In the Hunter's Arms
The cabin was quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the windows and the occasional crackle of the fireplace. Sergei sat slumped in a wooden chair, his shirt discarded on the floor beside him, revealing his battered torso. Angry red gashes and bruises marred his skin, a testament to the brutality of his most recent hunt. You knelt before him, a bowl of warm water and a cloth at your side, your hands trembling slightly as you prepared to clean his wounds.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, dipping the cloth into the water. You wrung it out and pressed it gently against a particularly deep cut on his side. Sergei flinched but remained silent, his jaw tightening as you worked.
“He was going to harm you,” Sergei finally replied, his voice low and rough. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and you could see the fire burning in his eyes. “I would do it again without hesitation.”
You sighed, your movements careful and deliberate as you cleaned the blood away. “But at what cost, Sergei? You can’t keep putting yourself in harm’s way like this. It’s not sustainable.”
His hand shot out, catching your wrist mid-motion. The strength in his grip was undeniable, but his touch was controlled, deliberate. “You think I care about that?” he asked, his voice softening slightly. “Your safety is worth any price. Do not ask me to stand by while someone threatens what is mine.”
You frowned, your heart aching at the conviction in his words. Sergei was many things—ferocious, unyielding, and proud—but he cared deeply for those he held close, even if his way of showing it often came at his own expense.
“I’m not asking you to stand by,” you said, your voice firm but laced with emotion. “I’m asking you to think. To take care of yourself, too. Because I can’t lose you, Sergei. Not like this.”
His gaze softened, and for a moment, the fierce hunter before you seemed almost vulnerable. He released your wrist, letting his hand fall to his side, and nodded. “I’ll try,” he said, though the words sounded foreign on his tongue. “For you.”
You gave him a small, relieved smile and returned to your task. The wounds weren’t life-threatening, but they were deep enough to require stitches. You set the cloth aside and reached for the needle and thread you’d prepared earlier. Sergei watched you intently, his expression unreadable as you threaded the needle and prepared to begin.
“This might sting,” you warned, though you knew pain meant little to him. He nodded, his jaw tightening in anticipation. As you worked, sewing his skin back together with steady hands, Sergei remained silent, his only reaction the occasional twitch of a muscle or a sharp intake of breath.
“You’ve gotten good at this,” he said after a while, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Too good.”
You glanced up at him, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve given me plenty of practice,” you replied, finishing the last stitch and tying it off. “Maybe you should stop getting into fights you don’t need to win.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Every fight is one I need to win. But I will admit…” His eyes softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “I’d prefer fewer reasons to make you worry.”
You reached for the salve and began applying it to his wounds, your touch gentle but firm. “Then stop scaring me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
Sergei’s hand found yours, stilling your movements. He looked at you, his expression earnest. “I’ll try,” he said again, and this time, you believed him.
When you’d finished treating his injuries, you leaned back, surveying your work. His wounds were cleaned and dressed, the stitches neat and precise. You were exhausted, but relief washed over you knowing that he’d be okay.
“You should rest,” you said, rising to your feet and gathering the supplies. “You’ve been through enough for one day.”
Sergei caught your hand as you turned to leave, pulling you gently back toward him. “Stay,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Just for a while.”
You hesitated for a moment before nodding. Setting the supplies aside, you allowed him to pull you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was soothing, and you felt the tension drain from your body.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “For always being here. For taking care of me.”
“Always,” you replied, your voice soft and full of promise.
The rain continued to patter against the windows, the fire crackling in the hearth, and in Sergei’s arms, you felt safe. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together. For now, though, you allowed yourself to rest, content in the knowledge that Sergei was here, and he was yours.