Blenda POV

Arthur’s cloudy eyes threatened to rain. He sank to his knees and reached out his bloodied hand to pat Blenda's matted fur. Her skin tightened under his touch. With every leisurely stroke, her heart pounded faster, and her breaths shortened. Every fibre in her body screamed at her to run, but her paws were rooted on the ground, cold and numb. She never knew how to deal with emotions, and Arthur was a flood in the form of a man. It was hard to stay in control when she was drowning in his pain, in her yearning to comfort him but not knowing how, in what to make of today's happenings, in the reality of her actions that began to sink in. When his eyes met her wide orbits, she shuddered. Arthur came out of his trance and held her head between his hands as his lips stretched into a hollow smile.
“You look like you’re going to pass out.”
You bet, she thought.
“Come with me. You need to rest.”

The heat of his palms left her face as he stood to his full height, causing her to sway on her feet. She shook her head and fell into step with him, but he was far away in a world of his own. A world of memories she never knew, and in which she never existed.

Like strangers, they walked alongside each other. Him, an unapproachable fort with his stiff shoulders and uncharacteristic aloofness. And her, an ocean of questions and confusion and longing, building up into huge waves then crashing against her frozen surface.

Isn’t he a stranger after all? What do I know about him? We only met four days ago, and we spoke for what? Two hours?

Her chest tightened. She jeopardized everyone’s life because she trusted him, because he was her mate. And she left her friends again in the tunnels because of the mate bond.
This is not me.

Inside the tower, Blenda paced, lost in a vicious circle of confusion and frustration. She no longer knew if she was angry at him or at herself, if she wanted answers, or if she wanted to be left alone to sort through her feelings.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” The rasp in his voice told her of the lump in his throat and the tears he wouldn’t fight.

Her need to flee pricked her skin. If only she could get back home, to her mundane life where everything made sense, and where the only blood that ever coated her fur was of a goat or a deer.

Arthur's arms circled her midsection and lifted her to his strong chest. She flinched at the contact but didn’t fight him. He carried her up the stairs, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His dump cheek brushed against her face, and she whined.
God help me. How do I know him this well?

He placed her under the shower and pushed the door shut with his foot. The stream of warm water came down on her while she chased his eyes with hers but failed to capture them. He crouched in front of her and sunk his fingers into her fur. His face was millimetres away from hers. Her coat soaked with water, adding to the weight on her shoulders. The smell of his shampoo reminded her of the hint of peppermint she smelled on him when they hugged. On instinct, her forehead leaned against his, and she closed her eyes. Arthur's hands stopped for a second, then proceeded lathering her in slow circular motions. Taking a deep breath, he broke the contact. Blenda’s eyes flew open to find him looking up, blinking back his tears, but they kept rolling over the stubble shadowing his face.

This is not right.

Blenda threw her paws over Arthur’s shoulders and attacked his face with kisses. Her long, smooth tongue licked his tears. He ducked to protect his face, but fell back against the door. Blenda didn’t stop. She pushed her snout between his crossed forearms and licked whatever she reached: His ear, his chin, his cheek… anything, until she heard the sound she was looking for. Arthur’s heartfelt laughter filled the small space. Blenda sat back and tilted her head to the side with a wolfish smile on her face.

“This is the third time I end up on the floor because of you. You’re ruining my reputation.” Arthur joked, but didn’t make a move to get up. His eyes were rimmed with tears, but his smile was back.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms. She stepped between his legs, and he crushed her into a tight hug. Her head rested on his shoulder and his on hers. After a short moment, he took her face between his hands and said, “Thank you, Blenda. I’ll bring you some clothes. Shift and finish your shower.”
She nodded, and he stood up in all his drenched glory.
“Look what you did.” He laughed and wrung the hem of his shirt, but it was futile. Shaking his head, he opened the door and walked out, leaving a wet trail behind him. 

Goosebumps covered Blenda’s skin. She headed back and sagged on the floor under the downpour of warm bliss. It was wonderful what a hot shower could do to the mind. Blenda’s shoulders relaxed as the steam enveloped her. Behind the clouds, Arthur hung the clothes he brought on the hooks of the door and left without a word.

The door clicked shut, but Blenda didn’t move. As his steps retreated, she couldn’t help but appreciate his thoughtfulness. He respected her privacy and didn't impose on her just because he was her mate.

Blenda shifted back to her human form. Her shoulder stung when she proceeded to shower despite the healing of her injury. Her brain replayed the events since she had fallen into Arthur’s arms to this day.

There must be a traitor, but who would challenge the king? Blenda shook her head. The ocean wasn’t a part of the competition, if I’m to believe the general’s words. But we were asked to return to our rooms, and we were drugged there. Are the judges traitors, too? Who’s Omar? He must be a dear friend if his death caused this much pain to Arthur. I need to ask Arthur about what happened to my friends.

Blenda turned off the shower and squeezed the excess water from her long hair. She threw on the clothes Arthur left for her. His shirt hung on her frail shoulders, and his sweatpants didn’t find hips to hang on. She pulled the strings at the waist until she couldn’t anymore and tied them. This is double my size. She chuckled at how ridiculous she looked, then shrugged. With the towel in her hand, she opened the door.

