I didn't realize how long I had been standing there, staring at the mess of the cabin, until the sound of footsteps pulled me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat.
Dalton was back.
He stepped through the broken doorway, his movements slower than usual. His bare chest was covered in scratches and smudges of dirt, his breathing still a little rough. I could tell he was exhausted, but his golden eyes still held that sharp, unwavering intensity.
He looked at me.
"Sit down," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.
I hesitated for a second before obeying, sinking onto the edge of the bed. Dalton crouched in front of me, his large hands carefully moving to check my injured leg.
I winced slightly as his fingers pressed around the sore area, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. His brows furrowed as he examined it, his jaw clenching like he wasn't happy with what he saw.
I glanced at him, noticing the scratches on his body. "You're hurt," I said quietly.
Dalton didn't respond at first. He just gave a small shrug, like it didn't matter.
Instead of acknowledging his own wounds, he stood up and walked over to the side of the cabin. I watched as he grabbed a wooden plank and some nails from a small pile of supplies.
Then, without another word, he started hammering the door back into place.
I blinked.
He was fixing the door.
After everything that had just happened—after the fight, the injuries, the blood—Dalton was still standing here, making sure I had a door to keep me safe.
I swallowed hard.
Now I owed him two.
A lump formed in my throat as I spoke softly, "Thank you... for saving my life. Again."
Dalton didn't look at me. He just kept hammering. "You can thank me after I'm done with the door."
I let out a small breath—maybe something close to a laugh. It wasn't much, but it eased the tension inside me just a little.
The rhythmic sound of the hammer filled the cabin, steady and strong.
I watched him, unable to look away.
Dalton was something else entirely.
Strong. Fierce. Relentless.
He had just fought for me, risked his life for me.
And now, even though he could barely keep himself upright, he was fixing my damn door.
Minutes passed before he finally stepped back, inspecting his work. It wasn't perfect—the wood was rough, and the door creaked slightly—but at least it stood.
At least I was safe.
Dalton exhaled heavily, tossing the hammer onto the table. Then, without another word, he crashed onto the bed beside me.
He was done.
He didn't even bother to grab a blanket or make himself comfortable. He just laid there, his eyes closed, his body completely drained.
I hesitated for a moment, glancing down at him.
"You're exhausted," I muttered.
"Obviously," he murmured back, voice laced with fatigue.
I pressed my lips together, then turned to lie down as well.
Since I'd come here, it felt like every day bled into night.
No offense, but it was always dark in these woods.
Sure, I'd seen the morning light a few times, but it wasn't as breathtaking as nighttime here.
The silence. The stillness. The way the world outside felt untouched, like it belonged to something much older than me.
There was something peaceful about it.
And now, lying here again, sharing a bed with Dalton for another night, I couldn't ignore the strange feeling creeping into my chest.
I faced the other side, my back turned to him.
Dalton did the same.
Neither of us spoke.
Neither of us moved.
But the weight of everything that had happened lingered in the space between us.
I didn't know when I drifted into sleep, but it was deep, like sinking into an ocean of exhaustion. My body felt heavy, my limbs numb from everything that had happened.
But instead of waking up to the sound of birds chirping or a rooster crowing—though, to be fair, I never heard that in these woods—I woke up to something else entirely.
AWOOOOOOOOOO!
My eyes shot open.
A deep, eerie howl echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down my spine.
I wasn't used to this.
Back home, I'd wake up to the soft hum of my mother cooking breakfast or Viola texting me non-stop about something ridiculous. But here?
Here, the morning was different.
The air was thick, the scent of damp wood and earth filling my lungs. The faint glow of dawn seeped through the cracks of the cabin walls, casting long shadows across the floor.
I turned my head slightly, glancing at Dalton.
He was still asleep.
His face was calm, almost peaceful—if I ignored the faint scratches on his chest and the tension in his jaw.
I hesitated before slowly sitting up. My body still ached, and my leg throbbed slightly, but I could move. That was good.
The best thing I could do right now was clean up.
Dalton had saved my life. Twice.
The least I could do was make this place look… well, less like a war zone.
I carefully pushed myself off the bed, being extra careful not to make too much noise. The last thing I wanted was to wake him up—he needed the rest.
I glanced around the cabin.
It was a mess.
The broken furniture from last night's fight, the splintered wood, the dirt, and even a few torn pieces of cloth scattered across the floor.
I sighed.
"This is going to take a while," I muttered to myself.
But it was fine.
Dalton had done way more for me, and this?
This was nothing compared to what he had gone through.
I found a cloth near the small table, shaking off the dust before using it to wipe down the wooden surfaces. The cabin was already pretty rustic, but now it looked even rougher with all the scratches and cracks.
I moved carefully, picking up anything that was out of place. The broken remains of the door—Dalton had fixed it, but pieces of wood were still scattered around—needed to be cleared.
I bent down, picking up a few splinters and tossing them into a pile near the fireplace.
The whole time, I kept glancing toward the door.
I couldn't stop thinking about last night.
That other werewolf.
His voice, his hunger, the way he looked at me like I was nothing more than prey.
I shivered, shaking the thought away.
Dalton had handled it.
That was what mattered.
Still, a part of me couldn't ignore the fact that if Dalton hadn't been here, I wouldn't have stood a chance.
I owed him.
Not just for saving my life, but for everything.
For keeping me safe.
For fixing the door.
For being there.
Even though I shouldn't trust him, even though I knew this was dangerous, there was something about him that made me feel… safe.
And that?
That was terrifying.
I exhaled, running a hand through my tangled hair before getting back to work.
The best way to clear my mind was to keep busy.
And right now, the least I could do was make this place a little more livable for the both of us.