Chapter 97

Raphael knew there was something wrong, but she refused to tell him what.

He would wait. He was sure that she would open up to him soon.

She spent the rest of the day curled up in her blanket sitting in their room watching SHERLOCK. He caught bits and pieces of it but mostly focused on the screen of his laptop.

He looked up when he heard the TV turn off, she was getting up and moving to the closet.

He finished typing up the last e-mail then closed his laptop and got up to follow her.

She walked out with her pyjamas in hand and entered the bathroom shutting the door behind her. Her face was blank.

He sighed and changed into his own pjs and got into the bed and laid down.

She came out a few minutes later and crawled into her side of the bed, not touching him.

His face morphed into one of confusion. They always slept touching each other. She would even ask to be held most nights.

Something was seriously wrong.

He turned his head to look at her. She was laying on her back her head turned away from him. He reached his hand out and slowly pulled her closer to him till her back was touching his stomach front. She still wouldn't look at him.

"Brooke. I know somethings wrong, can you just tell me?" He asked remembering their conversation earlier that day.

Her head shifted down and she closed her eyes. He sighed. He could tell that she needed space, but he wanted to comfort her, to console her. But he couldn't if he didn't know what was wrong.

He thought back to when they'd been in the Elf King's cell. He'd watched every movement of hers. All of them seemed confident and sure until near the end when her breathing had stopped and her had face frozen.

After they'd exited the cell he immediately wrapped his arms around her to see if she was okay. Hugging her was his read on her emotional state.

If she hugged him back: happy.

If she nuzzled into his chest: in a touchy-feely mood.

Hands resting at the side of her body not moving: angry, sad or worried.

When he'd hugged her she'd pulled her arms up so they were curled at her chest and rested her forehead on his chest. He didn't know what that meant other than something was wrong.

Afterwards he'd tried everything he could think of to try and get her to talk. He'd hugged her from behind, she usually reacted to that by resting her head against his chest and holding his arms. She did neither. Instead she'd stood stiffly, frantically observing their surroundings. There were a few Lycans around but not too many.

He'd reassured her but she hadn't believed him. He thought maybe a kiss would help her relax but instead she only become more tense. The taste of cinnamon still lingered on his lips. His wolf wanted more.

He sighed again, laying in the bed with her warm body pressed to his. He tucked her arms under the blanket because she would always complain about her arms getting cold at night.

Her breathing was slow and her heart had slowed. He rested his chin in the crook of her smooth neck and fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~

He woke up around midnight to Brooke whimpering and struggling in his arms.

Without hesitation he began to rub her arms in a soothing motion and she calmed down. He gave her a little kiss on her hair and continued to stroke her arms.

-You okay?-

She just nodded.

He closed his eyes and waited for her to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~

He woke himself up at around three thirty in the morning to find that she was awake and staring at the wall across from her.

He gave her another kiss.

-How'd you sleep?-

-I haven't.-

He just sighed and nuzzled his nose into her soft neck.

-Why didn't you wake me?-

-That would've been mean.-

-No, it wouldn't have been. I'm here for when you need me.-

She didn't reply and continued staring hollowly at the wall.

He gave her one last kiss and then attempted to catch a few more hours of sleep.

~~~~~~~~

He felt her slip out of his arms and heard her footsteps as she walked away.

She never came back, he assumed she went downstairs.

He woke up at six thirty and dressed. After brushing his teeth he opened the door and walked down the stairs.

There was sound coming from the kitchen so he walked in that direction.

"What ya doing?" He asked from the doorway, his hands itching to feel her skin. He promptly tucked them in his pockets.

"Making cinnamon balls." She answered as she placed round dough balls into a baking dish filled with a dark syrup.

"And what are those?" He asked nonchalantly.

She looked up her eyes confused, "Dough," She held up a goopy ball, "With a brown sugar, cinnamon syrup." She gestured to the dish.

"I see." He moved closer to the island that was separating them, "How long have you been at this?"

Without pausing from her work, she answered, "I got up around five thirty and started 'round six. I had to find my dad's recipe."

He nodded and watched as she put the dish in the oven and set a timer.

He listened for her heartbeat, and what do you know, it's beating erratically and her breathing is shallow. She was having an attack of some sort.

This was the way she reacted to alcohol and talking about her sister or gramma.

She turned and left the room without sparing him a glance.

He closed his eyes and sighed, then turned and followed his unresponsive mate.