Chapter 2 The Morning After

Eliana Pov

.....I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead of going upstairs to my cozy bed, I pulled a thick blanket from my closet, sat in the wooden rocking chair behind the counter, and watched the sleeping giant on my floor. Every time the floorboards creaked in the wind, my heart gave a little jump, expecting him to leap up and tear my shop apart.

But he didn’t. He didn’t even toss or turn. For eight straight hours, as the rain poured outside, the terrifying man on my rug slept like a baby.

When the first gray rays of morning light filtered through the front window, the rain finally stopped. The shop smelled of cold ash, damp wool, and the lingering sweet scent of chamomile.

I crept out of my chair, keeping my footsteps as silent as possible. I needed to move him, or at least get him off my good rug before the town woke up.

I knelt beside him, keeping a safe distance. Up close, in the clear morning light, he looked even bigger. His dark hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, and his jaw was covered in dark stubble. The torn fabric on his shoulder showed a deep, nasty claw mark, but my tea had stopped the bleeding overnight.

“Hey,” I whispered, reaching out with a broom handle to poke his arm gently. “Wake up. It’s morning.”

He didn’t budge.

“Mister. You have to wake up. I need to open my shop.”

I leaned in a bit closer, about to shake his shoulder with my hand, when his eyes snapped open.

They were a piercing, pale silver..cold and sharp as ice.

Before I could even scream, a heavy hand locked around my wrist. The world spun, and in less than a second, he flipped us over. I hit the floor with a soft gasp, pinned beneath his massive frame. He hovered over me, his chest heaving, his sharp fangs dropping down in a lethal display of pure instinct.

“Who are you?” he growled, his voice deep, rough, and vibrating right through my ribs. “Where am I?”

Panic spiked in my chest, but I forced myself to stay completely still. Prey animals run; healers stay calm.

“You’re in my shop,” I said, keeping my voice as soft and steady as I could. “You walked in last night during the storm. You were hurt.”

His silver eyes scanned my face, searching for a threat. He looked at my small hands, my simple linen apron, and the soft woolen shawl draped over my shoulders. Then, his gaze drifted to the empty clay cup sitting on the counter nearby, still holding the faint scent of moonflower and honey.

Slowly, his brain seemed to catch up with his surroundings. The sharp fangs retracted. The dark, terrifying aura radiating from his body began to pull back, like a shadow retreating from the sun.

He looked down at his own hands, then at the clear skin on his neck where the black veins had been just hours before.

“The noise…” he muttered, his voice full of disbelief. He touched his own throat, his fingers trembling slightly. “The voices in my head… they’re quiet.”

“That’s because you slept,” I said softly, wriggling my wrist slightly in his grip. “The curse feeds on tiredness. The tea forced your mind to rest so your body could heal.”

He looked back down at me, realization dawning in his pale eyes. He blinked, suddenly realizing how close we were his massive body pinning me to the floorboards, his heavy hand wrapped around my small wrist.

A dull flush of dark red crept up his neck and onto his cheeks.

He practically leaped backward, scrambling off me so fast he nearly knocked over a display of dried lavender jars. He stood up, towering over me, looking completely flustered as he adjusted his torn shirt.

“I… I apologize,” he grunted, looking everywhere except at me. “I thought you were an enemy.”

I sat up, dusting off my skirt and smoothing my hair. “An enemy with a teapot? I doubt it.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at me, his sharp silver eyes filled with a strange mixture of awe, confusion, and deep relief. For four years, he had been living in a living nightmare, driven mad by a curse no alpha or doctor could break. And here, in a tiny, quiet shop on the edge of nowhere, a simple girl had fixed it with a hot cup of herbs.

“What is your name?” he asked, his voice low and serious.

“Eliana,” I replied, standing up and pulling my apron straight. “And this is my tea room.”

He looked around the small shop, taking in the glass jars, the warm hearth, and the soft morning light. When he looked back at me, the terrifying monster from the rumors was gone. In his place was just a tired man who had finally found a moment of peace.

“I am Gideon,” he said quietly.

He pulled a heavy leather pouch from his belt and set it on the wooden counter with a loud clink. The sound of heavy silver coins echoed through the quiet room.

“What is this for?” I asked, frowning at the bag.

“For the tea,” Gideon said, turning his head toward the door as if he was afraid to stay too long. “And for the sleep. I haven’t slept like that in five years.”

“That’s way too much money for one cup of chamomile,” I said, reaching for the bag to give it back.

“Keep it,” he commanded, though his tone was soft, almost gentle. He paused at the door, his hand resting on the brass handle. He looked back over his shoulder, his silver eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “I will be back, Eliana.”

Before I could reply, he opened the door and stepped out into the crisp morning air, disappearing down the quiet street of Frostfell like a shadow into the sun.

I stood alone in my shop, looking from the heavy pouch of silver on my counter to the open door.

I had wanted a simple, quiet life away from pack drama and dangerous Alphas. But as I picked up the silver coins, I had a sinking feeling that my quiet life was about to get very interesting.