Beside Her
Charlotte
Iwake to the sound of steady beeping. For a moment, I don’t move; my entire body feels heavy, and I’m aching, like I’ve just fought in a battle.
Where am I?
It takes a few seconds before everything rushes back at once.
The veil, the collapsed tunnels, the Blood Moon.
And…
Ares.
My fated mate.
My eyes flutter open, and I flinch, trying not to stare at the stark white ceiling. Then I realise I’m not alone; one of my hands is being held. I turn my head slightly to see Ares sitting beside my bed, his hands clasped around mine.
He looks… awful.
Good.
He deserves it.
Ok, maybe not, but I’m still angry at him.
His hair is a mess, but he’s cleaned up somewhat; there are dark shadows beneath his eyes that make it very clear he has not slept.
He’s changed into sweatpants and a white tee.
I spot a bandage wrapped around his shoulder, another around his forearm, and then the delicious sparks of the bond sizzling between us.
My chest tightens, and just then Ares looks up, his eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then his grip tightens, and the relief that flashes across his face is so raw that something inside me almost softens.
Almost. Because I still remember what he said.
‘I don’t need this… Mates are weaknesses… I don’t need someone people can use against me…’
My expression turns cold, and I slowly pull my hand away from him.
His jaw tightens, but he lets go.
Good.
“Arden…” he begins, his voice rough. “You’re awake.”
“Surprised you’re still around, Westwood.”
I turn my head slightly, looking around the hospital room instead of at him. The crest on the file sitting beside my bed tells me we’re at the Black Storm Pack. I don’t remember arriving here, which means he brought me.
Of course, he still had to protect me after being such a prick.
Goddess, I hate this man.
“You fainted, so I brought you to the Black Storm Pack; it was the pack nearest to us,” he explains as if realising what I’m thinking about.
This irritating, impossible man.
“I gathered that from the fact that I woke up in a hospital bed. Why are you still here?” I ask icily.
His mouth tightens. “‘Cause I want to be here?”
I roll my eyes and look ahead at the blank wall. “Well, I’m alive, so you need not worry. You should go shower or something; you look like hell,” I say, looking him over again.
He doesn’t get up, and I clench my jaw. “The mission is over. Go.”
“Yeah, Leo had Sienna close the tear not long ago. He said we did a good job.”
“I know we did.”
Just go.
But he’s not moving, this… arsehole! Who does he think he is, staying here?
The room falls silent, the tension thick between us. I swallow hard, staring ahead, hating how the bond is so obvious that I can sense every small move of his. I hate the pull; it’s almost humiliating.
This – man! He protected me beneath a collapsing tunnel, carried me to safety and is now sitting beside my bed and was holding my hand. But somehow, he still manages to make me feel unwanted.
Ares shifts in the chair.
“Charlotte,” he says.
My throat tightens at my name.
I hate that.
“Look at me, woman,” he almost growls. But I can tell by his standards he’s actually being polite.
“Why? I didn’t realise there was anything left to say,” I say, turning my cold glare onto him.
“Oh,” I say, keeping my voice cool. “So, now you have something to say?”
Ares runs a hand through his hair, then leans forward again, his elbows braced on his knees, his eyes locking with mine.
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “I do.”
I wait, crossing my arms; I refuse to make this easier for him. I have no idea what he wants to say, but really, he needs to just get it over with and leave.
I’m acting strong, but having him here after he all but rejected me hurts. It hurts a lot.
He looks at me like he would rather go back into those tunnels and do it all over rather than say whatever he’s struggling to get off his chest.
Then he exhales and runs his fingers through his hair again.
“Look. I thought a mate was a weakness,” he says quietly, his voice rough and low. “Something that makes a man easier to kill. I thought it would just make it easier to be brought down because it’s not just about protecting myself, but the need to protect someone else, no matter what.”
I say nothing. I don’t want to hear excuses, but still I listen, with an emotionless face as I hold his gaze. It’s not easy, as his aura has pretty much returned, making the intensity hard to ignore.
“But I got it wrong, Princess. You haven’t made me weaker.
Instead, it’s as if I want to do better, be more careful, play smarter and be far less willing to die for anything stupid, because now dying wouldn’t just be my problem,” he continues, his voice softening.
Something I didn’t even realise Ares Westwood was capable of.
And when the words slowly sink in, I focus on keeping my heartbeat steady, trying not to hope.
