Chapter 92
Caleb's POV
Coming back here. Waiting for her like she was some prize I could win if I just hung around long enough. She had a life. A future that had been written before I even existed to her.
And what was I? The dirty secret. The unwanted bastard Vance. The kid who got locked in towers for existing.
I thought of that stray dog—the one she'd fed so carefully, so sweetly. That's all I was to her. Something broken that deserved a scrap of kindness. She'd give me warmth the same way she'd given that dog her sandwich—because she was good, because she couldn't help herself. But that was it. Nothing more.
I got on a plane the next morning. Told myself I'd never come back. That I'd bury this weakness, this stupid hope that someone like her could ever—
But I kept the photo.
Sitting in my seat at 30,000 feet, scrolling through my phone, I stared at her crouched beside that dog. The way the winter light caught her profile. The softness in her expression.
Delete it, my brain screamed. Keeping this will only make it worse.
My thumb hovered over the trash icon. Stayed there for a full minute.
But I couldn't do it.
"It's just a picture," I muttered to no one. "It's all I have."
---
The memory dissolved as my gaze returned to Elena curled on the couch.
"You should shower," I said quietly.
She nodded, started to stand, and hissed in pain when weight hit her ankle. I was beside her in two strides, one arm sliding under her knees, the other supporting her back. She made a small sound of surprise but didn't fight me as I carried her upstairs.
In the bathroom, I kept one hand on her waist while she brushed her teeth, balanced her weight while she washed her face. When she tried to protest—said she could manage—I just tightened my grip slightly and said nothing.
Back in the guest room, I set her down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her. My hands found her injured ankle, fingers pressing gently around the swelling as I applied the ointment the ER nurse had given us. I kept my eyes down, focused on the task. If I looked at her face—I'd lose what little control I had left.
The scent of her skin, the warmth radiating from her body, the fact that she was here—it was almost too much. My wolf stirred, rumbling with satisfaction and hunger in equal measure.
Not yet. Not like this.
When I finished, I capped the ointment and stood. Leaned down. Pressed a brief, careful kiss to the corner of her mouth—just enough to taste her goodnight without crossing any lines.
"Sleep," I said, voice rough. "Everything else can wait until tomorrow."
I left before she could respond. Before I could change my mind and crawl into that bed beside her.
---
Elena's POV
I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my heart refusing to calm down.
What just happened?
Today had been...too much. Too overwhelming. I'd kissed him. Twice. Let him kiss me back until I couldn't think straight. Felt his body against mine, all that coiled strength and desperate restraint.
And now he was somewhere in this house—probably in his own room, probably as wrecked as I was—and I couldn't stop replaying every second of it.
I pulled the blanket over my face, suddenly burning despite the cool room.
He wants me.
The thought of my father seeing me now. He'd lose his mind. Probably lock me in my room until the ceremony. And Damon...God, if Damon knew I'd chosen Caleb over him, over the blood pact, over everything—
But the weird thing was, thinking about their anger didn't scare me as much as it should. Instead, there was this tiny, defiant spark in my chest whispering, Good. Let them know. Let them see I'm not theirs to control anymore.
I rolled onto my side, hugging the pillow. Thinking about the future, I'd have to face reality. Figure out how to tell my parents.
---
Next morning. The knock on my door came soft but insistent. "Elena? You awake?"
I blinked at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, then scrambled upright. "Y-yeah. Just a second."
My ankle throbbed as I limped to the door, gripping furniture for balance. When I opened it, Caleb was already reaching for me, expression tightening.
"You shouldn't be walking on that."
"I can actually move around now," I protested. "I can't just lie there all day."
He exhaled through his nose—clearly unimpressed—but stepped back enough to let me shuffle past him. We made it halfway down the stairs before he muttered something under his breath and scooped me up again.
"Caleb!"
"Faster this way."
He deposited me on the living room couch with a gentleness that contradicted his blunt words, then crouched in front of me. His fingers found my ankle, prodding carefully at the swelling. It had gone down a little, but the bruising looked worse in daylight—deep purple spreading across pale skin.
"It's better," I said quickly. "Really. The ointment helped."
He made a noncommittal sound, still examining my foot like it held all the secrets of the universe. Then his gaze flicked up to mine, intense and unreadable. "You're staying home today. No arguments."
"I wasn't planning to go anywhere."
"Good." He stood, brushed invisible dust off his jeans. "I'll make breakfast."
"You don't have to—"
"Elena." He turned back, one eyebrow raised. "Stop arguing with me."
I bit my lip to hide a smile. "You know you're very bossy, right?"
"And you like testing me." His mouth curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "So we're even."
---
Half an hour later, I was curled on the couch with tea and toast while Caleb worked at his laptop in the armchair across from me. The silence between us was comfortable now, broken only by keyboard clicks and the occasional clink of my mug.
I watched him over the rim of my cup. The way his brow furrowed in concentration. The slight tension in his jaw that never fully relaxed. He looked exhausted—like he hadn't slept well.
Because of me.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
Heat flooded my cheeks. "I'm not."
"You are." Now he did look at me, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement. "See something you like?"
"Oh my God." I threw a couch pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, smirking now.