Page 96
Story: A Hunger Soft and Wild
Still, she stays quiet. But I feel it—the tremble in her breath, the way she presses her body tighter against mine like she’s scared I’ll disappear.
And maybe she doesn’t say it back.
But she doesn’t let go either.
Then, softly, barely more than breath, “You make it hard not to feel safe with you.”
The words are quiet but sincere, and something in my chest gives—like a rope finally slackening after being pulled too tight. It’s notI love you, not quite. But it’s something real. Something earned.
“Good,” I whisper, brushing my nose against the curve of her neck. “You deserve safe.”
She hums a low, content sound, and I feel her lips press gently to my fingers again before they settle back between us.
The warmth of her, the steadiness of her breathing, the softness of the bed—it's a lullaby I can’t resist. I fight to stay awake just a little longer, to hold on to this fragile, perfect moment, but it’s already slipping.
The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is Aria’s fingers tightening around mine.
And for once, I don’t fight the darkness. I sink into it willingly, with her warmth curled against me and the echo of her voice still soft in my ear.
Aria
Ilietherefora while, staring at Roan’s peaceful face in the low light. Her breathing is soft and steady, lips parted in the faintest smile. She looks content and…fragile in a way I’ve never seen.
My chest clenches at the sight—fragileandRoanin the same thought shouldn’t fit, but it does now, because of me.
And that’s terrifying.
I bite the inside of my cheek, dragging in a breath that doesn’t settle anything.
I made her a promise.Don’t run off, Mouse. Promise me.I remember the way her voice dropped when she said it—quiet, but firm, like she was daring me to believe she might not survive it if I left again.
And I promised her I wouldn’t.
I meant it. I did.
But promises can change. Especially when they become too dangerous to keep.
Guilt gnaws at my insides, warring with the tender warmth that still lingers from the feel of her arms around me, her whispered confession.I love you.The words echo in my mind, each time piercing me a little deeper. I never thought I’d hear those words from anyone. Never thought I’dwantto hear them.
And I do. I want them again. I wanther.
That’s exactly why I have to go.
I thought I’d rather die free than live under my mother’s rule. But now…now I have Roan to think about.
My breath shakes as I peel her arm away, inch by careful inch, hoping she won’t stir. She’s beyond exhausted—between travel, fighting, letting me feed, and sex. I take advantage of that weariness now.
Slipping from beneath the blanket, I press one last kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger on her skin for a heartbeat too long. Then I force myself to stand.
One hand twitches in her sleep, like she’s reaching for something. Reaching forme…
I turn away before I can be tempted to crawl back into that bed and pretend I’m not already breaking her heart.
I gather my things in silence, biting back tears that threaten to blur my vision. My chest feels hollow, a dull ache settling in as I realize this is the last time I’ll see her like this—peaceful, unguarded, safe. The corners of my mouth tremble, but I can’t let myself cry.
Not yet.
On the bedside table, I find a spare scrap of parchment and a stub of charcoal. I write:
And maybe she doesn’t say it back.
But she doesn’t let go either.
Then, softly, barely more than breath, “You make it hard not to feel safe with you.”
The words are quiet but sincere, and something in my chest gives—like a rope finally slackening after being pulled too tight. It’s notI love you, not quite. But it’s something real. Something earned.
“Good,” I whisper, brushing my nose against the curve of her neck. “You deserve safe.”
She hums a low, content sound, and I feel her lips press gently to my fingers again before they settle back between us.
The warmth of her, the steadiness of her breathing, the softness of the bed—it's a lullaby I can’t resist. I fight to stay awake just a little longer, to hold on to this fragile, perfect moment, but it’s already slipping.
The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is Aria’s fingers tightening around mine.
And for once, I don’t fight the darkness. I sink into it willingly, with her warmth curled against me and the echo of her voice still soft in my ear.
Aria
Ilietherefora while, staring at Roan’s peaceful face in the low light. Her breathing is soft and steady, lips parted in the faintest smile. She looks content and…fragile in a way I’ve never seen.
My chest clenches at the sight—fragileandRoanin the same thought shouldn’t fit, but it does now, because of me.
And that’s terrifying.
I bite the inside of my cheek, dragging in a breath that doesn’t settle anything.
I made her a promise.Don’t run off, Mouse. Promise me.I remember the way her voice dropped when she said it—quiet, but firm, like she was daring me to believe she might not survive it if I left again.
And I promised her I wouldn’t.
I meant it. I did.
But promises can change. Especially when they become too dangerous to keep.
Guilt gnaws at my insides, warring with the tender warmth that still lingers from the feel of her arms around me, her whispered confession.I love you.The words echo in my mind, each time piercing me a little deeper. I never thought I’d hear those words from anyone. Never thought I’dwantto hear them.
And I do. I want them again. I wanther.
That’s exactly why I have to go.
I thought I’d rather die free than live under my mother’s rule. But now…now I have Roan to think about.
My breath shakes as I peel her arm away, inch by careful inch, hoping she won’t stir. She’s beyond exhausted—between travel, fighting, letting me feed, and sex. I take advantage of that weariness now.
Slipping from beneath the blanket, I press one last kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger on her skin for a heartbeat too long. Then I force myself to stand.
One hand twitches in her sleep, like she’s reaching for something. Reaching forme…
I turn away before I can be tempted to crawl back into that bed and pretend I’m not already breaking her heart.
I gather my things in silence, biting back tears that threaten to blur my vision. My chest feels hollow, a dull ache settling in as I realize this is the last time I’ll see her like this—peaceful, unguarded, safe. The corners of my mouth tremble, but I can’t let myself cry.
Not yet.
On the bedside table, I find a spare scrap of parchment and a stub of charcoal. I write:
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