The King's Prey

Chapter 17 | Nightmare

Sweven • [swe-ven]
A vision seen in sleep; a dream.

꧁ ꧂

~ Samuel ~

This is wrong.

This is so unexplainably wrong.

I shouldn't be staring at her, watching her sleep on my couch. But I'm lost in thought, trying to find every possible reason not to return to my office and continue the substantial amount of work I still need to complete regarding all of the shredded paperwork. I put it off to stay with Anastasia at the hospital, but now that we're home, there's really no excuse anymore. When I began cleaning up the mess earlier, most of the ruined documents were formal papers between Phantomridge and our allying packs. It seems as though I'll have to request new copies in the coming weeks—but that's not important right now. That's not what's on my mind anymore.

I take the final swig of my drink, setting the glass softly on the coffee table I stand beside. With the fireplace roaring behind me, my entire backside burns from the heat. But it doesn't bother me.

I keep my gaze trained on Anastasia—on her sleeping figure. Her breaths are slow and rhythmic beneath the blanket I'd covered her with prior to Liam and I's conversation. My beta returned home for the night seeing as he doesn't want to further worry his mate before he has to spend all of tomorrow with Anastasia. I wonder if Sterling's suspicions have grown with his absence—if she'll continue to pry me about this entire ordeal.

After the incident at the hospital, it seems likely that she will. I'm well aware of her persistent ways. I know where they stem from—a place of concern that she's become too familiar with. Something she knows I understand. But there's a lot she doesn't understand, either. And there's a lot I don't understand about all of this, too—a lot of foreign weight in my chest.

I honestly don't know what to make of it. And I don't know if I want to admit the truth to myself, whatever it might be.

I find myself rounding the coffee table, eyes latched on the human female sleeping on my couch. Though I've watched her sleep what feels like a thousand times before tonight, there's something that urges me to stay now. I settle myself into the cushion beside her, keeping a foot between us. She doesn't notice the change, thank Goddess.

If she was awake—if she saw what I was doing—I'm sure she'd curse me to the depths of hell for it. And I wouldn't blame her. Because, again, this is so wrong. But it seems as though her pain meds have sent her into a deep sleep—something I'm partially grateful for knowing she needs to recover from her injuries...and from everything else...

An immense sense of guilt fills my chest knowing I'm to blame for her torn leg. That I hadn't stopped that rogue sooner. Then again, I wasn't aware she was out in those woods until I saw her bleeding out in the snow. Not until I smelled her blood in the air. Again.

My body shudders remembering the details. But I'm perfectly warm with the fireplace roaring across the room.

I hadn't felt this way when I crushed her hand—when I was the one to blame for her pain. But now... Now it feels so much different. Like there's this sense of awareness and responsibility for her life that lingers wherever I go. And it's not just because of who she is and where she comes from. It's not because of what I told her at the hospital regarding how her situation has changed. This is something greater that can't be put into words. That I don't even think she can feel yet herself.