17. Aksel
17
AKSEL
G lancing out the window, I scan the surrounding forest for signs of life. Tor is a threat. All our lives, he's been trying to one-up me. Seeing me with Zara, I know he'll want to take her from me.
Tor has spent his life living similarly to me. He’ll see Zara as a prize free for the taking, and I can't have that. If I have to kill him, then so be it.
Zara emerges from the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What are you doing?" she asks.
I turn to face her, not wanting to reveal the messed-up thoughts racing through my mind. "Just scoping out the area," I say nonchalantly, forcing a casual shrug.
She regards me momentarily, those piercing green eyes seeming to bore into my soul. I tense, wondering if she can sense the darkness lurking within.
But then she clears her throat. We should invite Tor over for a meal this evening.
The idea makes my jaw clench. The last thing I want is that smug bastard near Zara or my territory. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, baby girl," I say, trying to keep my tone even.
Zara frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. The motion makes the thin fabric of her shirt strain against her full breasts, and I have to tear my gaze away to focus. "Why not? He's your family."
"Exactly." I rake a hand through my hair, thinking of an excuse she'll accept. "Things can be complicated with family. Especially Tor. You don't want to get caught in the middle of that."
Her brow furrows. "Is everything okay between you two?"
I smile reassuringly, stepping closer to run my knuckles along her soft cheek. "Everything's fine. I just prefer to keep certain parts of my life separate, that's all."
Zara worries her full lower lip between her teeth, a gesture that makes my cock stir. But after a moment, she gives a small nod. “Alright, if you're sure."
Relieved, I pull her against me, breathing in her intoxicating scent. "I'm sure. Now, how about I make us some breakfast?"
Zara's eyes light up at the mention of breakfast. "That sounds amazing," she says with a bright smile like a ray of sunshine piercing through the darkness I surround myself with.
As I turn toward the kitchen, my mind is whirring, calculating my next move. Tor can't be allowed to interfere in this.
She leans back against the counter, watching me. "So tell me about your family. I'd love to hear more about where you come from."
The request makes me tense, the easygoing domesticity we'd been enjoying evaporating instantly. I don't like talking about my past or the people in it. Most of them are dead anyway—either at my own hand or because the world is an ugly, unforgiving place.
Keeping my back to her, I focus on cracking eggs into a bowl, trying to keep my voice casual. "Not much to tell, really."
"No siblings? How many aunts and uncles?" she presses, ever inquisitive. Doesn't she know some things are better left buried?
A wave of darkness washes over me as memories of my parents' cruelty resurface—things I've tried so hard to bury.
"My parents were harsh," I say finally, keeping my back to her as I crack eggs into a bowl more forcefully than necessary. "Survival of the fittest was their philosophy. They raised me to be a hunter, to take what I wanted by any means."
I can still hear my father's gruff voice, berating me for any show of weakness.
"You're the alpha, boy. Ain't no room for softness if you want to make it in this world."
Zara must sense the tension radiating off me because she doesn't push further. A heavy silence stretches between us as I continue mechanically prepping our breakfast.
Finally, she speaks again. "Is that why you and Tor don't get along? Some sort of alpha rivalry between you two?"
A harsh bark of laughter escapes my lips at the irony. If only she knew the full truth—that my father had drilled that toxic alpha mentality into us from birth, insisting there could only be one in a family.
My father used to make me watch from a young age when he mated with my mother and my aunt, his sister. As well as other women in the family. Since she lived with us, and he was the alpha male, he was the one who had to satisfy and breed any women living with us. Tor and I are actually half-brothers as well as cousins, but Tor is inbred, and it fucked with him a bit mentally. He’s far more unhinged than me.
"Something like that," I mutter, jaw clenching at the memories. I can still hear the cold, emotionless tone in my father's voice the day he gave me the choice—kill or be killed.
A tremor runs through me as I remember the shock of realizing my own father expected me to take his life. Still, the will to survive had been ingrained in me so deeply that, in the end, I did what I had to.
I clear my throat, eager to shift the conversation away from the darkness of my past. "Enough about me and my family. Tell me about yours. What were your parents like growing up?" There's a part of me that is shocked to even hear me ask.
Zara gives a small shrug. "Oh, you know, pretty typical, I guess. My dad was a high school football coach, and my mom was a homemaker."
A wistful look crosses her delicate features. "They’ve always supported me and my interests, even when I decided to go into atmospheric science instead of something more traditional for a small-town Minnesota girl."
I nod along, genuinely interested in learning more about the woman who has so thoroughly captivated me. "You were a small-town girl? I can't quite picture that."
A low, melodious laugh escapes her lips. "Why? Because I'm too sophisticated and worldly for you?"
"Something like that," I tease. "Though I definitely wouldn't call you sophisticated."
