The first thing she felt was warmth.
A weight, gentle but present, pressed against her side, the slow rhythm of another's breathing brushing against her arm. Nerine's lashes quivered as she blinked herself awake, the dim amber of an oil lamp flickering somewhere in the corner of the room. The evening was settling beyond the curtains, its air cool and scented faintly of rain that must have passed earlier.
Her body felt lighter, though her skin was clammy with the residue of an uneasy sleep. Her head turned slightly, and there she saw Penelope — fast asleep beside her, face softened by dreams, one hand curled loosely against her own. The contrast between Penelope's usual sharp tongue and this vulnerable stillness stirred something in Nerine — gratitude, perhaps, or a strange sense of guilt that someone had chosen to watch over her so closely.
But the air in the room felt too warm, too close. Her lungs begged for something fresher. Carefully, she eased her hand from beneath Penelope's and slipped from the bed. The boards beneath her bare feet creaked faintly, but Penelope didn't stir. Nerine reached for the shawl draped over a chair, wrapping it around her shoulders before gliding towards the balcony doors.
The evening met her like a long-lost friend — the cool breeze sweeping against her heated cheeks, the hush of leaves trembling in the wind, the pale light of the moon spilling silver across the marble floor. She breathed deeply, letting her shoulders loosen, her mind slow.
But the quiet didn't last.
"Lady Sofia?"
The voice came sharp with panic, and Nerine turned to find Clara standing just a few steps away. The maid's eyes widened, and she darted forward, her skirts swishing against the floor.
"My lady, what are you doing here?" Clara's voice was almost scolding, though laced with worry. She clutched Nerine's arm lightly. "You shouldn't be outside like this .... you're still recovering. What if you catch a chill?"
Nerine offered a faint smile, hoping to soothe her. "I'm fine, Clara. Truly. I only needed a little air .... the room was warm."
But Clara's frown deepened, her lips parting to argue — and then Nerine heard it.
A deeper voice. Smooth, unhurried, yet carrying a weight that made her pulse jolt.
"So this is where you've wandered."
Her breath hitched.
Lord Kael's figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the balcony, the evening catching along the edges of his profile — the sharp line of his jaw, the faint gleam in his eyes, the way his dark hair shifted in the wind. Nerine's mind spun with one singular thought: He's caught me.
Heat pooled at the back of her neck. She had been working so carefully these past days, trying to hold the image of a soft-spoken, composed lady — and now here she was, standing out in the cold like some restless child.
"I...." She began, but the words tangled.
Kael's gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough to make her aware of every inch of herself. "Do you often make a habit of slipping outside unattended to everytime?"
The quiet reprimand in his tone prickled at her pride. She drew a breath, her chin lifting — ready to defend herself — when suddenly, without warning, Kael stepped forward and bent, his arms sliding beneath her.
Nerine let out a startled gasp as her feet left the ground, the shawl slipping slightly from her shoulders.
"What are you....?"
But her words faltered. His face was so close now — close enough for her to trace the fine details of it: the smooth planes of his cheeks, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the deep set of his eyes that caught the lamplight with a quiet intensity. His scent surrounded her — dark, clean, with a whisper of something like cedar and iron.
Were vampires always this beautiful....no handsome.
Her heart thudded violently in her chest.
Kael's brows drew together faintly, and he glanced down at her. "What is wrong with your heart?"
The question startled her so much she almost laughed. "What?"
"It's beating far too loudly," he said, his voice low, almost curious. "Did you strain yourself?"
In her mind, a hundred possible explanations flashed — none she could possibly admit. But he was already shifting, turning back towards the room.
"I'll summon the physician...."
"No!" The word burst from her in a pitch higher than she intended. She flushed instantly, her voice tumbling out in a rush. "I mean .... I'm fine. Truly. I was only… worried you might drop me." She glanced away, grasping for something less embarrassing to admit than the truth. "I have… weight."
One dark brow arched. "Weight."
"Yes," she said stubbornly.
Kael's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, but something close enough to make her nerves prickle. "Shall I test that theory?"
And then — deliberately, maddeningly — he loosened his hold just enough for her to feel the shift of gravity. Nerine's hands shot up, clutching at his shoulders, her eyes squeezing shut.
"Kael!"
The chuckle that left him was quiet but unmistakable. He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear.
"No matter how much you weigh, Nerine," he murmured, his voice dipping into something smoother, darker, "I will always be able to carry you."
Her breath caught entirely.
By the time she dared to open her eyes, they were already stepping back into the room — and she realized, belatedly, that the maids stationed nearby were watching. Their eyes widened, whispers already blooming like wind through dry grass. Lovey-dovey was the word that flickered between their lips, though she pretended not to hear.
Kael didn't seem to notice — or perhaps he didn't care. He strode straight to the bed and set her down gently. Penelope stirred at the movement, her lashes fluttering open.
Her gaze flicked from Nerine to Kael, and an unmistakable smirk curved her lips. "I thought I was looking after the patient. Now I'm not sure who the patient is anymore."
Kael's own mouth twitched faintly, though his eyes gleamed with a restrained amusement. "Perhaps you should focus on keeping her in bed rather than making comments, sister."
Penelope ignored him entirely, scooting closer to Nerine's side and fussing at the shawl that had slipped. "Are you really feeling better? You shouldn't be wandering..."
"I'm fine," Nerine said softly, smiling despite herself.
Penelope's frown didn't ease. "You didn't tell me about the wound, either. Do you know how worried my brother was..."
"Penelope."
The single word from Kael's lips made his sister glance up sharply. He was leaning against the bedpost now, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded.
"Do not smother her," he said lightly, though there was steel beneath it. "Let her breathe."
Penelope rolled her eyes but backed away slightly. "Fine. But if she faints, I'll tell everyone it was your fault."
Kael didn't bother to answer. Instead, his gaze shifted towards the door. "Where is the porridge I asked for?"
As if on cue, a maid entered, carrying a silver tray. The warm, fragrant steam curled upward as she set the bowl before Nerine.
"Eat," Kael said simply.
The command was almost absurd in its quiet authority — but Nerine found herself obeying, spooning the porridge slowly. She was aware of his eyes on her, not harsh, but steady — as though reading something she hadn't spoken aloud.
When the last spoonful was gone, Kael straightened. "Rest." His tone softened by a fraction. "You'll recover faster if you stop trying to escape."
Nerine's lips curved faintly, though she didn't answer.
He left without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him.
Penelope lingered a little longer, telling her in half-teasing, half-serious tones that she should take better care of herself, before finally retreating. And once the room fell quiet again, Nerine let her eyes close, her mind replaying the weight of Kael's arms, the closeness of his voice, and that infuriating whisper that seemed to echo far longer than it should have.