In Her Embrace.
Was he still in his office? Was he drenched in this rain?
Was he even eating properly? Her needle faltered for a moment, pricking her finger.
She winced and sucked on the tiny bead of blood, shaking her head at her own carelessness.
Hours passed, the rhythmic sound of rain and the soft hiss of the fire becoming a lullaby. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she stifled a yawn, leaning back against the plush cushions of the sofa.
Her embroidery hoop slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the carpet.
As sleep claimed her, her last thoughts were of him—of his warm smile, his steady presence, and the way he always smelled faintly of cedarwood and rain.
Come home, Alaric, she thought, her lips moving faintly in her dreams. Come home.
However,
Alaric returned home much later, the patter of rain masking his arrival. To anyone else, the night might have been cold and dreary, but not a single drop marred his pristine appearance.