Chapter 25 - Bella
BELLA
Sleep doesn’t come. It laughs at me from somewhere far away, while I toss and turn, tangled in my sheets, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to claw out.
Kage is alive.
That thought ricochets through my skull over and over, too sharp, too heavy.
It’s the kind of truth that should’ve come with warning sirens and flashing lights.
My body still doesn’t know how to handle it—half of me buzzing like I swallowed lightning, the other half hollowed out and ready to scream.
For seven years I mourned him. I dreamed of him, cursed him, missed him, hated myself for missing him. And now he’s in my kitchen like he never left, shoulders hunched forward, too big for the chair, claws gripping a mug like it’s his anchor to this world.
I pad barefoot across the cold tile, my silver arm catching the faint glow from the kitchenette. He doesn’t look up at first. He just sits there, all that mass and silence pressing down on the room.
I pour him coffee and set it in front of him. My voice cracks sharp because if I let it soften, it’ll break.
“Nice of you to drop in.”
His head lifts slowly, black scales catching the low light, silver patterns gleaming like scars. His eyes—God, those eyes—fix on me. His voice comes out gravel-deep.
“I tried.”
The words land heavy.
“Yeah?” I snort, lifting my own mug, the bitter steam curling up into my face. “Well, your definition of trying and mine must be galaxies apart.”
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t snap back. He just takes a sip, his massive hands oddly gentle around the ceramic. The sight makes my chest ache.
We talk. Awkward. Careful. Like we’re dancing on glass and one wrong step will send us both bleeding.
He tells me about Armstrong—how Sorena insists on feeding every stray soldier that wanders through their new deli, and how Gake grumbles but always gives them extra bread. His voice softens when he mentions them, and I remember the wreckage in his face when he thought they were gone.
I laugh once, brittle. “So, what, your mom’s running a soup kitchen for war vets now?”
“She says everyone deserves a full stomach,” he mutters, gaze falling to the table. “Even if the galaxy thinks they don’t deserve much else.”
Something twists inside me. That sounds like her. That sounds like him, too.
I sip my coffee and swallow around the lump in my throat. “They sound… good. I’m glad.”
He nods once, sharp. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t ask me a damn thing about my life.
Good. Because I don’t think I could answer.
The sun cycle bleeds through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the counter. Natalie shuffles into the kitchen, hair sticking out like she fought a pillow war and lost. My heart leaps into my throat.
Kage stiffens. He goes still in a way that terrifies me more than any roar ever could.
She blinks at him, tilting her head like a curious bird.
I hold my breath. Please don’t see. Please, gods, don’t notice.
Then he smiles. Just a little. Soft. Careful. “Hello.”
Natalie grins, wide and gap-toothed. “Hi, Mr. K!”
The sound nearly knocks me over.
My stomach flips, guilt clawing up my throat. My daughter just named him without knowing why. Without knowing who he is.
Kage’s smile widens, like he’s testing the name. “Mr. K,” he repeats. His voice rumbles like distant thunder. “I like that.”
I press my mug to my lips so he won’t see me shake.
The day drags me behind it like a prisoner in chains.
I watch them together—Kage crouched awkwardly on the floor, huge claws fumbling over Natalie’s toys, her little hands guiding him like a teacher scolding a student. She laughs when he knocks a block tower over with his elbow. She claps when he manages to balance the pieces without crushing them.
And me? I stand there, arms crossed, throat tight.
It’s too much. Too cruel.
Every smile she gives him feels like a secret tearing free of my chest. Every time she says “Mr. K,” it’s another reminder that I’m lying to them both.
I want to tell him. Gods, I want to scream it. She’s yours. She’s ours.
But every time the words rise, they choke me. What if he hates me for keeping it from him? What if he hates her for being half-human? What if this fragile, impossible thing between us shatters into dust?
So I bite my tongue and bleed inside.
After Natalie goes to bed, the apartment feels too quiet. The hum of the air unit buzzes in the background. Kage leans against the counter, arms folded, looking too big, too solid, too much for the tiny space.
I lean next to him, arms crossed, pretending I don’t feel the heat radiating from him.
He lowers his head, shadows wrapping around his features. Then, slowly, carefully, he presses his mouth to my forehead.
It’s soft. Reverent. Like a prayer.
My breath catches. My body trembles.
“Can I stay?” he asks, voice rough. “A little longer.”
I should say no. I should shove him out the door, lock it, and never let him split me open again.
Instead, I whisper, “Yes.”
And as the word leaves my lips, guilt roars in my chest.
Because it’s only a matter of time before this secret detonates.