10. ELOWEN

Chapter 10

ELOWEN

A cloak of frustration hangs heavy over me like a storm cloud.

The days since Thorne's injury have been a whirlwind of emotions filled with relief at his recovery, joy at our newfound closeness, and a gnawing sense of confusion.

Thorne. The very name sends a tremor through me, a delicious mix of excitement and unease.

We'd shared a moment, something more significant than a moment. It spoke volumes.

Yet, since then, a wall seems to have descended between us. His once warm touches have become fleeting, his gaze distant and guarded.

Gone are the lingering glances, the whispered caresses.

In their place is a strained courtesy that leaves me feeling adrift at sea.

It is as if a storm has passed, leaving behind a wreckage of unspoken words and a yearning I can't quite define.

Frustration gnaws at me.

Had I misinterpreted the intensity of what happened between us? Was the closeness a mere product of the heightened emotions following the battle? The thought sends a cold pang of disappointment through me.

Determined to bridge the gap, I decide to take matters into my own hands. Today, I'll spend time with Thorne and find a way to break through the barrier that has sprung up between us.

Emerging from my room, I find the usual morning bustle in full swing.

Warriors mill about the training grounds, their laughter echoing in the crisp morning air.

But Thorne is nowhere to be seen.

A wave of disappointment flows across my chest. I could start with his warriors and then forge connections within his pack.

After all, if I am going to be spending more time with Thorne, getting to know his team wouldn't hurt.

With a determined nod, I head towards the training grounds.

There, amidst the sparring matches and grunts of exertion, I spot them—Thorne's warriors. Viktar, the burly warrior that Finn… well… befriended, is locked in a fierce but playful duel with another pack member.

A grin stretches across my face.

He seems like a good place to start.

Let's go, Elowen!

"Good morning, Viktar!" I call out, my voice bright.

He glances up, his initial surprise morphing into a warm smile. "Elowen! Good morning to you too." He disengages from his sparring partner, wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm.

"That was quite a display," I smile, gesturing towards the sparring match. "You seem to be holding your own."

He laughs, a deep rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Just a bit of morning exercise. Keeps the blood flowing." He casts a playful glance at his sparring partner. "Don't worry, Gunnar here goes easy on me… most of the time."

Gunnar, a broad-shouldered warrior with a shaved head, chuckles, his booming laugh filling the air. "Easy? Maybe on a full moon, Viktar!"

The camaraderie between them is evident, a sense of brotherhood that warms me. Perhaps this pack isn't so different from ours after all.

"So," I say, trying to bridge the conversation gap, "what's it like being part of Thorne's pack?"

Viktar's smile softens. "It's… different, to say the least. Thorne's a demanding Alpha but a fair one. He leads from the front, you know? Earns our respect instead of demanding it."

He pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "There's a… closeness here, a sense of family that I haven't experienced before."

His words resonate with me.

That same sense of family was what drew me closer to my own pack.

Perhaps, I thought, that was the key to understanding Thorne's pack and, maybe, Thorne himself.

The morning unfolds in a flurry of training demonstrations and lively conversation. I learn about Viktar's journey, his reasons for joining Thorne's pack, and his blossoming friendship with Finn.

We share stories and laugh at each other's jokes, and by the end of it, a sense of camaraderie begins to form.

Later in the afternoon, I find myself drawn back to the training grounds. But this time, Thorne is there, barking out instructions as his warriors put themselves through grueling drills.

He moves with a focused intensity, his face a mask of concentration. The sight of him, powerful and in control, sends a familiar flutter to my heart.

Suddenly, our eyes meet. A jolt shoots through me, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. A flicker of something crosses his features – surprise? Displeasure? It was gone so quickly, I couldn't be sure.

He looks away, his voice sharp as he barks another command.

Disappointment claws at me.

Is he deliberately avoiding me?

The thought stings, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Just as I'm about to turn away, I notice Viktar approach Thorne, a playful glint in his eye. He mutters something under his breath, and Thorne's stoic facade cracks for a fleeting moment.

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips before he schooled his features back into their usual seriousness.

There it is again – a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened exterior.

A man who, perhaps, craves companionship just as much as I do.

Suddenly, I have an idea.

The next morning, I wait strategically near the training grounds, a basket brimming with freshly baked bread rolls clutched in my hand. It's not much, but perhaps a small gesture of peace offering will be enough to break the ice between Thorne and me.

As the familiar morning bustle begins, I spot Thorne emerging from the pack house. He looks weary, dark circles smudging the skin beneath his eyes. But before I can approach him, a commotion erupts from the training grounds.

"Looks like Gunnar's challenging Viktar again," someone chuckles beside me. I turn to see Finn, a grin splitting his face. "Those two are at it constantly."

