4. Chapter

Caroline’s POV

The world was nothing but soft, dark fog at first.

Heat and throbbing pain churned in my skull, like someone was dragging an iron bar back and forth through the base of my head. Whatever I was lying on wasn’t a car anymore, not a seat, not anything hard and cold… it was warm. Weirdly, disturbingly pleasant warm.

Then something else started to push through the haze: sounds. Low, rumbling sounds in the background. Like someone was breathing angrily. A man.

And my body, annoyingly, was also making it clear I was still alive: everything hurt, pulled, ached, tingled a little… but I was alive.

My eyelids moved slowly. Way too slowly, like someone had smeared glue over them. The first stab of light hit me in the face so hard I let out a faint, miserable groan.

“Finally.”

That’s the moment you wish you’d just stayed unconscious.

I tried to open both eyes, even though my head protested immediately. My vision swam, blurry and unfocused at first, but after a second I managed to lock onto a shape.

Him.

The arrogant, storm-drenched, mountain-sized asshole from the blizzard.

The man who looked at me like he was pissed off at me and… something else. I had no idea what. But I did not like it one bit.

His green eyes weren’t glowing as fiercely as before, but even now his gaze felt like a spotlight, sharp and assessing and judging all at once. His black hair hung in damp strands across his forehead, his arms were crossed, his shoulders rigid, every line of his body coiled tight.

“Where… where am I?” I croaked.

Before he could answer, my mouth decided to run ahead of my brain.

“And why do I feel like a truck backed over my skull?”

Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile.

More like… the first twitch of an impending nervous breakdown.

“Because a tree went through it,” he said flatly. “With your car.”

“Oh. Great,” I groaned. “At least I almost died in style.”

“You didn’t die. But you were close.”

His voice was too hard, too cold. The kind of voice people use when they don’t want to admit how much something rattled them.

I tried to sit up, but my body immediately vetoed that idea, and a sharp pain shot through my head. The man’s hand shot out, catching my shoulder, pushing me back down with one quick, effortless movement.

“Don’t move.” His tone was pure command. Not a request. An order. “You cracked your nape in the crash. Myra had to clean it out.”

“Who the hell is Myra?” I asked, staring up at him. “Your local vampire doctor?”

He just looked at me for a heartbeat, drew in a breath, and glanced away. A little muscle jumped in his temple.

The big, bad mountain man was nervous.

Because of me.

That was… new.

“She’s not a vampire,” he muttered. “She’s a healer. And don’t worry, no one’s bitten you. Yet.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” I said dryly. “I was starting to think I’d been kidnapped by a cult.”

That made him look back at me. Properly this time.

His stare sharpened. Judging. Unamused.

“Do you always talk this much?” he asked.

“Only when I’m in mortal danger. Or when some stranger is barking orders at me like a rude asshole.”

He drew in another long breath, one of those I’m-going-to-scream-into-the-void-but-I-have-too-much-self-control breaths.

“Rowan,” he said at last.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Rowan is my name. So you have someone to swear at, since you’re clearly very good at it.”

“Oh, perfect.” I tilted my head a little, instantly regretting it as pain flared. “And what should I call you, Rowan? Captain Dickhead? Commander Asshole? Or just ‘the infuriating mountain hulk’?”

I was almost sure he snorted.

“You actually enjoy annoying me, don’t you?” he asked.

“It’s currently the only thing I can control,” I said. “Since I don’t fully feel my own body yet, at least I can use my mouth.”

His eyebrows shot up.

I think he liked that answer.

And I think that annoyed him even more.

“You’ve got a fever,” he said, his voice shifting—still commanding, but a touch softer. “Your body went into shock. Your temperature spiked to a hundred and six. You’re not past it yet.”

“Am I going to live?” I asked dramatically. “Or should I recite my will now?”

“You’ll live. If you behave.”

“So I’m definitely dying,” I sighed.

His eyes narrowed.

“I already told you not to move so much,” he growled. “If you tear the wound open, Myra will have to clean it again. I doubt you’d handle it a second time.”

“Then stop shouting over my head, Hulk,” I shot back. “My skull feels like it’s about to explode.”

“I’m not shouting,” he said, absolutely shouting.

I looked at him.

He looked back at me.

Our gazes locked.

For a moment… there was no air in the room.

He was too close.

Too tall.

Too warm.

Too… everything.

And that’s when it hit me that something about him was off.

He wasn’t just strong.

He wasn’t just angry.

There was something feral flickering in his eyes. Something wild that made my stomach knot.

“What… are you?” slipped out of my mouth in a whisper.

Rowan went rigid.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense at once.

I thought he’d yell.

Or lie.

Or laugh it off.

But he didn’t.

He just leaned in.

Way in.

So close I could feel his breath against my ear.

“Nothing you need to be afraid of,” he said, voice low and rough. “But if you keep moving, you’re going to make my job harder.”

“Oh, poor you,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Must’ve been terrible for you to scoop up an unconscious woman and carry her home.”

“It was,” he replied without a hint of sarcasm. “It was a damn nightmare.”

My mouth went dry.

His voice was honest. Raw. And somewhere deep, buried under all that steel… unsettled.

Because of me.

Shit.

“Why?” I asked more quietly. “What’s your problem with me?”

Rowan stepped back half a pace, like he needed space just to think.

“You’re the problem,” he said. “Your entire… presence is the problem.”

“Wow. Thanks,” I snapped.

“I didn’t ask you to come up here,” he shot back, jaw tight. “I didn’t ask you to almost die on my land, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to wake things up in this village that should’ve stayed buried.”

I frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

His mouth pressed into a hard line, and that wild flash passed through his eyes again.

“Nothing,” he bit out. “Just stay alive. And stay quiet.”

Only one sharp, biting reply came to mind:

“Then you saved the wrong girl, Alpha.”

His eyes flared at that.

Not metaphorically.

Something in him snapped awake, wild and dangerous, like some deep instinct howled inside his chest.

Then he turned his back on me.

“Rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

And before I could throw another sarcastic comment at his head, he stepped out and slammed the door behind him.

I was left lying there, in a stranger’s house, in a stranger’s village…

With a man who hated what he felt around me—

and yet, somehow, stood so close that even the idea of him felt like it could burn me alive.

What the hell is going on here?