"My stomach hurts… do you have anything to eat?" Elliot lifted his head slightly, his voice rough from the alcohol that still lingered in his system. The burn of it had unsettled his senses, his body no longer comfortable after relying on refined pack meals and strict routines.
"Wait here. I'll make something," I said, already moving toward the kitchen before I could overthink the decision. My instincts told me to keep distance, yet something deeper—something tied to the bond—urged me to make sure he was taken care of.
From the sofa, his gaze followed me, steady and quiet, his Alpha presence no longer forceful but softened into something almost observant. He watched every movement I made, as if confirming what he already believed, his attention lingering in a way that made my pulse steady and tense at the same time.
