The Wolf's Obsession

Chapter 15: Fractured Walls.

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The forest seemed endless as the three of them trudged deeper into its shadows. Alessandro moved ahead, his steps uneven but determined. Despite the faint light of dawn breaking through the canopy, Isabella could barely see Elena beside her. The silence between them stretched taut, the weight of their escape hanging heavy in the air.

Isabella's gaze kept drifting to Alessandro, his broad shoulders tense, his bloodied shirt sticking to his side. Every now and then, he'd falter, catching himself against a tree, but he never called for help.

"Stubborn idiot," Isabella muttered under her breath.

Elena glanced at her, arching a brow. "You should tell him that," she said quietly.

Isabella hesitated, her heart pounding for reasons she didn't want to examine. She pushed forward, quickening her pace to catch up to him.

"Alessandro," she said softly, touching his arm.

He flinched at the contact but didn't pull away. Instead, he stopped walking, his body swaying slightly as he turned to face her. "You shouldn't be this close," he murmured, his voice rough.

"You're hurt," she replied, her tone firmer now. "You can barely stand. Let me help."

"I don't need your help," he said, his jaw tightening.

She stepped closer, her chest brushing against his arm. "And yet here you are, bleeding out while pretending you're invincible."

Alessandro's eyes darkened, his usual icy composure wavering. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The distance between them seemed to shrink, the tension in the air shifting into something heavier, something neither of them fully understood.

"You shouldn't care," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Not about me."

Isabella's throat tightened. "And yet here I am," she whispered.

His gaze lingered on her, flickering to her lips before he abruptly stepped back. "We need to keep moving," he said, his tone colder now.

Frustration bubbled up in Isabella, but she held it back, letting him create space between them once more. As much as she wanted to scream at him for his infuriating need to push her away, there was a flicker of understanding deep inside her. He wasn't just trying to protect her. He was trying to protect himself.

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The sun was high in the sky by the time they found shelter. It wasn't much-just a rocky overhang shielded by thick underbrush-but it offered them a brief respite from the outside world.

Alessandro sat down heavily against the rock wall, his face pale and drawn. Isabella knelt beside him, brushing away her earlier irritation as she inspected his wound.

"Let me see," she said firmly, reaching for his shirt.

He caught her wrist, his grip strong despite his obvious exhaustion. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?" she challenged, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Take care of me," he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of vulnerability.

Her heart clenched at his words, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. She hadn't expected this-the raw honesty in his tone, the cracks in the armor he wore so tightly.

"I'm not doing it for you," she said finally, her voice softer now. "I'm doing it for me. Because I can't sit here and watch you die."

His hand loosened on her wrist, and she took it as permission to continue. She tugged his shirt up carefully, revealing the blood-soaked bandage beneath. The sight made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to focus.

"This is bad," she murmured, her fingers brushing against his skin as she examined the wound.

Alessandro didn't flinch, but his breathing hitched slightly at her touch. "I've had worse," he said, his tone almost casual.

She rolled her eyes. "That doesn't make it any better."

Elena approached with a first-aid kit she'd scavenged from their supplies. She handed it to Isabella with a knowing look before stepping back to give them space.

As Isabella worked, Alessandro's gaze never left her. She tried to ignore the weight of his attention, but it was impossible to forget how close he was, how his body radiated heat despite his injuries.

"You're surprisingly good at this," he said after a while, his voice low.

"I used to help my dad," she said absently, focusing on cleaning the wound. "He was... clumsy. Always cutting himself while working on his sculptures."

Alessandro's lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through his usual stoic mask. "You inherited his talent," he said. "I've seen your sketches."

She froze, her hands stilling on the bandage. "You've been through my things?"

His smile faded, replaced by something unreadable. "When I brought you to the mansion," he admitted. "I wanted to understand you."

Her chest tightened, anger and embarrassment flaring in equal measure. But before she could snap at him, he continued.

"They're beautiful," he said quietly. "Your drawings. They're... alive."

The unexpected compliment disarmed her, leaving her speechless. She glanced up at him, her breath catching when she saw the way he was looking at her-like she was something rare and precious, something he couldn't quite believe was real.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Isabella's pulse quickened, her anger melting away under the intensity of his gaze.

"You're impossible," she murmured, shaking her head as she returned to her task.

"And you're infuriating," he replied, but there was no bite to his words. Instead, there was a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine.

When she finished bandaging his wound, she sat back, her hands trembling slightly. Alessandro reached out, his fingers brushing against hers in a fleeting, tentative touch.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up at him, her heart pounding as their eyes met. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet stillness of the shelter.

But before either of them could speak, Elena's voice cut through the tension.

"We need to talk about what's next," she said, her tone brisk.

The spell was broken, and Alessandro pulled back, his walls snapping back into place. Isabella swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus as Elena outlined their plan.

But even as they spoke of escape routes and safe havens, Isabella couldn't shake the memory of Alessandro's touch, the heat in his gaze.

And she couldn't deny the truth she'd been avoiding for so long: the man she hated, the man who had stolen her freedom, was also the man who made her feel more alive than she ever had before.

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To be continued..
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