Zara gasps in mock offense, swatting my arm playfully. "Hey, watch it! This small-town girl will put you in your place."
"Is that a promise?" I growl, pulling her flush against me so she can feel the effect her playful banter is having. Her breath catches, those green eyes darkening with desire.
Clearing her throat, she tries to regain her composure. “As I was saying, yes, just a typical Midwestern upbringing. We didn't have much, but my parents made sure my brother and I never wanted for anything."
The mention of a sibling piques my interest. "You have a brother?"
She nods. "Mmhmm, Kyle. He's a few years older than me. Followed in our dad's footsteps and now coaches at our old high school since dad retired a couple years ago.”
I keep my expression neutral, but I can't stop the jealousy that courses through me at the thought of another man in her life—even if he is just family. The irrational part of my brain doesn't care about the details. All it knows is the white-hot possessiveness I feel over her.
"Sounds like you were close with your brother growing up," I say carefully, watching her face for any telling reaction.
Zara's eyes soften. "We were. Typical sibling stuff—we fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but I could always count on Kyle having my back when it mattered." A wistful smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "I remember this one time in middle school there was this bully who kept tormenting me about my braces. Kyle found out, and the next day at school, he...well, let's just say that kid never messed with me again after that."
My jaw clenches at the thought of some little punk harassing what's mine. The urge to track this person down and make them pay is overwhelming. She seems to pick up on the tension rolling off me in waves.
“Aksel? Are you okay?" She places a gentle hand on my arm, brow furrowed with concern.
Forcing myself to unclench my fists, I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just got a little heated there thinking about someone treating you like that."
Zara moves a little closer. "It's okay," she murmurs, trailing her fingers up my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. "That was a long time ago, and Kyle ensured I was protected, just like you do now."
The implication of her words isn't lost on me. She sees me as the new protector in her life, someone who will go to violent lengths to keep her safe if needed.
Pulling her against me, I kiss her with feral desperation. Zara melts into me with a soft moan, her nails scratching lightly at the nape of my neck and sending shockwaves of pleasure down my spine.
When we finally break apart, both of us are panting harshly. Zara's lips are swollen from my assault, her eyes glazed over with pure want. I stare at Zara silently, trying to process my emotions. Emotions I didn't even know I was capable of feeling.
My entire life, I've been taught that showing vulnerability or softness is a death sentence. Yet here I am, utterly disarmed by this beautiful woman and her genuine care for me.
As I gaze into Zara's warm green eyes, something deep within me stirs to life. A part of me I thought was long dead—beaten down by years of my father's cruel "survival of the fittest" mentality.
I was raised to be a ruthless hunter. To take what I wanted without remorse or hesitation. Emotions like empathy or tenderness were viewed as weaknesses to be purged.
But Zara awakens something primal yet oddly gentle inside me. An aching need to protect her, to keep her safe in a way that has nothing to do with possessing her as my prize.
My chest tightens as flashes of my childhood assault my mind. My father's incessant derision and scathing putdowns whenever I dared show an ounce of compassion.
"You want to end up a sniveling little bitch, boy? Emotions like that'll get you killed."
I can still hear the biting tone in his gravelly voice and see the disgust etched into the hard lines of his face. It was as if he was ashamed to even acknowledge that I was his son.
No wonder I turned out this way—a cold, callous killer without an ounce of remorse. Emotions were systematically trained out of me from an early age and replaced by an insatiable hunger to hunt and dominate.
Yet here I am now, trembling on the edge of something. Some vast, terrifying new realm of feelings that part of me craves to explore, even as the rational part screams to shut it all down.
Is this what love feels like? The irrepressible urge to protect and cherish someone, to put their needs before your own? If so, it's no wonder my father always treated it with contempt.
Because love, I'm realizing, is the greatest weakness of all. It makes me vulnerable in a way that goes against every core instinct I have as a hunter.
Zara senses the internal war raging inside me. Her delicate brows knit together in concern as she cups my face tenderly.
“Aksel? What's wrong?" she murmurs, running her thumb soothingly along my cheekbone.
I open my mouth but shut it again. How can I possibly explain the torrent of emotions battering against the icy walls I've spent a lifetime constructing?
Instead, I do the only thing that makes sense. I crush my lips to hers in a searing, desperate kiss.
Pouring every ounce of the rawness and vulnerability into our scorching embrace, seeking solace in the soft curves of her body and the intoxicating vanilla scent of her hair.
This frightening new path I find myself hurtling down is one I cannot turn back from. Not anymore.
Because whether I'm ready or not, Zara has awoken the fragile heart I never knew I had. A heart I thought was ripped out and buried long ago. And I'll be damned if I let anyone—including my own inner demons—take that from me now.