Dark Heart, Gentle Hands
Chapter 24: I heard you

Chapter 24: I heard you

Alaric’s POV

When Enzo stirred, his brows pinched as if waking from a bad dream, I was already kneeling beside the bed with a steaming bowl balanced in my hands. The scent of thyme and roasted garlic curled up between us, soft and inviting. I’d made risotto I don’t know his favorite dish because the only thing I’ve seen him eat is sandwich, pizza, coffee and yogurt, and there’s no way I’ll give him that, he has to recover fast.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, then sharpened as they found me. He tried to sit up, weak arms struggling against the blanket I’d tucked around him.

"Don’t," I said gently. "You’re not ready for that."

"I can feed myself," he rasped, voice hoarse and stubborn. Classic Enzo.

I didn’t answer with words. I just scooped a spoonful of the warm, creamy risotto and brought it to his lips. He hesitated because of course he did but I waited him out. He still doesn’t understand that I don’t take no for an answer and I’m not about to begin to.

Eventually, his mouth opened. He ate. Slowly, quietly. Bite by bite. I wiped a bit of rice from the corner of his mouth with my thumb, brushing his skin longer than I needed to. He didn’t swat my hand away this time. Progress, it’s a good thing, he should come to terms with the fact that he was mine.

When the bowl was empty, I set it aside and rose. "You need a bath."

"No." His voice was firmer now. He shifted away from me slightly, wincing as even that small movement pulled something tight in his side. "I said no."

I took a breath. Steady. Measured, I’m trying so hard to be patient with him because he is hurt and I’m not a patient vampire, all my years of living hasn’t taught me how to be patient

"I’m not asking," I said. "You’re burning up. You stink of fever and stress and... whatever the hell that bastard left on you. You need to wash it off. Let me help."

He glared at me with that wild, cornered look in his eyes. But I didn’t move. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t threaten or plead. I just waited, arms folded, until the silence between us turned into consent.

I carried him, literally scooped his too-thin frame up from the couch and into my arms. He cursed under his breath, but didn’t fight me. His head sagged against my shoulder as I brought him into the bathroom.

The water was already running, the tub filling with warm, lavender-scented foam. I set him down on the closed lid of the toilet, supporting his back with one hand while the other unbuttoned his shirt. He tried to bat me away.

"I said I’ve got it—"

"And I heard you," I said calmly. "You don’t."

My fingers worked quickly but respectfully, removing each layer with care. His ribs were more visible than they should’ve been. Bruises bloomed under his skin like violets in winter. I swallowed the knot rising in my throat. I’m going to kill that piece of shit who did this, and I have an idea who did it.

When I helped him into the tub, he hissed as the water touched his skin, but I held his hand, anchored him.

"It’s just water," I murmured. "Nothing here’s gonna hurt you." you are such fragile beings and I don’t like them because they are weak but not this one though, I like this one, I want this one.

I bathed him gently. A clean cloth, warm water, slow circles over his back, shoulders, arms. I kept my touch firm enough to be steady but soft enough not to feel invasive. I washed his hair last, fingers threading through the dark strands as I rinsed with a cup. I tried not to do more than just bath him, I had to control myself because he was injured which was strange because I never control myself but because of him I’ve done it twice. First when I walked into his home and found him lying in his own pool of blood, my fangs had come to life ready to sink deep into his veins and drain the remaining blood he had left but I had to control myself because I don’t want a whole without him in it.

He didn’t speak the entire time I gave him a bath and I don’t blame him though because if me he almost died. He just watched me with those tired, hollow eyes like he was trying to understand something I hadn’t said out loud.

When I was done, I helped him out of the tub, wrapped him in a thick towel, and carried him again, this time he didn’t fight me or told me his could do it. I laid him down like he was something fragile, a sculpture that might crack if I set him wrong. I patted him dry gently, covering every inch with slow, deliberate care, and helped him into the soft, clean clothes I’d laid out earlier.

He still didn’t protest.

Once he was settled under the covers, I pulled the blanket up to his chest and smoothed a hand over his hair.

"I’m going to leave for a bit," I said quietly. "But I’ll be back. I promise."

He didn’t respond. But as I stood to go, I felt his hand graze my wrist. A whisper of contact. "Promise you’ll come back," he looked at me pleadingly.

"I promise I’ll be back, I just have something to take care of." I gave him a kiss, a kiss to reassure him that I was going to be back and I won’t leave his sight.

He nodded and finally let go of my hand and shut his eyes. I left the room when I had confirmed that he had slept, now off to go take care of that vam who had the guts to harm what is mine.

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