64

He doesn’t meet my gaze, just playing with the edges of my hair as if fascinated by them. “The way you smile? The way your face lights up when you get excited? The way you speak, carefully measured yet cautious? I like the way your eyes grow fierce when you’re angry, the way you forget decorum and just say whatever you’re thinking.”

My heart is beating too loudly. Can he hear the thudding sound?

“I like the way you concentrate when you’re reading a book and your nose scrunches.”

There’s honest, and then there’s Cedric. My face feels hot as I cry out, “Okay, I get it! You can stop now.”

He blinks. “But I’m not done.”

My lips move as I struggle to speak. “You’re not?”

“You asked what impact you’ve had on me. I want to tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to.” I’m sure my face is a bright red color. “I get the picture.”

“So, I should stop?”

“Yes. Please.”

Was he always this sincere? I can’t remember.

Or maybe I do. There were small, sometimes clumsy gestures that I tried to ignore because they made my heart feel funny. He was always looking out for me. If I liked books, he’d have a dozen sent to the small office I was given. They’d be random tomes, on war strategy, the Veil, ancient texts. Some I found interesting, some I had no idea what to do with.

If I liked something particular to eat, I’d suddenly be having it served at every meal. He knew I liked to walk in the gardens, and he had all the benches fixed and a swing installed. I spent most of my time in the greenhouse, and he gave instructions to the gardeners to provide every seed they could find. Most of them were dull, harsh plants, and I didn’t use them, but his gesture was sweet.

At the time, I was wary of everything he did. But now, when I think back, I see that he was trying to make me feel more comfortable. His bark was worse than his bite. And while he was a harsh man, if I focus on his actions and not his words, my experience can be painted over in broad strokes as not entirely unpleasant. He cared, and he tried to show it even if he couldn’t say it.

I swallow.

I was a political prisoner back then. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it. But nobody goes that far for someone who’s merely a prisoner in their eyes. Cedric’s harsh behavior in the beginning can be justified, perhaps. But then, he began trying to make me comfortable. At some point, the castle stopped being a prison and started becoming a home to me. Would I have felt that way if he had not gone out of his way to perform all those small gestures?

Perhaps time makes it easier to study our past with a more forgiving gaze.

I don’t know what to do. There’s a strange, uncomfortable sensation in my chest. My wolf is happy, though. For it, the solution is simple. But human emotions are more complicated. They have layers of nuance to them.

“Leanna.”

He keeps using my name, and it keeps making me want to focus on him, to look at him, to listen to him. I like the sound of my name on his lips. He’s right. He’s nothing like Erik. Erik’s got nothing on thus huge, hulking man who touches me so gently and speaks my name with such sincerity.

I don’t know what love is. I’ve read romance novels, but they’re all filled with dashing heroes and simpering heroines. This doesn’t feel like anything described in those books. These feelings are raw and overwhelming, and I don’t want to face them right now.

I know I’m being a coward, but I need time to sort out my own tangled-up emotions.

“I—” I let out a shaky breath, looking away from Cedric. “You can take Finn out on runs after dinner. And—” Why is this so hard? It’s like I’m facing a meandering river and the risk of drowning is keeping me from dipping my foot in. My heart is pounding. I want to look everywhere but at him. Because if I look at Cedric, I know I might make a decision that I will regret. I need time to think.

“And?” Cedric is persistent if nothing else.

“And I’ll stay here while you go.”

He makes a displeased huff but doesn’t argue. I see him pick up the cup of tea before him and sniff it. “What is this?”

“Raspberry and lemon tea.”

He takes a sip before looking horrified. “It tastes like piss!”

I gape at him. “No, it doesn’t! It’s one of my favorites.”

“So, you like the flavor of piss?”

I snatch the cup away from him, hissing, “What is wrong with you? Just leave it if you don’t like it.”

He plucks the cup back out of my hand, puts it to his mouth, and drains it in one go. Slamming it down, he grimaces. “You’ve developed some strange tastes since coming here.”

“You didn’t have to drink it if you hated it so much!”

Now it’s Cedric’s turn to look insulted. “Of course I did. You made it for me.”

Flustered at his reasoning, I pick up both cups and move to the sink to wash them. I need to do something with my hands to distract myself. Fortunately, he doesn’t follow me.

“This hut is too small.”

“It’s not a hut,” I say irritably. “It’s my house. And it’s not small; it’s reasonably sized.”

He stands up, and my eyes are inadvertently drawn to him. Cedric is not a short man by any means, but his head isn’t exactly brushing against the ceiling, either. It’s his frame.

Cedric is huge. Years of fighting have built his body to look like a tank. I’ve never admitted it to anyone but myself, but I quite like his bulging muscles. I never knew I had a preference when it came to a man’s physical appearance, but I always enjoyed looking at my mate. I used to watch him from a distance whenever I had the opportunity.

The men in the Eastern Kingdom were built differently than Cedric. Their hands were dainty, and they were well groomed with trim figures. No wonder Vivian considered Cedric and the other Northern wolves to be barbarians. Compared to the Eastern ones, these men are massive in both their human and animal forms.

It’s a similar comparison with respect to the Human Wolf Kingdom. Even Erik. I’ve seen him train, and he has muscles in all the right places, but compared to Cedric, he looks almost frail.

“Why are you staring at me?” Cedric asks bluntly all of a sudden.

My face grows hot, and I quickly turn my attention back to the dishes in the sink. “I’m not. And there’s nothing wrong with my house. You’re just used to castles and other large spaces.”

Cedric comes to stand behind me, and my hands are covered in soapy water when I go still. I can see his reflection in the kitchen window. He seems to be fascinated by my short hair for some reason.