Page 10

MALIK

I ran.

Like a damned coward, I ran from my mate.

The memory of tears brimming in her brilliant blues haunted every step I took as I fled from Intonat Nocte territory.

She’d tried to explain herself, a debilitating combination of horror and guilt scrawled across her angelic features, as if she thought she was to blame for the drastic change of events.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

If anyone needed to apologize, it was me. For reacting the way I did to her fingers merely brushing my scars. For storming out of the house without explanation. For shackling her to an irreparably damaged mate.

An overbearing tangle of self-loathing and guilt churned in the pit of my stomach for hours on end, driving me further and further away from Aria.

My psyche teetered on a dangerous edge. One moment, I wanted nothing more than to disappear or find some being strong enough to snuff the life from my veins, if only to give my little dove a chance at happiness elsewhere.

The next, I felt the undeniable urge to return to her.

Eventually, when the sun disappeared behind the horizon and streaks of orange and purple painted the sky, I found myself outside of my little cottage once more.

My chest still felt tight, and I couldn’t force my claws to retreat from the tips of my fingers, so I clamped my hands into fists and allowed the daggers to slice into my palms. The pain was a welcome distraction.

I’d stopped by the pack’s outhouse to collect the clothing I’d abandoned earlier that morning so I’d be fully clothed when I returned. I didn’t fully understand why. Aria had already seen my naked body. Perhaps because a part of me wanted to appear civil for her, despite my monstrous appearance.

As I approached the front door, my steps slowed. I paused and held my breath, focusing on the soft thrum of Aria’s heartbeat on the other side of the wooden barrier.

She was still here. She hadn’t run away.

Releasing a deep exhale, I took a key from my back pocket and slipped it into the deadbolt.

It was already unlocked, as if she’d left it open for me in hopes that I’d come home.

Another day, I’d warn her to always keep the house locked when she was alone, but today, I allowed the thought to soothe the painful emptiness spanning the spot where my heart should’ve been.

When I opened the door, Aria’s sweet scent infiltrated my lungs alongside a different, more savory smell. The lights were dim, but my eyes quickly adjusted as I stepped inside.

“You’re back.” Aria’s soft voice reached me like a lark’s song, a tantalizing melody of hopefulness and regret.

She stood beside the kitchen table, a small circular slab of wood I’d cut and carved a handful of years ago.

Three candles burned atop the tablecloth, rivulets of wax dripping down all sides.

She must’ve stolen them from a drawer in the kitchen.

The flames had nearly reached the quick, like they’d been burning—waiting—for hours.

“I made dinner,” she continued, a slight tremble to her words. “I couldn’t find many ingredients in your pantry or refrigerator, but I managed to scrounge up some spaghetti. I know it’s not much, but…” Aria trailed off, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt.

She made me dinner.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone made me dinner.

Unable to voice my gratitude or the beginnings of an apology, I merely turned to shut the front door behind me then approached the table.

As I passed the kitchen counter, the lingering scent of Aria’s arousal from earlier in the day infiltrated by nostrils, and regret lanced through me.

I willed myself not to think about it—not to spiral back into that pit of self-hatred and degradation.

If I wanted any shot at making this female mine, I couldn’t allow those dark thoughts to govern me.

She remained standing by one of the chairs, hands clasping and unclasping in front of her. A sliver of white surrounded her irises as she watched my every movement.

When I arrived opposite her, I glanced at the immaculately set table. Empty plates graced each placemat, flanked by forks, knives, and water glasses with condensation dripping down the sides. And, between the placemats, sat a notepad and pen.

She noticed the direction of my gaze and cleared her throat. “I- I thought we could get to know one another. We’ll ask each other questions and both write our answers down. It—” A small, hopeful smile graced her lips. “It’ll be like passing notes.”

Like passing notes. I’d never done that before. Come to think of it, no one had ever attempted to communicate with me on my level. If we couldn’t speak via mind-link, they simply didn’t bother trying .

Something warm and foreign swelled up inside of me.

I dipped my chin in a nod, praying that my eyes conveyed what my voice could not. Yes, I’d like to get to know you, too.

Relief flooded her crystalline gaze, and her smile widened. “Okay. You sit down, and I’ll get the spaghetti. Are you hungry?”

I heeded her instructions, lowering to the nearest seat and nodding my answer. In fact, I was famished.

“One heaping serving, coming right up,” she answered, her feet fluttering toward the stovetop, where a large pan of spaghetti simmered on the lowest heat setting.

I watched her move throughout my kitchen like she’d been doing it her whole life, diving between drawers to retrieve silverware and potholders. An overwhelming sense of rightness filled me, and I couldn’t help but lean back in my chair to admire my little mate. Moon Goddess, was she really mine ?

Soon enough, a full plate of pasta and red sauce stared back at me, though I waited until Aria sat down to begin shoveling the home cooked meal into my mouth. I was so engrossed in the first few bites that I didn’t notice Aria scribbling on the notepad across from me.

She slid the paper in my direction, a single line written in her bubbly handwriting.

