Land of Wolves

Chapter 31

Caleb peers at me from over the back of the couch as I step out of the bathroom. His feet dangle off the end, his body too long to comfortably lay across it. I insisted he sleeps in my bed while I took the couch, but he seemed offended I even suggested that.

My blanket is spread haphazardly over his chest, and he pushes it to the side as I enter the living room and look around.

His computer's resting on the coffee table, and it looks like he helped himself to a bag of my chips after I went to bed last night, but other than that, the room looks untouched. I wouldn't have minded if he went through my things, and a small part of me is shocked he didn't.

I'm nosy, even without HPAW's influence, and I probably would've done a bit of peeking if I were him.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask.

Caleb shrugs and sits up. He took off his shirt sometime last night, and as he stands, I realize he also removed his pants. He's still wearing his underwear, the tight black fabric stuck to his thighs, and I allow myself a fleeting glance before clearing my throat and turning away.

"Your pulse was steady all night long," he says, ignoring my question.

I gulp. Was he listening to my heart while I was in bed? I know he has good hearing, but I didn't realize he planned to be that watchful over me.

Caleb doesn't bother putting on his clothes as he walks into my kitchen and begins brewing a pot of coffee. It's the same machine he has back home, and his motions are smooth and confident as he prepares everything.

I anxiously run my hands through my hair before clearing my throat and following him. I laid in bed for a good thirty minutes panicking over what to say to Caleb this morning, an action I now worry he was able to pick up on thanks to my tattletale racing heart.

"Did you get a lot of sleep?" I ask again.

I worry he didn't if he was up eavesdropping on my pulse all night.

Caleb glances at me out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't look outwardly tired, but he can be good about hiding his emotions when he wants. I've seen this man stay up working into the early morning hours, only to wake up and bounce around the house five hours later.

"Stop worrying about me, Ev. You're the one with the concussion," he jokes.

I frown but don't argue. I like to worry. It brings me great joy.

Caleb turns and faces me, his stare intense. I wish I knew what thoughts were swirling around in his head, and I do my best to read him as he steps into my personal space and gestures for me to look down. I suck in a shaky breath before giving him access to my cut.

"It feels a lot better," I say as he reaches forward and begins prodding at it.

He hums. "It's starting to scab."

That's good. I tried to look at it in the bathroom this morning, but even with my hand mirror, it was hard to get a good view. Caleb moves my hair out of the way as he gently touches the edges of the wound.

His breath hits the top of my head, and a second later, he places his pointer finger below my chin and urges me to look up. I don't hesitate to do so, and I stare into his eyes as he presses his palm to my forehead to feel my temperature.

"I don't have a cold," I tease.

He shrugs, unapologetic.

"Does your head still hurt?" he asks.

There's a bit of pressure behind my eyes, but it's significantly better than yesterday. Caleb shoved glass after glass of water into my hands before sending me to bed early. Both things seemed to have done the trick.