7. Chapter

Caroline’s POV

I woke up knowing that something was seriously wrong with my body.

Not in the “oh great, my head hurts” way. That part was true too. My neck throbbed like someone was hammering a nail into it from the inside. But there was something else layered on top of it. Everything felt too sharp. The sounds. The smells. Even the air itself.

The crackle of the fire in the fireplace sounded so loud it felt like it was happening right next to my ear. The cabin creaked as the beams shifted in the cold, each sound so clear I thought someone was walking around. And then there were the smells. Wood. Smoke. Herbs. Damp fabric. And something else. Something strong and metallic and male, a scent that made my stomach react in a way I didn’t appreciate.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

Okay.

I’m not in my car.

I’m not in my own bed.

And I’m definitely not in a hospital, which would have made sense after crashing on a mountain road.

The bed beneath me was too warm. The blanket was thick and rough, the kind grandmothers hand out when you visit in winter. My clothes were different. I wasn’t naked, but someone had changed me into a soft T-shirt that was way too big. My hair was still slightly damp.

Fantastic.

Someone undressed me.

Exactly what I needed.

I tried to move, and pain shot through my head. I hissed and dropped back onto the pillow. A bandage pulled tight at the base of my skull, and when I touched it, my fingers came away gritty with dried blood.

“Fuck…” I whispered.

A voice answered immediately from the door.

“Don’t touch it.”

Rowan.

Of course it was Rowan.

I turned my head as far as the pain allowed. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking like a prison guard on night duty. His hair was messier than before, like he hadn’t slept. His eyes were the same cold, sharp green.

“Good morning to you too,” I rasped. “Your hospitality is really something.”

“It’s night,” he said flatly. “And you’re not a guest. You’re trouble.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one. Got anything new?” I tried to sit up again, and the room tilted. “Jesus…”

Rowan crossed the distance in a single step.

Literally one step.

He didn’t rush or lunge. He was just suddenly there. Too fast to be normal. A strange prickle ran over my skin, like my body noticed something my brain was still refusing to process.

Rowan put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. Not rough. Not gentle either. More like someone used to being obeyed.

“Lie down,” he growled. “If you get up, you’ll pass out again.”

“Is this how you talk to women?” I hissed. “Because that would explain a lot.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you always bark this much? Because that would explain why you’re annoying.”

“Or maybe I just don’t like dying in the hands of mountain lunatics,” I shot back.

His jaw tightened. I could see him holding something back. Like he wanted to shout, but something in his head was telling him not to.

“You didn’t die by my hand,” he said. “Yet.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” I muttered.

I tried to breathe slowly, and that scent hit me again. Rowan. Pine, cold smoke, and something raw and animal. My head buzzed from it, and I hated that my body reacted. Like part of me was saying closer while my brain was screaming run.

“What happened to me?” I asked finally, my voice losing its edge. “I feel like I overheated and froze at the same time. How does that even work?”

His expression shifted. Not softer. Cautious. Like we were stepping into dangerous territory.

“You had a high fever,” he said. “Myra said it was dangerous.”

“Right. And the part where my hair’s wet? Was that a bath? A shower? An ice execution?”

His eyes flickered away for a split second.

“We cooled you down,” he said. “Because you decided to spike to one hundred and nine.”

“I decided?” I scoffed. “Sure. Next time I’ll ask for a menu.”

“Don’t joke,” he snapped. “You almost died.”

The words were harsh, but there was tension in his eyes. Not compassion. Not romance. The kind of anger that comes from losing control of a situation.

“Why?” I asked. “Why save me? Why bring me here? Why not call an ambulance? The police? Anyone normal?”

He slowly pulled his hand back from my shoulder and took a step away, putting distance between us.

“The storm,” he said. “No signal. The road’s blocked. The village is far. Leaving you outside wasn’t an option.”

“Then do you at least know my name?” I asked. “Or am I just ‘trouble’?”

His eyes flashed.

“Caroline,” he said.

It surprised me that he knew. Even more that he didn’t spit it out.

“Okay,” I nodded slowly. “Then tell me where my phone is, Rowan, and when I can get the hell out of here.”

“Not today,” he replied immediately.

“What do you mean, not today?”

“You’re not going out into the snow,” he said, impatient, like this should be obvious. “You can barely stand.”

“That won’t stop me,” I said. “I’m stubborn.”

“I noticed.”

In the silence between us, I heard something distant. I wasn’t sure what it was. A howl? Or just the wind?

I frowned.

“Did you hear that?”

Rowan froze.

“What?”

“A sound. Like… a dog. Or a wolf.”

His eyes snapped to mine.

“The mountain is full of animals,” he said too quickly. “Nothing new.”

“I didn’t say it was new,” I replied. “I said I heard it. And we’re inside, thick walls, storm outside. Why do I hear it so clearly?”

His jaw tightened, patience cracking like thin ice.

“Because you talk too much and imagine things,” he said.

“Great. So now I hallucinate too.” I sighed. “This place just keeps getting better.”

He leaned closer, and the air shifted. Not romantically. Threateningly. Like a challenge.

“Listen to me, Caroline,” he said quietly, his voice carrying unmistakable alpha command. “When I tell you to stay in bed, you stay in bed. I don’t care how sarcastic you are. I don’t care how stubborn you are. And I really don’t care what you think of me.”

I swallowed. His voice did something to me, low in my gut. I hated that my body responded to his dominance.

“And if I don’t?” I asked softly.

His eyes flashed.

“Then I keep you here.”

Silence fell again. The fire crackled. The house creaked. The wind groaned outside.

And suddenly it hit me. I was completely alone, at the end of the world, injured. And this man, whether I liked it or not, was the only one controlling what happened to me now.

I didn’t like that.

Not at all.

“Fine,” I said at last, my voice dry. “I’ll stay. For now. But only because my head hurts and I don’t want to die. Don’t think this means I trust you.”

He nodded, like that was exactly the answer he expected.

“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t trust you either.”

“Mutual,” I muttered, closing my eyes as pain pulsed through my neck again.

I heard him move toward the door. He stopped before leaving.

“Caroline.”

“What?” I groaned.

“If you start shaking or coughing again, you tell me. Immediately.”

“Why?” I asked.

A brief silence.

“Because I don’t want another problem,” he said, then left and closed the door.

Of course.

I’m just a problem.

But lying there under the warm blankets, with my neck throbbing and my senses too sharp, a strange, absurd thought slipped into my mind.

If I’m really just a problem to him…

why did it sound like an order for me to stay alive?