CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AUbrEY
I stare at Knox's blood-spattered face, trying to keep my expression neutral despite the churning in my stomach. His hand remains on my arm, warm and firm, a stark contrast to the crimson stains across his uniform.
"I'm heading to train," I say, pulling away from his touch with more force than necessary. My voice comes out steadier than I expect, considering the war raging inside me.
Knox's eyebrows rise skeptically. "At this hour? The training grounds closed an hour ago."
"Private training," I insist, already backing away. "I have a routine I need to work on."
His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing beneath his tanned skin. The blood smeared across his cheekbone seems to darken as the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting the garden in amber shadows. "We need to talk, Aubrey."
"Not now." I turn away, desperate to escape before I have to confront what Sir Kirill's words mean, what the blood on Knox means. I just need time to think, to sort through the confusion and betrayal tangling inside me.
"Yes, now." His hand shoots out, firm but not painful as it wraps around my wrist. The authority in his voice—that royal command he rarely uses with me—stops my retreat. "This has gone on long enough."
Before I can protest, he's leading me through the garden, past the meticulously trimmed rose bushes and ornate stone fountains, toward a small stone pavilion tucked away among the cherry trees.
The structure is private, secluded from prying eyes and ears.
Perfect for a conversation I desperately want to avoid.
Inside, the pavilion is cool and dim, the evening light filtering through intricate lattice work to cast patterned shadows across the stone floor.
A marble bench curves along one wall, cushioned with velvet pillows in royal blue.
I remain standing, arms crossed defensively over my chest, as Knox positions himself between me and the only exit.
I've managed to dodge both Knox and any mention of what happened between us that night, but the way he's looking at me now tells me my strategy of avoidance has reached its end.
"Say what you need to say," I demand, my voice sharp with anxiety disguised as irritation. "I have things to do."
He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving a smudge of blood near his temple. The sight turns my stomach, but I force myself to hold his gaze.
"About the other night," he begins, his voice dropping to that intimate tone that sends unwanted shivers down my spine. "We can't just pretend it didn't happen."
I feel heat rising to my cheeks at the mention of our encounter. "Actually, we can," I counter, desperate to maintain some control over the situation. "It was a moment of weakness. It happens. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Are you serious right now?" Aria's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp with frustration. "You're going to stand there and pretend his touch didn't set your whole body on fire?"
"Shut up," I snap back mentally. "This isn't helping."
"Neither is lying to yourself," she retorts. "You've been thinking about his hands on you every night since—"
"Enough!" I sever our connection forcefully, silencing her truths.
Knox watches me with those penetrating green eyes, clearly aware of my internal dialogue. "Are you done arguing with your wolf, or should I give you two a moment?" The sarcasm in his tone only fuels my growing anger.
"Don't mock me," I retort, fingers digging into my arms where they remain crossed. "And yes, I'd prefer to forget that night. It's less complicated that way."
His laugh is short and bitter, echoing in the small space. "Less complicated? You're my mate, Aubrey. Nothing about this is uncomplicated."
"It can be," I insist, forcing conviction into my voice. "We had a moment of weakness. But it doesn't have to mean anything."
Pain flashes across his features before his expression hardens. "Is that how little it meant to you? Just some meaningless physical release?"
"What else would it be?" I challenge, channeling the indifference I'd witnessed in women at Jax's manor—the ones who took what they wanted without emotional entanglement. "Men like you use women for pleasure all the time. I'm just returning the favor."
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking at its corner. "Men like me?" The words come out dangerously quiet. "You don't know the first thing about me, Aubrey."
"I know enough," I retort, thinking of the countless stories from Jax Manor—nobility taking advantage of their position, using and discarding women without a second thought. "I've seen how men in power operate."
"Not this man," he growls, suddenly closer, the scent of cedar and storm rain mingling with the metallic tang of blood still clinging to him. "That night... it was my first time."
I blink, certain I've misheard him. "What?"
"You heard me." His voice is gruff with embarrassment, his eyes avoiding mine now. "I'd never touched a woman like that before you."
I stare at him, disbelief warring with a strange, warm sensation blooming in my chest. A man like Knox—powerful, confident, devastatingly handsome—had never been with a woman? It seems impossible.
"But you were so..." I trail off, my cheeks heating at the memory of his skilled touch. "I mean, you knew exactly what to do."
A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "I'm a fast learner."
The admission changes something between us, the atmosphere shifting from confrontational to something more vulnerable, more intimate. I don't know how to handle this new terrain.
His smile widens slightly, a hint of pride creeping into his expression. "I am, but that's not what's important right now," he says, taking my hand in his. The warmth of his touch sends an unwelcome spark up my arm.
"What is, then?" I ask, curious despite myself.
He parts his lips to respond, but pauses suddenly, his eyes going distant. His head tilts slightly to the side, that telltale sign of someone receiving a mind link. I watch his expression shift—first surprise, then concern, followed by resignation as he processes whatever message he's receiving.
"I need to be somewhere," he says abruptly, dropping my hand and turning toward the exit.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, frustration bubbling up unexpectedly. "We're in the middle of an important conversation, and you're just going to—"
"I promise we'll continue this another time," he interrupts, already moving away with purposeful strides. He disappears down the garden path, leaving me standing alone in the pavilion, reeling with confusion and wondering what he had meant to say.
The evening breeze carries the scent of roses through the open space, offering no answers to the questions swirling in my mind. Only the distant chirping of night birds breaks the heavy silence he left behind.