13. The Left
THIRTEEN
the left
Keira
The little mating room feels enormous when it’s just me standing within it. The silence rings through my thoughts as I try to make sense of it all. Clawd tried to murder me. And then so did Arcane.
These men aren’t protectors.
They’re killers.
And this academy is perfecting their violence.
Pain throbs in my hands and knees, making my every move a painful reminder of what happened tonight. On tired legs, I strip off the wet shirt that hangs from my shoulders with a hissing wince. I struggle out of my pants and leave them in a messy pile right in front of the door with my boots. When I’m damp but no longer shivering, I crawl into the enormous bed. Carefully, I use the edges of my palms, my hands sinking into the stuffing with every move I make, and I finally give up somewhere in the middle, letting my knees fall where I am.
Another sharp wince creases my eyes, the stinging pain pierces through my leg once more, but I’m too exhausted to think about it right now. With a weak pull of the thick material, I roll myself into the soft blanket.
A sob of a breath slips out before I can stop it.
Hinges whine as the door swings open, and I’m sitting up and grabbing the closest thing to me for protection. I raise the mating journal above my head, and I throw it with all my might.
It hits a muddy boot with a pathetic thud to the floor.
Aelix nudges it with the toe of his shoe, staring at it with a line of confusion parting his brow. His shoulders hang, and he looks small in this moment.
“If you’re going to run around the academy releasing centuries-old spirits, we’ve got to talk about getting you into training. That was the worst throw I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, and even his tone is tired.
Without even glancing up at me, his hands reach back and grab the collar of his drenched and tattered button-down. It’s no longer white, but a brown-and-black collage of stains. He pulls, and with a small rip of fabric, he’s tossing the thing to the corner of the room. The morning sunlight kisses his glistening skin, and I look away. He walks the small space as he begins unbuttoning his pants. I peer up at him once more from beneath my lashes, and he’s kicking them off as he climbs into the bed.
“You’re on the left,” he tells me as he falls onto his stomach at the edge of the right side of the bed. His face rests in the crook of his arm as beautiful blue-gray eyes hold mine. His gaze isn’t hard like the stony stare of his brother. His eyes shine with a metallic glint that holds more curiosity than cruelness despite the pale, jagged line that cuts down his left eye.
Hazy light glistens across the strong panes of his back. Blues and blacks kiss his skin in splotchy circles of bruises, leading my gaze to the small of his waist, and the dark underwear covering the round curve of his—
“I said you’re on the left,” he repeats loudly as he searches my eyes.
I blink and pull the blanket with me as I scootch across the bed on slow, disjointed movements. The cover is twisted around myself, and the moment it refuses to budge is when I unravel. Pain fires through my knee. A gasp tears from my lungs, and my body tenses hard. Tired lashes close, and I lie there on my back like a pathetic turtle.
“You’re hurt,” he whispers.
In an instant, he’s crawling up to the writing desk, and he’s bringing the lantern closer. The little metal knob grinds as a flickering flame rises up within the glass. He holds it between us, casting dancing light and hinting shadows across my body as he brings it closer. Those watchful eyes are so serious when he studies me in just my underwear. A shiver trembles my shoulders as I sit up to meet him.
“Where?” he asks, and it pulls me from my shocked silence.
“My hands and knee hit the floor when I fell into the well.” I slide my leg from the blanket.
Blood oozes from the sliced skin, and he’s already up and opening the closet in a matter of seconds. The lantern sits forgotten on the top shelf above our clothes, and he searches there in the darkness that I cannot see.
“How’d you . . . fall ?” He says that last word with a bit of skepticism, but I don’t know why.
Did he see us? Does he know what Clawd did? Or is he just like Arcane? Is he just one of them?
“Um . . . I . . .” He’s pulling items from the closet, and then he’s looking at me.
He holds my gaze as he crawls up the length of the bed. My stomach does a strange flip seeing him prowling closer and closer on his hands and knees. I swallow hard and look away. Big warm hands cover my knee on each side. He kneels before me and begins pulling things from a small metal box.
“They said they knew me,” I finally sputter, choosing to talk about something safer instead.
“Who?”
“The ghosts. They said my name is Keira. I—I don’t know.”
“Keira,” he whispers, and my thoughts echo that name once more. “Why would they say that?” A warm salve covers my knee, and my lashes close hard to block out the sting that tingles through my flesh.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, answering him honestly for possibly the first time tonight.
He pulls my left hand into his and slides some of the smooth cream across my palm, one and then the other. His touch is gentle and his every move seems so full of care. He wraps each of my hands before moving back down to focus on the deeper cut on my knee. He covers the wound with a soft cloth, and then he wraps a length of bandage around my leg over and over again until there’s none left. His hands linger there just around my thigh and I become suddenly aware of his hands on my body.