Are you ready for question one? I won’t hold back…

My eyes flickered back up to her, but she already watched me with mischief dancing in her gaze.

I finished chewing my latest bite of pasta and shifted in my seat, suddenly unnerved by the prospect of what she might ask me.

I nodded, though worry festered in my mind at the thought of disclosing my horrifying past on yellow notebook paper in a matter of minutes .

Aria wasted no time in scribbling down her question, and my heart lurched into my throat when she extended the notepad toward me again.

What is your favorite color?

My answer: Green.

My favorite color? I blinked, then looked across the table at her with a cocked brow. So this was her definition of ‘I won’t hold back?’

She giggled, and every fiber in my body sang.

My scar tissue pulled as my lips curled into a smirk, and I exchanged my fork for the pen and paper. My handwriting couldn’t hold a flame to Aria’s neat script, but it sufficed. The answer to her question was a simple one, though it had recently changed.

Blue. Like the sky.

And your eyes. I kept those damning words to myself and slid the notepad back to her.

Aria’s face lit up when she read my answer, but she returned the notepad back to me. “Your turn to ask the question,” she explained, opting to take a few bites of spaghetti while I had control of the conversation.

I paused and stared down at the empty lines. I didn’t know what sort of questions to ask. I wanted to know everything about my little dove, but I decided to stick to the basics.

What are your favorite things to do ?

My answer: Reading.

Sliding the notepad back to her, I didn’t eat while I waited on her response, too enthralled by the sight of her baby blues scanning the lines.

By the way her tongue split her lips as she started to concentrate on her reply.

The way her fingers effortlessly guided the pen across page.

She seemed to be writing a damn paragraph, not a short reply.

I protest! I believe you said “favorite thingS,” which is plural. You only gave ONE favorite thing. Nonetheless, I like to cook, watch bad reality television, and work as a healer.

What do you like to read?

The vibrancy of her written word jumped off the page, and I could practically hear the words in her honey sweet voice. Heat crept up my neck at her teasing protest, and I knew she wanted more information about my favorite things to do in my spare time. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an answer.

I spent most of my time by Roman’s side or doing his bidding.

My younger brother kept me busy in my roles as general, enforcer, executioner, defender…

Whatever spare time I was afforded, I liked to use it reading and sleeping.

Nonetheless, I attempted to mimic her playful attitude in my next response.

I apologize for my inadequate response, though any further answer would’ve been a lie. To make up for it, would you like to ask TWO questions on your next turn. Is that fair ?

I like to read anything, but historical biographies are my favorite.

I extended the notebook back to my mate, and she eagerly took it from my hands. Her smile grew with every word she read, and, when she finished, she turned that grin on me and very nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.

“I accept your offer,” she cooed before busying herself with writing her next questions.

Things continued like this for well over an hour.

I learned her favorite foods for each meal of the day—omelette, chicken salad sandwich, and macaroni and cheese, respectively—and how she came to work as a healer in her father’s pack.

She asked me about my favorite book—a historical recounting of the middle ages that shaped Europe—and whether I was a night owl or an early bird.

I noticed Aria kept her questions surface-level, never probing too deeply into my past or my internal longings, and I was grateful to her for it.

In truth, a part of me wanted to offer her a deeper slice of my life.

Wanted to open a window to my soul for her eyes only.

But what if she hated what she saw? What if she glimpsed the realest, rawest truths of my history and wanted no part of it.

More importantly, how could I blame her?

When both of our plates were empty and our glasses of water drained, Aria’s mouth cracked open in a dainty yawn, even as she clutched our most recent correspondence to her chest. She needed sleep.

My gaze softened. I held one hand out as a silent request for the notepad, even though it wasn’t my turn. She didn’t protest as she handed it to me, blinking the exhaustion from her eyes .

Thank you for dinner. And for the conversation.

You go to bed. I’ll clean up.

Aria’s brows pulled together as she read my message. When she finished, she set the notepad aside and shook her head, tucking a strand of honey blonde behind her ear. “I’ll clean up in the morning. Will you… I mean, would you like to come to bed with me?”

My heartbeat accelerated. Memories of last night flooded my head, morphing into flashes of our heated encounter in the kitchen this morning.

My hips rocking against the seam of her jeans, racketing up the pressure at the base of my spine.

My canines longing to sink into the sensitive skin at the base of her neck at the same moment my cock pushed through her intact barrier.

Then, her fingers accidentally brushing against the distorted flesh that sliced me from ear to ear. The panic. The instinct to fight.

As if she could read the conflicting emotions on my face, Aria continued. “We don’t have to touch. I— I won’t touch you, I mean.” Color rose on her cheeks, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter. Shy. “I just want you beside me.”

Her words calmed the storm in my mind. Soothed the doubt roiling through my veins. I wanted that, too. More than anything.

Slowly, I dipped my chin and stood from the table, extending a hand for Aria to take. She grasped it without hesitation, without recoiling at my scars or the invisible blood staining my hands. And, when she met my gaze before pulling me into the bedroom, I had the distinct feeling that she saw me.

She saw me—all the ugly, painful parts that marked me a monster—and it didn’t scare her.