Chapter 181
Elena's POV
Three days later, the wound on Caleb's shoulder had already scabbed over. I still insisted on checking it, lifting the edge of his shirt to carefully examine the jagged line of new tissue.
"It's fine," he said, his voice flat.
"Let me be the judge of that." I carefully traced the edge. The skin was pink and still tender, but it had healed. Clean. "Does it still hurt?"
"Not anymore."
I didn't entirely believe him, but I didn't press further. We moved to the kitchen, where he'd already started pulling ingredients from the fridge. I watched him work—his hands quick and efficient as he rinsed leafy greens, trimmed fat from a thick cut of beef.
"Need help?" I asked.
He glanced at me, raising one eyebrow. "Chopping?"
"I can do that."
He slid a cutting board and knife across the counter. I took the onion he handed me and started slicing, trying not to look too clumsy. The kitchen filled with the smell of garlic and rosemary, warm and grounding. I stole glances at him while he worked—the line of his jaw, the surprising grace in the movement of his fingers. He looked...domestic.
"You're staring at me," he said without looking up.
"I'm not."
"You are."
I felt my face heat. "I was just thinking...you're better at this than I expected."
"Low bar," he said dryly, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
---
After dinner, I settled on the couch and pulled out my knitting supplies. The sweater I'd been working on was almost finished, soft and thick. For him. For winter. My fingers ached from the repetitive motion, but I kept going.
From the study, I could hear the faint rustle of pages turning. Caleb had been in there every night this week, buried in work and reports. Always working. Always alone.
I set down the needles and rubbed my hands. The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, distant and cold. I glanced toward the study door—half-open, warm light spilling out.
He wouldn't come out unless I went in.
I stood up.
Caleb sat in the leather chair by the desk, a thick technical manual open on his lap. He looked up when I entered, his expression calm.
"You always stay inside?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Where else would I go?"
"I don't know. Out?" I gestured vaguely. "Don't you get...bored?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Do you think I'm boring?"
I hesitated. "A little."
Something flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone. He closed the book and set it aside.
"But I like being with you," I added quickly. "Anywhere. Even if you just...sit here and read all night."
He studied me for a moment, then stood. "Come here."
I crossed the room. He pulled me down to sit on the armrest of his chair, his hand warm on my waist.
"You could find something that makes you happy," I said quietly. "A hobby. Something just for you."
He was silent for a beat. "Hobbies are...a luxury I never had."
My chest tightened. "You can have them now."
He looked at me, something raw flickering in his gaze. Then he nodded. "I'll try."
"Good." I smiled. "So...where do you want to go? For the trip."
His eyes softened. "Anywhere you want."
"Really?"
"Really."
I felt something loosen in my chest. This was new—him planning a future. Us planning a future.
But then I remembered something. Something I'd been too afraid to ask.
"Caleb," I said slowly. "You told me once...you didn't plan to live very long."
His body went still.
"Do you still feel that way?"
The silence stretched. I could hear my own heartbeat.
"Because I plan to live a long time," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "And my husband...he has to live just as long. Not one day less."
I looked at him, trying to keep my expression serious. "You can't die before me. That's not allowed."
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached up and pulled me off the armrest, settling me on his lap. One hand cupped the back of my head, the other gripped my chin—firm, almost rough.
Then he kissed me.
His fingers threaded through my hair, angling my head so he could deepen the kiss. I felt his other hand slide to my lower back, pressing me closer. He was everywhere—his scent, his warmth, his breath.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
He rested his forehead against mine. "Tomorrow is the full moon."
My heart skipped.
"I've made arrangements," he said quietly. His thumb traced my jawline. "We'll complete the marking ceremony. If you're ready."
I stared at him. The marking ceremony. The real one. Permanent. Binding.
"Are you asking or telling?" I managed.
"Asking." His voice was low, almost hoarse. "If you're willing."
I swallowed hard. My pulse was racing. "I am."
His grip tightened. He pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His breath was warm against my skin.
"I'll stay with you," he murmured. "For a very long time. Longer than a lifetime."
I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around him, holding on as tightly as I could.
"Good," I whispered. "Because I'm not letting you go."
We stayed like that, tangled together in the chair, the city lights glowing beyond the windows. Tomorrow would change everything. But tonight, this was enough.