He doesn’t feel like the others. He doesn’t act like he hates me just for existing.
He doesn’t pretend to save me only to hunt me the moment I have a single ounce of trust for another living soul for the very first time.
Fucking Arcane.
I think that’s what stings the most: thinking I had an actual friend in life. Then realizing I never will.
“Well, Keira , I think that’ll help.” He taps my leg lightly, and just when he’s about to pull away, I reach for him.
My hand covers his wrist, and he freezes in place. Warmth seeps into me from where our bodies meet. The space that separates me from him isn’t much, but it feels like the length of the Earth will fall between us if I let him go.
“I—I don’t want to sleep on the left,” I manage on the quietest voice.
Star-kissed eyes search mine for several seconds with total confusion. It’s like he’s looking at an equation he’ll never know the answer to.
“What do you want then?” he asks bluntly, but honestly. I can’t help the small smile that’s pulling at the corners of my lips.
He’s supposed to be my Fated mate. I literally almost got him killed tonight.
And he hasn’t complained once about it.
“Can you just hold me?” I finally whisper, but I don’t have a clue where the confidence carrying that question came from.
“Y—yeah,” he says with a hard nod that keeps going for several reassuring seconds. “I can do that.”
The smile fully overtakes my features, and the way that he studies me is different now. His mouth parts as the pink of his tongue slides out across his lower lip like he’s buying time while he thinks, a casual semblance that reminds me far too much of his brother. His gaze rakes over my messy blonde hair, tracing my features, but stopping when his attention slips to my lips. He looks away into the sunlight, and I want so badly to know what he’s thinking.
The fluttering in my stomach sinks as I lie down and curl onto my side. The bed dips, and the warmth of his chest presses to my back. A weight slips over my ribs, and his hand slides gently into place there. My breath becomes shallow the longer I over analyze how good his body feels against mine.
But I feel the stiffness of his touch. His body against mine feels like it could turn to stone and break away beneath the weight of the air itself.
“Good night, Hollie,” he whispers, and an automatic flinch shutters through me.
“Could you call me . . . Keira?” I whisper hesitantly.
For a moment, he doesn’t reply to my odd request.
“Yeah, I can do that,” he offers, and my heart soars like he’s just promised me the world. A single second of contentment settles over us before the restless thoughts in my mind unfurl a little more.
“Aelix?” I ask.
“Yeah, Keira?” The breath of his voice kisses across the back of my neck, and I can’t help the soft smile that pulls at my lips at the sound of my name.
That’s my name. I may not understand hunger or basic emotions like a regular person, but I have a name. And that’s a start.
The soft smile on my lips doesn’t last as I think about all the inquiries that want to tumble from my thoughts and out of my mouth. The pounding of my heart feels heavy with uncertain sadness, but I don’t know why. I settle on the easiest question:
“Do you think you’re my Fated mate?”
The silence that follows my question seems unending. It’s so heavy, it hurts my heart.
Until it ends with scraping harshness.
“No. I don’t,” he whispers, but the flat of his palm presses me harder against his chest.
“Why don’t you?” I swallow thickly, and I hate the emotions that come with the living. Sadness is a disgusting feeling. I don’t want it. They can take that one back.
“Because,” an exhale weighted with weariness breaks free from him, “I’ve never had anything. Even my life belongs to Arcane.” An empty, bitter laugh follows that thought, but I don’t understand it.
“What do you mean?” My fingers slip down, and I trace the strong veins along the back of his hand. He has nice hands , I think to myself on sleepy thoughts.
“When my mother was pregnant, her caregiver told her her body wasn’t strong enough to carry two shifters. He said they both wouldn’t make it to birth. One would absorb the other. It’s common in the early stages of twins. She never expected two of us. I was small. So small, she thought I wouldn’t live to see our first birthday. But she made sure I did. Some people say we share a heart. A sort of messed up Twin Flame of one another. That’s why I just barely survived while he thrived. What’s Arcane’s is mine, and what’s mine will always truly be his.” Long fingers thread through mine, and he holds me against him so hard, I can feel the pounding of his heart overtaking mine. “The idea of having you is a sweet sentiment. But you don’t belong to me, darling,” he whispers rather miserably along the crown of my head.
I swallow down the emotions clawing up my throat, but it doesn’t stop the tears from finally falling.
My lashes close tightly, and I curl into his arms, wiggling backward until I’m fully wrapped up in everything that is him. I wish I could give all of it back. I wish the sadness would numb again. I wish I hadn’t hurt this beautiful man who’s only ever shown me kindness in a cruel world that was never meant for us. Everything was so much less confusing just yesterday.
I wish I would have stayed dead.