale tenses, gaze flickering back up to me. Not angry, not even surprised. Just…intense. 

“Apologies,” he murmurs, as I tug my hand away, pressing into the mirror. 

“You really don’t have to do this.” I stumble over my words, trying to avoid an awkward silence. I still can’t believe he’s being so kind, so gentle with me, considering everything. 

“You’re shaking so hard there is no way you could do it yourself,” he mutters, tugging at some gauze. 

I hadn’t even realised, but he’s right. I’m cold, I know that, but chances are I’m quivering so incessantly because I’m around an intimidating Pureblood who appears so unbothered by me, while I’m a complete mess. 

“How did we go from you wanting to kill me to you tending to my wounds?” I ask lightly. 

He remains grim, not looking up as he stretches the gauze out before winding it around my knee. “I don’t know if I can keep you alive, Vaela. I know little about mortals.”

I don’t know how to keep myself alive, so I don’t expect him to take on that onus. 

“All I know is I can’t get this infected, and I can’t get too cold,” I note mindlessly, amazed at how quickly he dresses my wound. If he doesn’t know about mortals, how is he so good at this? “Oh, and I should probably eat…At some point.”

He looks up. “I like to eat.”

He likes to, but he doesn’t need to. I miss that already about being immortal. Now I’m going to eat three times a day to survive, which makes me more of a burden on him. 

“I can cook.” 

He shakes his head. “No need.”

He finishes the dressing, standing back to admire his work. 

“Thank you,” I say honestly. Without his intervention, I would be laying out on the rocks, cradling an infected knee while the cold seizes me.

He holds his hand out to me, brows raised. Inhaling, I wrap my fingers around his gloved ones, and let him help me to the floor. 

It’s hard to walk, but I make it work, hobbling after Hale as he strides down the hallway. 

The dining room is even more impressive than the foyer and bathroom. Interesting, considering Hale’s desire to be alone. The table alone is larger than any I’ve seen in my life, and mercifully is laden with food plated gloriously. 

“Wow…I haven’t felt hungry in over a century,” I breathe, clutching my stomach as I approach the table. 

Hale falls into the farthest seat, gesturing over the spread. “Go ahead.”

Eagerly, I sit a few seats down from him, looking over everything that makes my mouth water. His ability to wave things into existence is something I’ll miss when Eyla comes to save me. In reality, I shouldn’t be missing anything about him. 

He watches silently while I fill my plate up. Right as I go to dig my fork into a piece of pie, I pause, hand hovering uncomfortably over the plate. 

“You haven’t…”

His eyes narrow. “Hmm?”

“Poisoned the food?” It feels wrong to even say it, considering how nice he’s been to me so far. And yet, I can’t get the thought from my head. 

His fingers knit together as he leans forward, not releasing me from his gaze. “If I wanted to kill you, Vaela, I would be far more creative.”

“Comforting.” I eye the contents of my fork. 

Hale exhales tiredly. “Eat. I want to ask you some questions.”

I shove the fork into my mouth, and chew quietly. The food is divine. 

Swallowing, I wipe the corner of my mouth. “Me?”

“How did you come to know about the spell pool?” He questions. 

I can’t tell if it’s a demand or not. Perhaps he’s just rusty when it comes to communicating with people, or he’s naturally direct. 

All of a sudden, there’s more value in looking at my plate than at him. “The mortality one? Ah, I didn’t. I slipped in.”

“Yet you came all the way up here?”

“I like researching, exploring. It seemed like a challenge, so I did it,” I admit. 

Being immortal means no challenge. Climbing up a mountain seemed like the next step for me, since I’ve been to many territories in this realm and done many things. This felt right, to conquer something new. 

And now I’m here, with an entirely new challenge. 

“And?”

“And…I know there is magic up here. I wanted to see what it was all about,” I shrug. Not sure why he’s so curious. Perhaps he’s been trying to guard the pool of magic and is concerned I’m going to return home and tell everyone. I have no intention of doing that. Especially not anymore. 

He angles his head. “Interesting.”

“Not really.” I scrape the edge of my fork along my plate, not wanting to leave an ounce, despite all the food here in front of me. I’m starting to get full, but what if Hale decides he doesn’t want to be so helpful later, and this is the last meal I see. 

“How’s the food?” He asks. 

I drop my fork, looking back up at him. “Hale. Why do you want to know all that about me?”

“I want to know what sick game Fate is playing by sending a pretty mortal right to me,” he muses after taking a moment to think about it. 

My throat is suddenly dry. Pretty. Despite his preference for solitude, I have no doubt Hale has seen many pretty faces in his long lifetime. I can’t tell if I should be honoured or uncomfortable. 

“I haven’t been sent to you?” I find myself saying. 

“Maybe not. But Fate has a cruel sense of humour, and a dislike for me.”

Oh, as in the Pureblood Fate. Of all the Immortals, he’s the one I know the most about, and to think Hale has actually met him makes me shiver. I hope to never come across the man who may have played a part, inadvertently or not, in me becoming mortal all over again. 

I wrap my arms around myself, cold again now that I’m not distracted by food. “I’m sorry I’m such a curse.”

“The opposite,” he murmurs. 

The way he holds my gaze so intently is a skill I too would like to master. He makes me rethink everything I’ve thought about this place, and about him each time he speaks. 

“I’m tired,” I say quickly, rubbing my arms. 

“Go warm up by the fire. Your friend will return soon, I imagine.” He gestures toward the door, so I get up quickly, the food vanishing off the table. 

I welcome the warmth of the fire, as I crawl down next to it. Hale doesn’t follow me. 

Come back soon, Eyla. And bring help.