Chapter 33 Bella
BELLA
The silence is thick enough to choke on.
Kage doesn't say much these days, not really. He watches. His eyes follow me like he's trying to solve a puzzle he's missing pieces for, like maybe if he looks hard enough, long enough, the corners will snap into place and make sense. But they won’t. Not if I keep hiding them.
I hate it. I hate how sweet he is with her.
I hate how he wears that stupid rainbow hat when she asks, like it’s a damn badge of honor.
I hate how gentle his claws are when he helps brush out her hair because she likes the way they feel.
I hate it because I love it. And that love is turning me inside out.
Every smile Natalie gives him twists the knife. Every time she runs into his arms squealing, “Daddy!” in her dreams—because yeah, I hear her sleep-talk—I feel like I’m breaking open. I can’t breathe under the weight of it.
So I start pulling away.
Little things at first. Sitting on the other side of the couch. Leaving the room to take calls that aren’t really calls. Pretending I’m too tired to help with bedtime, pretending I don’t see the way she clings to him now instead of me. He’s better at lullabies anyway.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
But he doesn’t say anything. Just watches me, quiet and sad and patient like he's waiting for a storm he knows is coming.
I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t even look at myself in the mirror without seeing a liar. My arm aches—the metal one, the nanite one. Maybe it’s psychosomatic or it’s guilt. I don’t know anymore.
Then it happens.
Natalie spills her juice. Not even that much. Just a little splash across the table.
“Goddammit, Nat!” I snap. “Can’t you be more careful for once?”
She freezes. Her bottom lip wobbles. The juice puddle crawls across her coloring book, and it feels like the world is crawling with it.
“I—I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m just so sick of—just clean it up, alright?”
She starts crying. Big, gut-wrenching sobs that make my ears ring.
Kage’s voice is low, dangerous. “Bella.”
I don’t even look at him. “I didn’t mean—”
He scoops her up, murmuring to her in that deep, gravel-soft voice that turns to velvet when he talks to her. She buries her face in his neck, hiccupping. He doesn’t look at me. Not once. Just carries her down the hall.
The door to her room clicks shut.
I stare at the mess on the table. Sticky, red, innocent.
Just like her.
I go to Jexi’s. She doesn’t say anything when she opens the door, just yanks me inside and shoves a cup of steaming tea in my hands. It smells like earth and bitterness. Good.
“You look like crap,” she says.
“Thanks.”
She watches me. Waits.
“I yelled at her.”
“She’s a kid. It happens.”
“She cried. Kage…” I swallow. “Kage didn’t say a word. Just looked at me like I was some monster she needed protecting from.”
“Were you?”
I flinch.
She doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Bella, this thing you’re doing? Withholding the truth? It’s not protection. Not for him. Not for her. And sure as hell not for you.”
“I was scared,” I say. It sounds pathetic even to me.
“You’re still scared.”
I nod.
Jexi leans forward, elbows on knees. “You tell him. Tonight. Or you’ll lose both of them. I’ve known you a long time, Bella. You don’t get many good things. Don’t ruin the best one.”
I want to argue. I want to scream. But instead, I nod again.
Dinner is pasta. His favorite. I make it from scratch, even the sauce. My hands shake so hard I nearly slice the tip off my finger.
I set the table.
Tell Natalie gently, “Baby, why don’t you read in your room for a bit tonight? I need to talk to Kage.”
She frowns. “Are you mad at him?”
“No. Just… grown-up stuff.”
She shrugs, grabs her book, and skips down the hall.
I light a candle.
I don’t even know why.
Kage walks in, quiet like always. He takes one look at the table and stiffens.
“Is this a trap?” he says, trying to joke. It dies on his tongue.
“No,” I whisper. “Sit.”
He does.
I push the plate toward him. He doesn’t touch it.
I stare at my hands. My metal fingers twitch. My throat closes up.
“Kage, I—”
“I know.”
My head jerks up.
He’s staring at me, eyes unreadable. Deep. Sharp.
“Natalie is mine,” he says.
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
“You think I don’t see it?” he continues, voice soft but shaking. “The eyes. The way she smells. The way she looks at me. I didn’t want to believe it. Not really. Because if it was true, and you didn’t tell me—”
“I was scared.” My voice breaks. “I thought you were dead. And then when you weren’t… I didn’t know how to say it. How to explain.”
Tears burn hot down my cheeks. I don’t wipe them.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I am so, so sorry.”
He’s silent for a long time.
Then he says, “You should’ve told me.”
I nod. “I know.”
“But I’m here now,” he says. “And I’m not leaving.”
I can’t breathe for a second. Then I’m sobbing. Ugly, hiccuping sobs that rip straight from my gut. He moves around the table and pulls me into him, into that impossible warmth.
His claws dig into my back, grounding me.
“I should be furious,” he murmurs against my hair.
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“But I’ve lost too much to let this go. I’m not letting her go. And I’m not letting you go.”
I cling to him like he’s the last piece holding me together.