A dull throb echoed throughout Alistair's body, the sharp edges of pain blunted but still present. His eyelids felt heavy, resisting his first attempt to open them. But as his senses sharpened, he became aware of the steady rhythm of his heart—a heart that should have stopped. A deep inhale brought in the scent of herbs, blood, and something more—his mate, Harriet.
His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of the lantern light exposing the familiar walls of his room. The weight of furs enveloped his torso, but beneath he felt the tight pull of sutures, the undeniable sense of skin knitting itself back together at an unusual rate. His wounds—which should have killed him—were mending.Then he remembered.
Though he had faded into darkness, his mind had not fully abandoned him. He had felt her hands, steady despite their tremble, pressing against his torn flesh. He had heard her voice, whispering desperate pleas and firm commands. He had felt the pull of something ancient, something beyond mortal understanding, as warmth flooded through him. Harriet had brought him back from the jaws of death.
Gritting his teeth, he slammed his hand against the bed, muscles shaking as he dragged himself upright. His ribs screamed in protest, his legs barely sustaining his weight. Every step felt like fire scorching his veins, but he pressed on, each breath strained as he staggered toward the door. The hallway was dim, with torches burning low and throwing flickering shadows on the stone walls. The palace was quiet, but the aroma of blood and medicine persisted in the air, a sharp reminder of how close he had come to death. As he approached her chamber, his heart hammered against his bruised ribs. He paused only briefly before pulling the door open.
Harriet lay curled on the bed, her dark lashes brushing against her pale cheeks, her chest rising and falling in a steady beat. The tiredness weighed heavily on her, strands of hair escaping from her hair, her small hands still faintly stained with the blood she had bled while attempting to save him. He approached silently, dropping himself upon the side of the bed with a soft grunt. His rough, calloused fingers reached out to push a stray lock of hair away from her face. She stirred slightly but did not awaken.
"You saved me," he said quietly, his voice husky and full of raw emotion.His piercing eyes traced the exquisite features of the lady coiled on the bed, and Alistair got perplexed since Harriet had been nothing but trouble for the past two years—reckless, thoughtless, always challenging the wrong people, and continually getting herself into useless battles. She had been an easy target for derision, and her title was more of a joke than a show of respect.
He remembered the pain, the unbearable agony that had nearly pulled him into darkness. The scent of blood. The scent of her—not filled with the usual panic he expected, but steady, unwavering. He had been slipping, his body betraying him, but her voice had cut through the haze. Firm. Unshaken. Commanding.
Unaware that the troublemaker he knows is already dead and another soul is occupying Harriet's body, Alistair was perplexed as to why Harriet had to pretend to be a fool and a troublemaker in the past. However, he was also perplexed by the sudden sense of a mate bond between them.
But he decided to put all of that confusion aside since the most important thing to him was that Harriet had saved him. So, with one last, resolute breath, he lay beside her. He determined he would no longer question her. He no longer wonder why she played the fool. The reasons will come when she was ready. He decided to trust her.
...........
Harriet awoke with a deep frown on her face and a strange weight weighing down on her body. She shifted slightly, only to discover she could scarcely move. Something warm and heavy had wrapped around her like iron chains, pinning her to the soft mattress.Her breath hitched, and confusion flashed through her groggy thoughts. Was she experiencing a nightmare? Had something ensnared her while she slept?
Blinking groggily, she pulled her eyes open, and what she saw made her heart skip a beat.It was him, Alistair.His massive arms were snugly wrapped around her waist, his face pressed against the curve of her neck. His warm air fanned over her skin in calm, steady puffs, sending shivers down her spine. One of his legs was entwined with hers, securing her in place, and his entire body was draped over her protectively.She swallowed, her lips separating in astonishment. When did he come into her room?
She examined his face. He appeared serene, in stark contrast to the powerful and frequently scary Alpha who dominated the land. She felt a rush of warmth run through her chest, a combination of amusement and something softer—something dangerously close to affection.
She was aware that this was not how she should feel. It was illogical. She hardly knew him. Even though she had only been reincarnated for a week, she was happy to have him by her side even though she knew that in a normal world she couldn't fall in love with a man in just one week. But Harriet made the decision to believe her feelings. Perhaps it's normal for people to fall in love so easily, and it's common to feel strongly for a man you hardly know in this world. But she knew she was glad, glad that he was here, close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to.
Carefully, she shifted, testing the grip he had on her. But as soon as she moved, his arms tightened instinctively, pulling her even closer. A low, contented growl rumbled deep in his chest, making her still.The sound did something to her—something she wasn't ready to name. She sighed, resigning herself to her fate. There was no escaping this embrace. Not that she truly wanted to. With a small, reluctant smile, she closed her eyes again, letting the warmth of his hold lull her back into sleep.