IN WHICH - The last thing that Hope Mikaelson expected when she came out of Malivore was to still be alive, the second last thing she expected was to be disowned by most of her living family, and the final last thing she expected was some ancient be...
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THIRD PERSON POV
CHAPTER 36
Sunrise edged through the narrow window high on the cellblock wall, washing the gray stone with a pale gold hue. In the cramped space that served as Hope's room, the world felt temporarily gentler—a small sanctuary from the horrors just outside.
Daryl stirred first, blinking at the warm light on his face. The smell of stone, stale air, and the faint, comforting scent of Hope enveloped him. He lay there, heart pounding with that unfamiliar new rhythm—a reminder of what he'd become. And yet, an even stronger reminder was the woman dozing beside him, her hair spilling across the pillow.
She opened her eyes slowly, catching his gaze. A soft smile ghosted across her lips as she shifted closer, letting her hand trail across his chest. "Morning," she murmured, voice husky from sleep.
"Hey," he whispered back, his tone gentler than usual. He swallowed, remembering the intensity of the night before—the surge of hunger, the frantic coming-together, and the odd calm that followed once they'd finally slept. "You okay?"
Hope nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah," she breathed, though a subdued sadness flickered in her eyes. "You?"
He hesitated, glancing down at his bare arms. "Feels... weird," he admitted. "Hungry, but not the same as last night." He tried a small, wry smile. "Guess the, uh, aftereffects of your blood are still helpin'."
Hope shifted upright, tugging the old blanket around her shoulders. She exhaled slowly, recalling the swirl of events since they found Daryl bleeding out in the woods. "I can give you some more," she offered softly, "if you need it. Just to help stabilize you. But we should also figure out a long-term plan... for everything."
Daryl regarded her for a beat, torn between the lingering shame of needing blood and the clear craving that gnawed at his core. "Only if you're sure," he said quietly, lifting a hand to brush the edge of her cheek. "Don't wanna sap you dry."
A gentle, reassuring smile touched Hope's mouth. She leaned forward, exposing her wrist. "Just a little," she teased, trying to keep the mood from sinking. "I'm not exactly a drip bag, you know."
Despite himself, Daryl let out a breath that was almost a laugh, cupping her wrist. "Fair enough." He cast a glance at her neck, remembering the night's earlier feeding, but something about it felt too intimate for the morning's calmer air. Without ceremony, he lifted her wrist to his lips, careful as his fangs extended. She let out a small gasp at the pinch but relaxed as he drank carefully, pausing to ensure he didn't take too much.
He pulled back after just a moment, licking the stray drop at the corner of his mouth. A faint surge of warmth coursed through him, his still-tender werewolf instincts subsiding a little. "Thanks," he murmured, reaching for a spare cloth to dab at her wrist. She nodded, pressing her hand over his.
