Moonlit Embrace

Moonlit Embrace Part 7: Refuge

The next morning, Mia woke with the first light of dawn, her head pounding and stomach churning. The smell of the chicken from their dinner lingered in the air, but it no longer brought comfort. Instead, it twisted her stomach into knots. She bolted out of bed, her legs wobbly as she stumbled to the bathroom. The cold tiles felt like a relief under her paws, and she barely made it to the toilet before her stomach heaved violently. She emptied herself, feeling the acid burn her throat and the bile sting her nose. Her body felt like it was betraying her, and she couldn't shake the sense of dread that clung to her like a second fur coat.

Tristan stirred in his sleep, the sound of Mia's retching echoing through the bedroom. He sat up, his ears perked with concern, his lupara instincts kicking in. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He threw off the blankets, his fur bristling slightly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He padded quietly towards the bathroom door, not wanting to startle her. As he approached, the sounds grew louder, and he could feel the tension in the air thicken. He gently pushed the door open with his paw, his heart racing with worry. "Are you okay?" He asked, his voice a soft rumble.

Mia looked up, her eyes red and watery, her fur matted with sweat. "No, I'm not okay," she croaked, her voice a sad imitation of its usual melodious purr. She leaned against the bathtub, her small frame trembling. "I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "It's like... something's not right." Tristan's heart clenched with worry, and he took a tentative step forward, his tail swishing with concern. "Maybe it was the chicken from yesterday," he offered, his voice a gentle rumble. But if that was the case, why wasn't he feeling sick too? He had eaten the same meal.

Tristan watched her with a furrowed brow, his tail still swishing back and forth. He didn't know what to do, but he knew she needed his support. He stepped closer and gently scooped her up in his arms, her small frame a stark contrast to his large, lupara form. She let out a little whine of protest, but the moment she was nestled against his chest, she melted into his embrace. Her fur felt damp and clammy, and her eyes held a hint of desperation that tugged at his heartstrings. He carried her back to the bed, sitting her down gently on the cool, soft sheets. Mia nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her nose twitching as she took in his comforting scent.

The rest of the morning was a blur of comforting gestures and gentle touches. Tristan brought her water, a damp cloth for her forehead, and even tried to coax her into eating something. But every scent, every taste, was repulsive to her. Mia was grateful for his care, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow failing him. She was supposed to be his protector, and now she was weak and vulnerable. As the day wore on, her sickness subsided, leaving her drained and exhausted. "You feeling better?" He asked, his voice filled with hope. Mia nodded weakly, not meeting his gaze. "A little," she murmured, her voice still hoarse from the earlier ordeal.

"I know that you probably don't want to eat anything, but you really need to keep your strength up," Tristan said, his voice filled with gentle concern. "Okay," Mia replied, her voice weak but determined. "But could you carry me downstairs?" she asked, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Of course," he said without a moment's hesitation. He scooped her into his arms, the warmth of his embrace a stark contrast to the coldness she felt inside. He carried her downstairs with ease, his lupara form much stronger than his human one. Mia couldn't help but feel a sense of peace, nestled against his chest.

In the kitchen, he set her down gently on a chair, his eyes scanning the counter for anything that might appease her queasy stomach. He hadn't considered that Mia would get sick like this. Tristan felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if he had done something wrong. He knew he had to help her, to find a way to ease her suffering. "Maybe you'll be able to eat some jerky," he offered, holding out one of the bags. Mia took a tentative sniff, her nose wrinkling in distaste. She shook her head, the action sending a fresh wave of nausea through her. "I don't think so," she murmured.