Frowning, I feel a twinge of frustration but know there’s no use arguing.Grace is in his arms, and he’s focused on her as if she’s the only thing that matters right now.Sighing, I walk out of the bedroom, Prophet trailing behind me, Grace still cradled gently against his chest.His hands are stained with blood, the dark red stark against his skin.He doesn’t seem to notice or care.His attention is fixed solely on the small, trembling cat in his arms.
I head into the kitchen, reach for the coffee, and try to focus on something as simple as making a pot of coffee.My hands are shaking.Prophet’s murmurs and his rhythmic chant fill the room.
“We should take her to a vet,” I suggest again.
“She’s fine,” Prophet says without looking up, his eyes never leaving Grace’s fragile form.
“She doesn’tlookfine,” I press, stepping closer to them.I can’t help but hover, my worry mounting as I stare at Grace.Her fur is matted with blood, and her small body shakes in his arms with what I assume is shock.
Prophet shifts slightly, and Grace’s eyes flutter open.She blinks at me, and then, slowly, a soft purr begins to vibrate from her.My heart skips a beat, a rush of relief flooding through me.
“See, she’s fine,” Prophet says with a quiet satisfaction, his voice softer now, though still focused on Grace.“Coffee, please, Hannah.”
I stand there for a moment, taking in the sight of my cat, her small body slowly relaxing.The purrs are quiet, but they’re enough to make everything feel just a little bit better.Nodding, I move to finish making the coffee, my fingers still trembling as I prepare it.The coffee’s rich scent fills the air.My eyes are glued to Grace.She lifts her head and meows loudly at me.
“She’s hungry,” states Prophet.
A giggle escapes me, which soon turns to tears.“She’s always hungry.”
He relaxes his hold on her, and Grace jumps from his arms and walks to her empty food bowl.
Moving quickly, I give her a scoop of food, and she purrs louder as she eats.The coffee machine hums in the background, and I finally turn around to face him.Prophet’s calm demeanor hasn’t wavered.
“She’s going to be fine.”
“How did you do that?How did you fix her?She must have had a cut or a wound, but you didn’t sew her up.How?”I demand.
I study Prophet, watching him carefully.He’s sitting too still, his face almost pale—gray, really.It’s as if the color has drained out of him, and his eyes?They look tired, haunted even.The contrast between his usual strength and what I’m seeing now sends a shiver down my spine.
He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops, lips pressed together in a tight line.I can feel the weight of whatever he’s not saying hanging heavily in the air between us.
Finally, he shakes his head.“Coffee first.”
With a growl of frustration, I ask, “Coffee, huh?”I repeat, my voice tight.“I’m not sure coffee is going to explain how you just—”
Prophet’s eyes flick to the side, his jaw tightening.There’s something in the way he avoids meeting my gaze that sends a ripple of unease through me.“You’d be surprised.”
With a sigh, I say, “Fine!How do you take it?”
“Black.”
Prophet is one of those guys who doesn’t speak unless he’s ready.Moving quickly, I make him coffee and a tea for myself.Grace brushes against my leg, leaving a bloody smear on me.
“How?”I ask again as I place the mug in front of him.
Prophet takes a large sip and closes his eyes.“That’s better.”
“Prophet?”I urge.
Without opening his eyes, he takes another sip and shakes his head.“Blade can explain.You should give Grace a bath.The blood will be bothering her.”
“Prophet,” I say more forcefully.
“No,” he commands and opens his eyes.“This is for Blade to tell, not me.It’s the way we do things, and, Hannah, if you can’t handle this one request, you shouldn’t be with Blade.I am loyal to the MC and God Almighty.I will never betray either.”
Frustrated but knowing he will not say more, I bend, pick up Grace, and walk into the bathroom with her.This will be interesting.I’ve never washed the furball, and I have a feeling I’ll never wash her again.