He looks away for a second, jaw clenched, and I realise how hard it must be for someone like Ares to admit this.
“Yeah… I was fucking afraid; you were right. Because how fucking strong the urge to protect you was… The desire to make sure nothing ever happens to you, it was intense. Since the bond snapped into place, my every instinct, my every thought is about you, and that’s fucking scary,” he continues.
I can hear his heart thundering, but he still keeps his gaze locked with mine.
“I thought that made you my weakness, but it doesn’t; it just makes me want to be stronger. It makes me more dangerous.”
“Ares…” I don’t even know what I want to say, but he leans closer, placing his hand over mine. His gaze dips to my lips fleetingly, and I swallow, but then he’s looking into my eyes again, his a sharp, liquid silver.
“And if our enemies ever look at you and think they’ve found my weakness, that they know exactly where to strike to bring down Poseidon’s favoured, then good.
Let them reach for you. Let them believe they’ve found my weakness.
They’ll learn the hard way that they haven’t put their hands around my throat.
They’ve put them inside a wolf’s jaw, and I’ll tear their limbs apart for even thinking to target you. ”
My heart thunders at his threat and promise.
His words are pure Ares – blunt, to the point, and utterly unfiltered.
“If anyone dares to touch you, then yeah, I’ll drag the whole fucking world under with my own bare hands and watch it drown. And that’s my promise to you,” he growls, his eyes blazing as his aura surges, making the water in the glass ripple.
My heart thunders at the confession because that’s what it is, Ares Westwood’s confession in his own unique style, and for once in my life I do not know what to say.
The hurt is still there, because one speech does not erase what he said beneath the Blood Moon, and I am not foolish enough to pretend otherwise. But the way he looks at me now is not with fear, anger or rejection, but determination, fury and a promise.
“You hurt me,” I say quietly, needing him to know. “The way you were willing to push me away… That hurt.”
“I know.” His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t try to deny it.
“You made it sound like you didn’t want anything to do with me,” I whisper, my voice calm. “Like I was a problem.”
His jaw is still clenched, and pain flickers through his eyes. “You’re definitely not,” he says sharply, as if those words annoyed him, too.
I swallow, hating the sting behind my eyes, and I look away to gather myself. “Well, you made me feel that way.”
“Then, will a sorry suffice, or do you want me to prove it to you?”
“Words are meaningless,” I say, looking away because he is being too honest, and I don’t know what to do with an Ares who is not hiding behind insults.
Then his hand reaches out, almost at my cheek, and I turn sharply to realise he’s stopped. My heart hammers, and not because of the intimacy, but because Ares isn’t the kind of man who asks for anything. He usually just does as he pleases.
I glance down at his hand, then up at him, and raise an eyebrow.
“What happened, Westwood? Are you waiting for permission?” I almost smile.
He looks away, then those hazel eyes snap back to mine, darkening as he speaks. “Yeah. I am.”
I give the smallest of nods, swallowing hard, my heart thundering as his hand grips the side of my neck and face, sparks dancing through me at the contact, the machine behind me giving away my heart rate, as if our sharp hearing isn’t enough.
Then he leans closer, and I think I should remind him that he does not get to tear me open with his words and then expect forgiveness because he genuinely is sorry.
But the moment his thumb brushes across my jaw, my body betrays every sensible thought.
“Ares,” I whisper.
His gaze drops to my mouth again, and this time, he does not look away.
“If you want me to stop, Princess, you need to tell me now,” he says, voice low.
I should…
But…
I don’t.
Instead, I tilt my chin towards him, and whatever restraint he has been holding onto snaps, and he closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine.
Sparks explode between us. The moment his lips move against mine, he steals my breath away.
Ares Westwood kisses like he argues, like he fights, like he has no patience for anything. Hard, rough, and Goddess help me, I kiss him back with equal desire and hunger.
A soft sigh escapes me as I grip the front of his T-shirt, the other cupping the back of his neck as I pull him closer.
He lets out a low growl against my mouth, and the sound sends heat rushing through me.
My core clenches, and I turn onto my side.
Ares’ other hand comes to my waist, large, warm and firm as he runs his hand up and down my waist, our kisses becoming hungrier.
There’s nothing left in my mind aside from how good this feels, how intoxicating he tastes, how desperately I want more.
We are so consumed by one another, our tongues fighting for dominance, that neither of us notices the door opening.
“Charlotte, are you…”