Chapter 4 Kael
KAEL
Rolling over onto my back I stared at the window, and from where I was laying I could see moonlight slicing through the darkness, painting everything in its silver light.
Outside, I could hear cars passing by as tires hit puddles on the wet pavement.
The hum of the HVAC unit kicking on to bring in some heat echoed softly through my small house.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, desperately wanting to get some rest but knew that it was out of reach.
Because my dragon was restless, pacing beneath my skin like a caged animal.
Mine, it kept whispering. She's ours. Claim her.
Not yet, I told it for the hundredth time tonight.
I rolled over, punching my pillow like that would somehow make a difference. It didn't. All I could think about was Amara and the way she'd looked tonight when she walked into the bakery. Those bright brown eyes of hers had been shadowed with something.
Someone had bothered her, and had her upset.
And every instinct I had screamed at me to find out who and make them regret it.
I'd wanted to pull her into my arms and hold her until whatever was hurting her went away.
But I couldn't just up and do that. I didn't want to terrify her and there was still the whole mess of my actual identity. She had no clue that the baker she visited every day was actually the youngest son of one of the most powerful families in Fernwood.
And she definitely didn't know that I'd been half in love with her since the first time she'd walked through my door six months ago.
Fuck.
I threw off the covers and padded into the kitchen, barefoot on the cool hardwood floor. Maybe some water would help. Or maybe I just needed to do something with my hands.
The moonlight streamed through the window as I filled a glass from the tap. I drank it slowly, trying to calm the riot in my chest.
You're everything.
I'd actually said that to her, out loud. Inwardly, I cringed because Amara probably thought I was the biggest loser on the face of the planet.
What the hell was wrong with me?
But when the words had dropped from my lips, her face hadn't shown any displeasure.
If anything, it seemed like she might have enjoyed the compliment.
Her eyes had gone wide, those warm brown irises catching the light.
She'd looked up at me like I'd given her something precious.
Something she didn't think she deserved.
And that right there was the problem.
Amara Brooks didn't see herself the way I saw her.
She didn't see how beautiful she was. How every time she walked into the bakery, the entire space seemed brighter. How her scent, that soft lavender and old paper with something sweeter underneath, made my dragon purr with contentment.
She was so small and barely came up to my chest even when she wore those little heeled boots she sometimes favored. She was easily only four foot nine, maybe. She was petite in a way that made my protective instincts go haywire.
And her curves. Amara had a body like a country back road.
Not that she showed it off to the world because she hid under those oversized cardigans and loose jeans. The soft fabrics that looked comfortable hardly gave anything away.
Except I'd noticed because I'd had a fantasy or two about peeling those same oversized garments from her body.
I noticed everything about her, from the way her hips swayed when she walked to the curve of her waist that I could just make out when the fabric of her cardigan shifted. The fullness of her breasts that she tried to hide but couldn't quite manage.
God, I'd spent way too much time imagining what she'd look like without all those layers.
What her warm brown skin would feel like under my hands. Wondering what sounds she'd make if I...
Stop it.
I drained the rest of the water and set the glass in the sink harder than necessary. This was getting out of hand and I needed to get a grip on reality.
I needed to tell her the truth. Soon. Before the Valentine gala in two weeks where she'd see me standing on stage with my brothers and realize I'd been lying to her this whole time.
Or at least omitting the truth, which was basically the same thing.
My phone buzzed on the counter and I grabbed it, grateful for the distraction.
A text from my mother, and I wasn't even surprised that she was texting me so late. She was a night owl. Her day was just about to start, she believed in being early for nearly everything.
Laurent messaged me earlier today, your tux will be ready for you to pick up shortly. It makes me so happy that all my boys will be at this event.
I sighed, typing back a quick response. Will do and I love you, mom.
She sent back a heart emoji and I couldn't help but smile. My mother was the reason I'd chosen this life. The reason I'd walked away from the family business and opened a bakery instead. She'd been the one to teach me that strength didn't have to roar.
She had told me that it was just as important to nurture people as it was to lead them and had given me her full blessing on starting the Ember and Crumb.
My mother had also taught me that an Alpha's worth wasn't measured in dominance but in how well he cared for those around him.
And right now, the person I wanted to care for more than anything was a four-foot-nine librarian with bright brown eyes and a smile that made my heart stop.
Before I knew it, the sun was peeking over the horizon and I was showered and dressed and heading to the bakery. My hands needed to be busy, and baking was the only thing that kept my mind from spiraling. I started with the honey-ember tarts.
Her favorite, I thought.
My hands moved in rhythm as I folded and pressed and pulled the dough, with steam curling all around me.
The smell of sugar and cinnamon filled the air as I sighed continuing to stretch the dough until it was thin.
Picking up a knife, I began to slice circles through chunks of the dough, while thoughts of brown eyes lighting up when she bit into the tarts sifted through my mind.
