Alaric's POV
When Enzo stirred, his brows pinched as if waking from a bad dream, I was already kneeling beside the bed with a steaming bowl balanced in my hands. The scent of thyme and roasted garlic curled up between us, soft and inviting. I'd made risotto I don't know his favorite dish because the only thing I've seen him eat is sandwich, pizza, coffee and yogurt, and there's no way I'll give him that, he has to recover fast.
His eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, then sharpened as they found me. He tried to sit up, weak arms struggling against the blanket I'd tucked around him.
"Don't," I said gently. "You're not ready for that."
"I can feed myself," he rasped, voice hoarse and stubborn. Classic Enzo.
I didn't answer with words. I just scooped a spoonful of the warm, creamy risotto and brought it to his lips. He hesitated because of course he did but I waited him out. He still doesn't understand that I don't take no for an answer and I'm not about to begin to.
