Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 69

**Charlotte**

I wake up again with that same heavy, dragged-out feeling in my body and no real memory of when I fell asleep, which is becoming a bit of a pattern. The first thing I see is Charlie. His head is tipped slightly forward as he looks down at me, one arm stretched along the back of the couch and the other resting loosely over the blanket near my side. His auburn curls fall into his eyes, and he pushes them back absently when he notices me looking at him. “Oh, good morning, princess. Welcome back to the land of the living,” he jokes. My cheek is pressed against his thigh, and I proceed to poke my tongue out at him and punch him in the ribs lightly. “There she is,” Theo says from somewhere across the room. I turn my head enough to find him sprawled in the armchair opposite us, one leg hanging over the side, his phone in his hand, and a plate balanced on his stomach. He looks far too comfortable for someone who has clearly been sitting there watching me sleep for God knows how long. “How long was I out?” I ask, my voice rough with sleep. Charlie shrugs one shoulder. “Long enough for us to start wondering if you’d moved in permanently.” I groan quietly and slowly push myself upright. Charlie’s hand comes to my back straight away, helping my protesting limbs. “Easy,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “I am being easy.” I smooth a hand over my face, trying to wake myself up properly. My body feels better than it did before I fell asleep, but there is looseness in my limbs. Before I can say anything else, Mara appears in the doorway carrying a plate and a glass of water. “Perfect,” she says. “You’re awake. Sandwich.”

She crosses the room and sits on the coffee table in front of me. The plate lands in my hands, and I stare down at a ham and cheese, crusts on, cut in half. “You don’t have to feed,” I whisper, and Mara smiles. “No one said anything about feeding you. I’m just placing food in front of you and trusting your survival instincts.” Mara looks entirely too pleased with herself when I take a bite. “Sorry,” I say once I’ve swallowed. She tilts her head. “For what?” I glance down at the blanket still draped over my lap, at Charlie half-trapped beneath me, Theo stationed across from us and then at the odd shirt-wearing pillow that I’m just now noticing. “For taking over your lounge room like this.” Mara waves it off with one hand. “Sweetheart, you used a huge amount of power, and then your body did what it needed to do. That isn’t taking over my lounge room. That’s recovering.” I look down at the sandwich again, still embarrassed. She softens a little and rests a hand on my knee. “From what I’ve been reading in the old texts, this is normal.” Mara leans her forearms on her thighs. “When power like yours is used properly for the first time, especially something tied so closely to your wolf, it drains you. Your body isn’t used to holding that kind of force yet.” Her fingers squeeze lightly over my knee. “It should get easier in time. Think of it like training a muscle. The more your body learns what to do with it, the less it will take out of you after.” That makes more sense than anything else I’ve heard so far.

“So I’m not dying,” I say. Theo snorts, and Mara smiles. “No. You’re not dying.”

“Good to know.” She gives my knee one last pat. “Eat.” The sandwich disappears faster than I mean for it to, the water after it cooling my throat while the room stays quiet around me. I’ve almost finished the last bite when the front door opens. Cold air slips into the hall, followed by footsteps and the faint rattle of keys. The bond stirs low and warm in my chest, telling me Blake is nearby. A second later, he appears in the doorway, dark hair slightly windswept, and a box tucked under one arm. Blake clears his throat. “You’re awake.” He shifts the box a little higher under his arm and walks over. “I got you something.” I set the plate down on the coffee table and straighten a little. Why would he get me something? He steps closer and holds the box out. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Probably not. Still did.” He says, still holding out the box. I take it from him, my body unsure of how to receive a gift. He gives me the smallest nod, so I lift the lid, and everything in me stops. I stare down at them lying side by side inside the box, bright white leather with silver detailing, the laces tucked neatly in place, the blades protected, untouched, perfect. I reach out and touch one skate with my fingertips. The leather is smooth. A breath leaves me before I can stop it. “Blake...”

He drops into a crouch in front of me, his forearms resting loosely over his thighs, hands hanging between his knees. “I know the ones you have mean something to you,” he says quickly. “ I just...” His eyes flick briefly toward Charlie, then back to me. “We thought it’d be nice if you had a pair that were just yours.” My eyes blur instantly, and I laugh under my breath because, of course, this is what makes me cry. I wipe under one eye only for the other to spill over too. Charlie’s hand comes up and squeezes the back of my neck. “These are mine?” I whisper and watch as Blake’s whole face softens. “Yeah, Lotty,” he says quietly. “All yours.” My fingers curl more firmly around the edge of the box. “You bought me skates.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Best pair I could find.” Blake reaches into the box and lifts one skate out. “Want to try them on?” I laugh wetly and wipe at my face again. “Right now?”

“Unless you were planning to frame them.” I laugh and nod quickly. He shifts closer and loosens the laces while I sit there trying to get my breathing under control. Then he reaches for my foot, one hand steady at my ankle, the other guiding the skate into place with such ridiculous care that I have to look away for a second. The leather hugs my foot perfectly. Blake tightens the laces in smooth, sure pulls, working his way up with his head bent and his shoulders broad and solid in front of me. By the time he ties them off,f I feel half wrecked all over again for a completely different reason. He sits back on his heels and looks up at me. “Well?” I move my foot carefully. The fit is perfect. “They feel...” I blink down at the skate, at the white leather around my ankle, bright and untouched and wholly mine. “They’re perfect, Blake. Thank you.”