Lately, every time I made something, Amara was on my mind.
Marco arrived at six, yawning as he tied on his apron.
"You're here even earlier than usual," he said, eyeing the trays of tarts cooling on the rack. "Let me guess. The librarian?"
"Shut up," I muttered.
He laughed. "Man, you've got it so bad."
I didn't argue. What was the point because he was right as rain? By the time seven-thirty rolled around, I'd already made two batches of tarts, a fresh batch of cinnamon nest buns, and enough molten vanilla loaves to feed half of Fernwood.
"You trying to bury your feelings in baked goods?" Marco asked, pulling a tray of croissants from the oven.
I sighed. "It's working, isn't it?"
"Not really." He set the tray down and looked at me seriously. "You know you're gonna have to tell her eventually, right? About who you are?"
"I know."
Marco raised a brow softly. "And the longer you wait..."
"I know," I said again, more sharply than I meant to.
Marco held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Just saying."
I scrubbed a hand over my face. "Sorry. I'm just..."
"Freaking out?"
"Yeah."
He clapped me on the shoulder. "For what it's worth? I think she likes you. The real you. The baker. Not the prince. So maybe telling her won't be as bad as you think."
I wanted to believe that.
God, I wanted to believe that so badly.
But every time I thought about it, my throat closed up. What if she felt betrayed? What if she thought I'd been toying with her? What if she only wanted the prince and couldn't care less about the man who made her honey-ember tarts every morning?
The bell above the door chimed at exactly seven forty-five and my heart began to hammer inside of my chest. Amara had returned, bringing her scent with her.
She was wearing another one of those cardigans today. This one was cream-colored, oversized and soft-looking. It hung off one shoulder slightly, showing the collar of the simple shirt she wore underneath. Her pants were a deep burgundy, flaring like bell bottoms over her sneakers. Cozy, I thought.
She always looked so cozy and warm.
Her hair was up in its usual bun looking dark and silky, pinned at the back of her head. I knew from eavesdropping that she got it done at a salon on the east side of the city. I'd overheard her mention it once to Mrs. Luna when the older woman had accompanied her only once to the bakery.
I remembered everything she said and I knew how pathetic that seemed.
But when it came to Amara, I just couldn't help myself.
"Morning," she said, and her voice was soft, almost a little shy.
God, I loved that about her.
"Amara," I said, and I could hear the warmth in my own voice. Couldn't hide it even if I wanted to. "Right on time."
She smiled, and it was like the first warm day after a long winter. Small. Tentative. But real.
"You make it sound like I'm predictable," she said, setting her bag on the counter.
"You are," I admitted. "But in the best way."
Her cheeks darkened, that warm brown skin flushing with color that had me wanting to reach out and touch it.
See if she'd lean into my hand or pull away.
"The usual?" I asked instead.
"Please."
I moved to grab a honey-ember tart, hyper-aware of her watching me. I could feel her gaze on my back, on my hands as I plated the pastry.
Did she know what she did to me?
Did she have any idea that I'd been making these specifically for her? That I'd tested twelve different recipes before settling on this one because I wanted it to be perfect?
I slid the plate across the counter and our fingers brushed.
Just like they did every morning.
But this time, her fingertips pressed more firmly against mine, soft and warm, lingering longer than just a second.
The contact had my dragon roaring to life.
Touch. More. Claim.
Easy, I told it.
"Thank you," she said softly as my hand trembled, easing back from her.
Her bright brown eyes met mine and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
She was so beautiful and not in the polished, made-up way a lot of Omegas presented themselves. Amara was beautiful in a quiet, natural way. She didn't need any make-up, she was gorgeous just the way she was.
"Kael?" she spoke again.
I realized I'd been staring.
Fuck.
"Sorry," I said quickly. "Just... thinking."
"About what?"
You. Always you. My thoughts wanted to fly straight out of my mouth and tell her what I was thinking.
"Nothing important," I lied.
She tilted her head, studying me. "You sure?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just a long day ahead."
She nodded, but I could tell she didn't quite believe me.
Smart girl, I thought, almost chuckling in the process.
"Well," she said, picking up her plate. "I hope it goes well. Whatever you've got planned."
It wasn't anything special. I had a bunch of inventory coming in and a possible new hire to run the bakery a few times a week so that I could have a day or two off.
"Thanks," I murmured softly.
Amara hesitated, like she wanted to say something else. Her teeth caught her bottom lip and I had to force myself not to stare at her mouth.
"I'll see you later?" she asked finally, almost sounding hopeful.
My heart did something stupid in my chest and my dragon seemed to hum.
"Yeah," I said, my voice rough. "Definitely."
She smiled again, brighter this time, and headed for the door.
I watched her go, tracking every step down to the soft sway of her hips hidden beneath the cardigan.
God, the woman was absolutely perfection.
And in two weeks, she was going to find out I'd been lying to her.
And I had no idea if she'd ever forgive me.