Knox's POV:
My eyes flutter open, burning from exhaustion. My forehead throbs like I've been hit by a truck. I look around. It isn't my room. The covers beneath me smell faintly of vanilla and something sweeter—my favorite scent. I shift onto my side, burying my face into them.
"Bella~"
I murmur, the name slipping out before I realize it.
Flashes from earlier flood my mind. The rain, her eyes, the warmth of her arms. I sit up and notice I'm shirtless, my pants still half-drenched. The room is small but neat, organized with care. When I move toward the door, I accidentally bump my head on the frame and groan quietly, bending down to pass through.
A soft, inviting aroma hits me—the smell of soup, warm and comforting. I run a hand through my hair, following the scent I know too well. Bella's scent.
When I reach the kitchen, I find her standing by the stove, stirring the pot gently. Her back is turned to me, her small frame wrapped in the glow of the dim light. My chest tightens. Possessiveness crawls up my throat, uninvited but unstoppable. I lean against the door frame, watching her in silence for a heartbeat before walking closer, my steps soft.
I stop right behind her. She's at least a foot shorter, and my shadow swallows her completely. I see her body tense.
"It's me, bunny~"
I whisper. Her shoulders immediately relax.
"Good morning."
Her voice was soft—too soft—and sweet enough to melt the edges of my restraint. I wanted to live like this, wake up to that sound every day, hear her greet me in that tone that made everything else fade away. I leaned down, close enough for my breath to brush her ear.
"What are you cooking?" I whispered.
A shiver ran down her spine, but she tried to hide it, tried to play it off. My hands found her hips, holding her gently, though every nerve in me screamed to pull her closer.
"Soap," she said, voice strained, almost breaking.
I bit back a laugh, forcing myself to let go. She was dangerous in her own way, like a drug, like the rush before pulling the trigger. Addictive and impossible to resist. My fingers slipped away from her warmth, and it felt like tearing away from something sacred.
I sighed, inhaling the scent of her hair one last time before stepping back. My body protested, but I turned away, moving to the table. The chair creaked under my weight as I sat down.
When she turned around, her eyes widened, locking on my bare chest. The pink that rushed to her cheeks was instant, impossible to hide. I couldn't help the smirk that curved my lips, amused and secretly pleased by her reaction. She spun back toward the stove, pretending to focus on the soup, her movements a little too quick, too deliberate. When she was done, she poured some into a bowl and set it in front of me. Then, without warning, she leaned closer and pressed her hand against my forehead. For a second, I froze, caught off guard by her touch. Her brows furrowed, worry flashing in her eyes.
"You have a high fever," she murmured.
A faint grin tugged at the corner of my lips as her hand lingered on my forehead. Her touch was soft, too soft for someone who claimed to fear me. I tilted my head slightly, letting my voice drop low.
"Worried about me, bunny?"
She froze, her cheeks flushing even deeper, but she didn't move her hand away. I leaned forward just a little, enough for her to feel my breath against her wrist.
"You shouldn't touch an alpha like that," I murmured, my tone more of a tease than a warning. "You'll make me think you care."
Her eyes darted up to meet mine, wide and uncertain. I caught her wrist gently before she could pull back, my thumb brushing slow circles over her skin.
"I'm fine," I said finally, softer this time. "You don't need to worry about me."
But even as I said it, I knew I didn't want her to stop. I held her wrist lightly, keeping her hand on my forehead. My voice softened, losing the teasing edge.
"Bunny… listen to me," I murmured, eyes locking on hers. "You don't have to worry. I'll be fine. I just… I need you safe too."
Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the concern in my tone. The heat from her small hand sent a pulse through me, but it wasn't desire this time—it was something sharper, more primal. A need to protect, to guard her from everything.
"You hear me?"
I added, my thumb brushing slowly over her skin. "I'm not letting anything happen to you. Not while I'm here."
Her gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside that little kitchen didn't exist. Just her, me… and the quiet warmth between us.