Chapter Fifty-One: Silent Resolve
Luther’s hands trembled slightly as he finished building the fire for Charlie, his eyes catching sight of the blood-soaked clothes still clinging to her. The sight made his stomach twist. She shouldn’t be wearing that, he thought, his heart aching. It wasn’t just the physical discomfort of the dried blood that bothered him; it was the reminder of what she had been through, what she had done to survive.
Rex growled deep in his head, frustration boiling over. ‘Liam should’ve taken better care of her,’ Rex snarled. ‘Leaving her without a fire, without clothes, without anything. She deserves better than this.’ Luther clenched his fists, fighting back his wolf’s desire to lash out. He knew Liam was doing the best he could, but it was hard to ignore the fury that came with seeing Charlie in this state.
Without a word, Luther turned on his heel and left the room, his breath coming in quick, angry bursts. He didn’t trust himself to speak to her right now—didn’t trust that he could keep the pain, the guilt, and the anger from spilling out if he did.
He shifted quickly into his wolf, the change giving him a brief reprieve from the emotions surging through him. His large black paws hit the ground with a thud as he raced across the pack lands, running faster than he had in days. The wind whipped through his fur, and for a moment, the sheer physical exertion helped clear his head.
It wasn’t until he reached one of the secret stashes of clothes that wolves in the pack kept for emergencies that he finally slowed down. His wolf nose sniffed through the pile, searching for something suitable. After picking up a few sets of clothing carefully between his jaws, he turned and headed back toward the old house, his determination driving him forward.
When he re-entered the room, he found Charlie standing by the fire, her back to him, her thin frame illuminated by the flickering flames. She stared into the fire, her posture stiff, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked…small. Fragile.
Charlie’s head snapped toward him when she heard his footsteps, surprise flashing across her face when she saw the clothes he carried. He set them down gently by the door, making sure not to disturb her space. Without a word, he turned and walked out again, his chest tight as he tried to figure out what to do next.
I need to get her some warm water, he thought. She deserved more than just clean clothes. She needed to wash off the blood, the memories. But the house was so old, it didn’t even have running water. He racked his brain, trying to figure out how he could make this work.
As he walked past the old kitchen, a glint of metal caught his eye. In the corner of the room stood an old wood-burning stove. Perfect.
Without wasting any time, Luther went to work. He hurried back to Charlie’s room, pausing at the doorway. Just as he reached for the handle, the door creaked open slightly, and through the small gap, he saw Charlie starting to undress. She was peeling off the blood-soaked clothing, her hands trembling slightly as she tugged the fabric away from her skin.
Luther froze, his body stiffening as he stood just outside the door. His instincts screamed at him to go to her, to offer comfort, but he couldn’t. Not like this. Shifting back to human form, he cleared his throat, catching her attention.
Charlie glanced over at him, her movements halting as her wide eyes locked with his. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the unspoken weight of the situation heavy between them.
“I’ll get you hot water to wash up,” Luther said gruffly, his voice rougher than he intended. He didn’t wait for her to respond. He turned and walked away, setting to work immediately on heating the water.
The wood-burning stove was ancient, but it still worked. Luther gathered wood, fanning the flames until they roared to life, casting a warm glow over the old kitchen. He filled several buckets with water, setting them on the stove to heat. As he waited for the water to warm, he paced back and forth, his mind racing.
She deserves more than this, he thought again, frustration clawing at him. She deserved warmth, comfort, peace—but all she was getting was isolation and the harsh reality of her infection. It wasn’t fair.
The fire in the old stove crackled as he worked, heating the water as fast as he could. He made several trips back and forth, carrying bucket after bucket of warm water to the wash tub, each one bringing him closer to completing the task.
When the tub was finally filled to a comfortable level, Luther stood back, wiping the sweat from his brow as he looked at his work. The air in the room was warm now, the water steaming gently in the cold night. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
Luther returned to Charlie’s room to find her standing where he had left her, still frozen in place, her bare shoulders tense. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word, but the exhaustion in her eyes spoke volumes.
“It’s ready,” he said softly, his tone more gentle this time. He nodded toward the hallway. “Come with me.
Charlie hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her body moving slowly as she followed him out of the room and down the hallway to the wash tub. Luther stepped aside to give her space, not leaving until he heard the soft, contented sigh that escaped her lips as she sank into the warm water.
He made his way back to the kitchen, grabbing the last of the warm water he had prepared. The metal buckets were heavy, but the weight didn’t bother him. When he returned to the washroom, Charlie was sitting in the tub, her eyes closed as the water worked its magic on her sore muscles.
Luther said nothing as he quietly poured the warm water over her, helping to rinse away the last traces of blood and dirt. He kept his distance, his movements gentle and respectful, not wanting to invade her privacy more than necessary.
When she was finished, the blood had finally been washed away, leaving her skin clean but her eyes still haunted by the events of the night. Luther watched her, his heart heavy with the knowledge that no amount of warm water could wash away the memories or the infection she feared.
Once Charlie had dressed in the clean clothes, Luther walked out, retreating to the kitchen to give her privacy. There’s nothing more I can do, he thought, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he stared into the flickering flames of the stove.
But as much as he wanted to fix everything, to make things right, he knew this was just the beginning of a battle they weren’t ready to face.
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