My gaze darts towards the training grounds. Indeed, Viktar and Gunnar are locked in a heated sparring match, their movements sharp and precise. But something is wrong. Viktar, usually agile and quick, seems sluggish, his movements labored.

A knot of worry tightens in my stomach. Viktar stumbles, his foot twisting at an unnatural angle. A cry of pain escapes his lips as he crumples to the ground.

Without hesitation, I race towards them, the basket of bread forgotten. Reaching Viktar's side, I kneel beside him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Viktar!" Finn comes running and drops to his knees at his side. "Are you alright?"

He grimaces, clutching at his ankle. "Ankle… think it's twisted." His voice is strained, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

Thorne is by our side instantly, his expression a mask of concern. He kneels beside Viktar, his large hands gently examining the injured ankle. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he assesses the damage.

"Sprained, for sure," he mutters, his voice clipped but not unkind. "Get him inside. We'll get the healer to take a look."

Carefully, Thorne and Finn help Viktar to his feet, and Thorne's eyes fall to mine, a silent understanding passing between us. Despite our recent awkwardness, the well-being of the pack comes first.

As we help Viktar inside, I can't help but think that working together will help break down Thorne's walls.

Showing him that I care about his pack and his people might be the bridge I need to reach him.

The healer, a wizened woman with eyes that hold the wisdom of countless moons, examines Viktar's ankle with a practiced touch. Her brow furrows in concentration as she mutters a few incantations, her hands glowing with a faint green light.

"Sprained, just like Alpha Thorne suspected," she finally announces. "Nothing serious, but it will need rest and some herbal poultices. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

Finn sighs in relief beside me. A minor sprain is a blessing in disguise, I realize. It gives me an excuse to spend time with Viktar, to learn more about his life and his dreams, and perhaps even glean some insights into Thorne himself.

Over the next few days, I settle into a comfortable routine. Mornings are spent with Viktar and Finn, helping him with simple tasks that won't aggravate his injury.

We talk about his childhood spent in a remote village and his yearning for adventure. And I have to lower my head when they start their stomach-coiling sweet things.

Ugh!

As I listen to them, especially Viktar, I can't help but draw parallels to Thorne.

Both men possess a quiet strength, a deep loyalty to their pack, and a vulnerability they keep tightly guarded.

I know what I'm doing. Trying vicariously to get closer to understanding Thorne through Viktar, but the truth is that Thorne is like no other wolf I've ever met.

Why am I like this? Ugh.

I sigh tiredly. I should just forget about him and leave him alone, right?

In the afternoons, I help out with various tasks around the pack – tending to the herb garden, assisting the healers with minor chores, and even joining the women in their weaving sessions.

I'm trying hard to get Thorne out of my mind, and I kid you not—nothing is working.

Every rustle of leaves sends me swiveling my head, expecting to see his broad form emerge from the trees.

Every booming command that echoes from the training grounds has my pulse racing, a foolish hope clinging to the possibility that it might be his voice.

Doomed.

That's what I am.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter, fumbling with a stubborn knot on a fishing net I'm mending alongside Viktar. He chuckles, a warm sound that momentarily soothes the churning in my stomach.

"What's got you in a tangle?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"It's nothing." I avoid his gaze.

Nothing I could share, certainly.

Not this inexplicable fixation on a man who seems to be doing his best to remain emotionally unavailable.

Except… that night. His touches, everything… The memory of it, scorching and passionate, sends a blush creeping up my neck. "Thorne," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "Is… is he always this… distant?"

Viktar's smile falters slightly, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

He pauses for a moment, considering his answer. "Thorne," he finally says, his voice low, "is… intense. He throws himself wholeheartedly into everything he does, be it leading the pack or facing down a rogue wolf. Emotions… well, let's just say they're not his forte."

Disappointment washes over me, a bitter tide threatening to drown me. "But the…" I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. "It felt… more than just…"

Viktar chuckles again, a gentle sound that eases my tension. "Oh, Thorne can be passionate, alright."

He winks, his easygoing nature a stark contrast to Thorne's stoicism. "Look, Elowen," he continues, his voice turning serious, "don't take it personally. That's just Thorne. He cares deeply for the pack, for his warriors. He shows it in his actions, even if his words are few."

A seed of doubt begins to bloom in my mind. Have I misinterpreted the situation entirely? Was I clinging to a fleeting moment of passion, mistaking it for something deeper?

"So," I say finally, forcing a smile, "I guess I just need to learn to… decipher his gruffness then?"

Viktar grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Exactly. Give him time, Elowen. Thorne might be a walking wall of stoicism, but trust me, there's a good man under there. He just needs… well, a little nudge in the right direction sometimes."

A sliver of hope flickers within me, a fragile flame battling against the growing tide of uncertainty.

Perhaps Viktar is right. Perhaps all I need is a little more patience.

And maybe, just maybe, Thorne will eventually find his way out of the emotional fortress he's built around himself.