Chapter 5: Care

Eventually, the little wolf stopped fighting.

I noticed it one morning when the guards brought him into the garden.

Usually, he would pull against his shackles, glare at everyone, and complain about being dragged around like a prisoner.

That morning, he simply walked beside them.

Quietly.

His eyes were lowered, and his steps were calm.

I looked up from the rose bush I was tending.

"What happened to you?"

He glanced at me.

"What?"

"You didn't complain."

He shrugged.

"I've realized something."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That I'm unbearable?"

"No."

He sat down near the rose bushes.

"That there's no way out of here."

The words were so simple that I didn't know what to say.

He had finally accepted it.

Rose Manor was surrounded by guards. The gates were constantly watched, and neither of us had enough freedom to get anywhere near them.

The little wolf had tried before.

I knew because I'd seen the bruises afterward.

Now, he seemed to understand that fighting every day wouldn't change anything.

So he stopped.

I returned to my roses.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Then I heard a soft rustling behind me.

I turned.

The little wolf was holding one of my roses.

Not the flower.

The stem.

He was carefully removing its thorns.

One by one.

I stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't look up.

"You always get scratched."

I glanced at my fingers.

There were several tiny cuts from the roses.

"It's nothing."

"You say that every time."

He pulled another thorn free.

His fingers moved carefully, avoiding the sharp points.

"Why do you care?"

He shrugged.

"You love them."

I went still.

It was such a small thing.

Yet somehow, it caught me off guard.

Nobody had cared about the roses before.

Nobody had ever noticed how much time I spent with them.

I looked away.

"You're wasting your time."

"I'm not."

He continued removing the thorns.

When he finished, he held the stem out to me.

"There."

I took it.

No thorns.

I stared at the rose.

Then at him.

"Thank you."

He smiled faintly.

It was the first real smile I'd seen from him.

I quickly returned to my work.

I didn't know why my chest felt strange.

---

After that, things changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for me to notice.

Whenever I worked in the garden, he would sit nearby.

Sometimes he helped.

Sometimes he simply watched.

And whenever I pricked my finger on a thorn, he would immediately reach for my hand.

"Let me see."

"It's fine."

"Let me see."

I would sigh and give in.

He always looked far too serious while examining the smallest cut.

As if one drop of my blood was some great tragedy.

But there was another change I noticed.

He stopped waiting for me to ask when I needed to feed.

The first time it happened, I was sitting beneath one of the rose-covered arches.

My hunger had been growing for hours.

I tried to ignore it.

The little wolf noticed anyway.

He looked at me.

Then at my fangs.

Then back at me.

"You need blood."

I looked away.

"I'll tell the guards."

"You don't have to."

Before I could respond, he stepped closer.

Then he tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck.

I stared.

"What are you doing?"

"You need to feed."

"I know."

"Then feed."

I frowned.

"You don't have to offer yourself."

His eyes met mine.

"If I don't, you'll get weaker."

I didn't answer.

He stepped closer.

"I don't want you to go hungry."

Something inside me tightened.

"You should be afraid of me."

"I was."

The honesty caught me off guard.

He swallowed.

"I still am sometimes."

Then he gave me a small smile.

"But I know you won't hurt me more than you have to."

I stared at him.

For some reason, those words hurt more than an insult would have.

Slowly, I reached for him.

My fingers brushed his shoulder.

Then I leaned down.

His pulse beat beneath my lips.

He didn't flinch.

I fed.

And when I pulled away, he remained standing.

A little pale.

A little dizzy.

But still smiling.

"Better?"

I nodded.

"Better."

"Good."

He took a step.

Then another.

His knees suddenly buckled.

I caught him.

"You idiot."

He laughed weakly.

"I told you I was fine."

"You nearly fell."

"But you caught me."

I sighed.

He rested his forehead against my shoulder.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he nuzzled against me.

I froze.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"You're literally rubbing your face against me."

He chuckled.

"You smell nice."

I stared at him.

"I'm a vampire."

"I know."

"And you smell like a wet dog."

He pulled away and glared.

"I'm a werewolf."

"Exactly."

He rolled his eyes.

Then he touched his neck.

"There's still a wound."

I looked.

Two small marks remained where my fangs had pierced his skin.

He tilted his head.

"Can you tend to it?"

I frowned.

"You want me to?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you made it."

I couldn't argue with that.

So I cleaned the wound.

He sat quietly while I worked.

When I finished, he looked at me.

"Thank you."

I nodded.

"Don't mention it."

He smiled.

Then, without warning, he leaned against me again.

This time, I didn't push him away.

I looked over his head toward the roses.

The garden was quiet.

The kingdom outside was still falling apart.

My brother was still the future king.

I was still a prisoner.

And the little wolf was still supposed to be nothing more than my blood slave.

But somewhere along the way, I had stopped thinking of him that way.

I didn't know what he had become to me.

I only knew that when he rested against my side, the manor didn't feel quite as lonely anymore.