Chapter 91

Harper’s POV

Again, I’m pulled from sleep because I forgot to close the curtains. Sun shines into the room, dragging me from my blissful sleep like a parent waking their grumpy kid for school. Except, I’d love to leave, and I can’t.

Sitting up, I rub my tired eyes. The quiet wraps around me, telling me that I’m alone. Lucas’s room is empty, which is not how it was when I fell asleep. He sat near the door last night with the excuse of watching over me, and I let him.

I didn’t hear him leave, but I was dead asleep.

Last night was tense and tiring, and all I’d wanted to do was sleep once I got back to Lucas’s room. The danger, tension, and anger all wore me out, and yet, I slept much better than I ever thought I would.

I realize that I feel more rested than usual, and that unsettles me. Is it because Lucas had been watching over me? Or was it because I was so tired?

As I look around, my eyes land on the small table beside the bed. A clean set of clothes and a steaming mug sit on the table, and I pause. The light smell of chamomile tea reaches my senses, and I blink at the mug.

I didn’t make this, which means someone else did. The only person that would bother to do something like this would be… Lucas.

That irritating and amazing ache fills my chest again.

Sliding out of bed, I pick up the sweater at the top of the clothes pile. It’s soft, the type of sweater you would curl up in on a winder day, and the material is a sage green color that matches my eyes.

A familiar, tempting scent makes me bring the sweater closer to my face. I lift it to my nose, and my breath catches in my chest. The familiar mix of pine and something darker—something so very Lucas—clings to the fabric.

I can’t help myself. I inhale his scent, and the mate bond flickers. I want so badly to pull the sweater over my head, but at the same time, I want to throw it out. His scent has always been comforting, even in the beginning, but I didn’t know what it meant back then. Now, I know it was the mate bond trying to push its way through whatever Sierra was doing to dampen it.

Unable to stop myself, I inhale again and bury my nose in the soft fabric.

Realizing what I’m doing, I jerk back.

“Pathetic,” I mutter, tossing the sweater on the bed.

Instead, I grab the mug and sip the warm tea. It’s soothing, allowing warmth to spread through me and calm my frustration. I try not to think about how Lucas also made the tea, but the thought does pop into my mind.

Why does part of me still long for him? For what he ruined?

Probably because, for my entire life, I’ve heard that mates are meant for each other. I wanted that… I still want that, but can I have it? Can I forgive Lucas?

Sighing, I close my eyes and try to calm my mind. I lean back against the bed’s headboard, letting the chamomile do its work. I sip my tea, and for a few short moments, I let myself breathe.

But as I open my eyes and set the mug aside, I notice something. The laundry hamper by the bathroom door is open, and clothes are spilling out of the top like they were thrown there haphazardly.

On the top…

My stomach churns. A shirt streaked with blood peeks out from under a pair of pants.

The memory of Lucas fighting the intruders last night comes to mind, and I swallow back the tightness in my throat. I stare at the shirt, torn between ignoring it and checking to see if Lucas was injured.

I didn’t think he was, but the fight wasn’t a pretty one. Did he get injured and keep it to himself?

Shaking my head, I try to pull my attention away from the bloody shirt. I tell myself that I don’t care… that Lucas is a big boy and he doesn’t need my attention… but the idea of him being hurt rolls around my mind.

Over and over, the question repeats itself.

Is he injured?

Did it happen while he was protecting me?

Is he alright?

The questions nag at me until I can’t take it anymore. Muttering curses, I climb off the bed, walk over to the hamper, and snatch the shirt up. The blood is rough and scratchy in various spots, having become dry overnight.

I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the water, letting the cold water rush over the shirt.

“Stupid man,” I grumble. I slosh the shirt in the water and scrub until the water turns pink. Then I add some soap and scrub more. “Stupid, arrogant, infuriating man.”

The curses continue spilling from my mouth as I scrub the stubborn stains. Why hadn’t he cleaned the shirt last night or thrown it out?

I let the water run over the blood stains, scrubbing harder as I mutter, “What were you thinking? Walking around like a hero, leaving me tea and sweaters… it’s not going to change what you did. I won’t let myself fall for those kind gestures, pretty eyes, warm smiles, and broad shoulder—”

The door creaks behind me, and I freeze.

My hands go still in the water, buried beneath the bubbles, as I turn my head slowly.

There, in the doorway, stands Lucas. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows pulled together. He watches me, gaze flicking from my hands to my face.

I don’t expect the soft, open expression on his face, but Goddess, help me, he looks like he’s about to thank me. His eyes darken as he watches me, and I swallow the desire to walk over to him and curl up against his chest.

I remember how warm and comforting it feels to be in his arms.

I shouldn’t think about it, but I can’t help myself. Honestly, I should say something that’ll send him away, but for once, I can’t.

Neither of us speaks for a moment, simply watching each other as we stand there.

Lucas breaks that silence.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice rough, like he just woke up, but soft like he doesn’t want to set me off. His tone is also genuine, his eyes shine with sincerity, and it nearly makes me give in.

Instead, I yank my hands out of the water and throw the shirt at him. The wet material smacks against his chest, sending water droplets flying through the air. I didn’t mean to do that, but my body moved on its own. However, Lucas’s response surprises me.

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth, and that makes my cheeks grow hot.

“Don’t thank me,” I snip. “I should’ve let it be ruined.”

I don’t know if I mean that.

“Maybe,” Lucas says, peeling the shirt off his chest. “But you didn’t.”

“Because I was bored,” I lie.

“Sure.” His eyes dip, scanning my face before he speaks again, “Are you always thoughtful when you’re bored?”

Huffing, I shove past him and into the room, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

Crawling back onto the bed, I pull the covers over my head and try to contain my wildly beating heart as I hide. I can still feel him standing there, our bond moving through my body is enough to tell me he’s close.

I hear the plop of the shirt hit either the floor or the sink before a shuffling sound and footsteps grow closer.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Lucas says.

“I wasn’t proving anything,” I snap. “I said I was bored.”

“Then I hope you’re bored more often.”

Yanking the covers off my head, I glare at Lucas. I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

The corner of Lucas’s lips ticks up as he leans against the wall and says, “So I’ve been told.”

Groaning, I pull the blanket back over my head and squeeze my eyes closed.