Arthur placed a plate at the side of the couch that had been converted into a bed and covered with a white sheet. His wet shirt was gone, but wasn't replaced. When he turned her way, all the clarity she had in the shower flew out of the window. Her body reacted as if he was a predator trying to attack her, and her wolf seemed to think it wasn’t a bad idea. Caught again in a whirlpool of emotions, she stiffened with every step he took in her direction until he stood in front of her. Her eyes darted from one place to another, looking for a safe spot. When they landed on the sandwiches, they deemed them safe enough so they lingered.

“I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home. I made you some sandwiches.” He tucked a strand behind her ear and said, “There is a brush for your hair, too.”

A trail of tingles followed his fingers, and heat rose to Blenda's cheeks. “Danke you.. uh.. thank shöne—” horrified, she clamped her hands over her mouth and rushed past him. His teasing chuckle followed her, then inevitably, his annoying voice lacerated her ears. “Blenda bear?”
“Go shower. Go shower, please.” She said, pinching the bridge of her nose. He graced her with another of his boyish laughs, then mercifully left her to her misery.

The door clicked shut, then the shower curtained her growl. Blenda flopped on the bed and hid her face in the towel. “Mein Gott.” (My God)

Drops of water fell on the floor, reminding her of the sodden neck of her shirt. She aggressively towelled her hair, turning it into a pile of hay. “Sometimes, I just hate myself.”

She climbed on the bed and sat cross-legged. She took the brush and busied herself with her hair. The door opened as she was finishing her braid. Arthur wore a pair of black sweatpants and a black undershirt. Blenda smiled at him. He looks good in black.

“You didn’t eat,” Arthur said.
“I was waiting for you.” She slipped the plate in front of her and patted the bed for him to sit.
“Take those. I’ll make some for myself.”

Blenda followed his every action as he moved effortlessly in the kitchen area. “Do you like cooking?” She asked.
“If you consider this…” He raised the sandwich. “cooking, then yes.”
“No, but you look like you know your way around the kitchen.”
“I know how to keep myself from starving,” he said and brought his plate to the bed. It dipped under his weight, then bounced when he crossed his legs and plopped on it.
“Such grace,” Blenda mumbled, catching her food before it fell out of the plate.
He smiled, leaning on his knees. “How about you? Do you cook?”
“I do,” she said and took a bite. “We eat together in my pack. We make a bonfire, and we cook our food on it.”
“Ah, that’s the best food ever. We used to cook like that on our hunting trips in Algeria.”
“You visited Algeria?” 

Blenda never left her pack. She was born during the madness the French government created. Then, when they settled in the Alps, they had to keep a low profile. After all, the genocide was swept under the rag, and they had no protection from the king.

“I lived there. Omar took me to his pack after my first shift.” Arthur placed his sandwich back on his plate, untouched.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, scolding herself for asking that question. Arthur nodded absentmindedly.

What should I do? I have to say something. Should I ask him about it, or is it too soon? Ugh, I hate this.

“Tell me about him?” she blurted out, gripping her sandwich to prevent her hands from fidgeting

Arthur heaved a deep sigh. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Blenda pursed her lips. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but nothing seemed appropriate.

What does it feel like to lose your mentor, your compass?

Blenda lost her mother to childbirth, but she’d had no memories of her. She couldn’t call that a loss. It was more of a void. The absence of existence. The constant feeling of missing out on the most basic experience everyone was enjoying. But how does it feel to have someone, then lose them?

Silence won over words. It reigned like a tyrant, forcing their mouths shut and their heads down.

“He took a bullet for me today,” Arthur croaked. His eyes were full of guilt. “He was always there for me. He saved my life during my first time and by taking me with him. He raised me, supported me. Everything I know today was thanks to him. I was hoping I’ll grow up into the man he’ll be proud of, but I failed him, and now he’s dead.”

Arthur was slipping away, and soon his wolf would take over. Giovanni’s words resounded in her ears, “Wolves are restless predators. They live off domination even over their own human.” Blenda wouldn’t let that happen. Anger licked her insides, and she welcomed its sting like an old friend.

“Arthur.” She pushed the food aside and stood on her knees in front of him. The color in her eyes brightened to its dangerous shade. She grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t you dare sit here in the comfort of your bed and judge a decision you made when death was looming.”

“Exactly. I didn’t even make a decision. Everything happened quickly. Omar deserved a chance to fight. He’s the general of the king’s army. He was a brave man—”

“And he died a brave man. Would it really matter if he fought, or if he died in his sleep? It’s his death that's hurting you, and it will consume you if you don’t accept it.”

He ground his teeth, dropping his plate on the bed, and laced his fingers together.

Easier said than done. Blenda knew that, but grief was a battle one fought alone. She could show him the way, but it was up to him to take it.
Blenda sat back on her heels as grief took him further from her. Before he got swallowed by the darkness, Arthur growled, pulling her to him. He buried his face in her chest, causing her breathing to stop for a second. She sighed and hugged him back.

“I’m here, Arthur. We’ll go through this together.”