Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 52

**Blake**

“Would you… Would you stay?” The words are soft, almost like they’re embarrassed they left her mouth, and for a second, I don’t move because my brain stalls on the fact that she asked. Lex lifts his head like the whole world just shifted into the right place. *Mate.* Charlotte’s cheeks are pink, and her eyes flick away from me quickly. I step back into the room and close the door most of the way, leaving it cracked just slightly. I’ve learnt fast that she needs exits. She needs choices. So I give her one. “I can stay,” I say quietly, trying to hide just how much my heart swells from that request. I cross to the bed and sit on the edge, careful not to jostle it and make her leg move. Charlotte shifts slightly, wincing when her injured leg moves, and she tries to hide it by biting her lip. “Hey,” I murmur. Her eyes lift to me. “Rest,” I tell her. “Your body’s doing enough.” She lets out a slow breath, like she’s tired of fighting every instruction. I reach out slowly and set my hand on her good leg, just above her knee. A touch that says I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Charlotte’s eyelids flutter, and the mate bond answers with warmth spreading through my palm and up my arm and through my chest. It is the most otherworldly feeling. Lex settles, satisfied, finally curled into his den. Charlotte’s gaze drifts to my hand, then back to my face. “You don’t have to,” she whispers, still not trusting that kindness comes without a cost. “I want to,” I say.

I watch as her throat moves when she swallows. She blinks hard, then looks toward the cracked door. She doesn’t speak for a minute. She lies there under the blankets, hair spread over the pillow, face pale but calmer. I watch her, memorising her breathing, counting the seconds between each rise and fall. “You’re safe,” I remind her quietly. Charlotte’s eyes slide back to me, heavy-lidded now. Shanti stirs faintly through the bond, a soft presence behind her eyes, and I feel it like a hum in my bones. It’s strange, sensing her wolf this way, sensing that quiet strength under all the fear. Charlotte’s voice is barely there when she speaks again. “My leg hurts.”

“I know,” I murmur. “It’ll ease.” She makes a small sound that isn’t agreement, more like she’s too tired to argue, and I keep my hand where it is. I hold the contact, letting the bond do what it’s supposed to do, letting it calm her nervous system, letting it feed her healing.

Her breathing slows eventually. Her lashes drop, then lift once, like she’s fighting sleep. I let Lex do what I know he wants to do, and he begins purring for her. A deep rumble through my chest. “It’s okay to sleep,” I say softly. Charlotte’s eyes close again, and this time they stay closed. For a few minutes, she still looks tense, her mouth tight, brow faintly furrowed; even in rest, she’s braced for impact. Then her face smooths, the lines easing one by one, and she sinks deeper into the pillow, letting the bed hold her. Her breath evens out, and the mate bond quiets into something warm and content in my chest. I sit there and watch her sleep, hand still on her good leg, refusing to let myself think too far ahead, because if I do, I’ll start planning wars and futures and pack rituals and what it means that she asked me to stay. Right now she’s breathing. She’s safe. She trusted me enough to let her eyes close, and that’s everything.

The room stays still for a long time after Charlotte falls asleep. The pack downstairs can be heard faintly through the walls. The house shifts and settles the way old houses do, with a soft creak here and there, but up here, everything feels held, as if the air itself knows to be quiet. My hand stays resting on her good leg, warm through the fabric, and I watch her. Footsteps sound in the hallway, and the door cracks open a fraction further. I turn to see Charlie’s head appear, eyes scanning the room and landing on Charlotte. The second he sees her sleeping, he blows out a long breath. I lift my fingers to my lips, and Charlie nods. He slips into the room and pulls the door closed behind him with slow hands. Then he crosses to the bed without a sound and stops on the other side, looking down at her. He sits on the edge of the mattress carefully, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. Charlie’s voice comes out rough and quiet. “She means the world to me.” I tear my gaze away from Charlotte to look at him. “I know.” Charlie swallows and scrubs a hand over his mouth. His other hand hovers near her blanket, then drops to his knee instead. “It’s always been her,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Even when things were… shit. Even when we were moving, hungry, and pretending it wasn’t bad. She was the one who kept it together.” My jaw tightens. I can picture it too easily. Charlotte’s hands working while her body ran on empty. Charlotte making sure Charlie could eat. Charlotte walking around with a plan in her head because someone had to have one. Charlie looks at me, his green eyes are soft, but protective, raw with it. “Please don’t hurt her,” he says. The words land like a challenge and a plea all at once. I keep my voice low, but make sure he hears the vow in it. “Never.” Charlie holds my gaze, searching for the lie. Then something in him eases, just slightly. He looks back down at Charlotte, and his shoulders sag as the fear leaks out of him in a slow exhale. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think she’d survive another person breaking her… and I wouldn’t know how to live without her.” I sit there beside him in the quiet, both of us watching the same girl sleep, both of us knowing that whatever comes next, neither of us is letting her face it

alone.