Chapter Forty

After Adrian and I shower together in the guest bedroom, I throw my bathrobe on to find some clothes in my room while he heads downstairs to start breakfast. As soon as I’m alone behind my door, I lean against the wood and exhale, realizing what I’ve just done. I just had sex with my bodyguard, who I’ve only known for a few days, less than a week. I gaze out the window of my balcony, watching the large flakes fall, so serene and unbothered by the things going on around it. I haven’t seen snow in forever, since I went on a vacation ski trip to Colorado.

I walk across the room to the door, lifting the latch and sliding it open. I’m greeted by a blast of frigid air as I peek my head outside, holding a hand out to catch some of the snow. I forgot that despite the cold that comes with it, I actually do enjoy winter. Maybe I can get outside and take some photos for Instagram, since I’ll be stuck inside all day, otherwise. I could use a good distraction from everything going on.

There’s a knock at the bedroom door and Adrian swings it open without waiting for an answer. “I heard the door open,” He says, walking through the room to the open balcony door, seeing my hand outstretched to collect the snow as it falls. He’s still shirtless, though he put on a pair of sweatpants that he found somewhere. Maybe he went next door to get himself a change of clothes before passing out in the guest room, but either way, they hang unfairly off of his hips, reminding me of the way they felt grinding against my own.

I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks, but I decide to blame it on the embarrassment of being caught enjoying the weather. “I couldn’t help myself,” I say, sheepishly pulling my hand back inside. “It’s so pretty.”

Adrian’s lips quirk upward in a boyish smile as he watches me withdraw, taking a step towards me. He scoops me up in his arms with ease, as if I weigh no more than a feather. To him, maybe I don’t. He carried me all the way from the car last night, and Werewolves are supposed to have superhuman strength, right? I forgot that he’s been hiding his heightened senses from me up until now, which would explain his weird sense of smell and how he could hear me open the balcony door from downstairs. That means he also heard the conversation I had with my dad the very first day when I was asking him about Adrian. This also means that he overheard us talking about my attack, the whole reason I was made to come here in the first place.

I swallow, feeling suddenly sick. That’s why he never asked about my scar when he saw it. He already knew about what happened, or the version I’d told my father, at least. Yet, he never brought it up or lingered on it. He’s never asked me, allowing me the pardon of not having to relive that traumatic experience. Sensing the sudden change in my mood, Adrian looks down at me in concern, his smile faltering.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hesitating. “Is it too fast? Should I stop touching you?”

The worry in his tone makes me soften. He sounds like a kid who got caught doing something bad and doesn’t want to get in trouble. I link my arms around his neck, looking up at him reassuringly. “No, it’s fine,” I say. “I was just thinking about something else.”
He relaxes his shoulders a little after hearing that I’m not mad at him, and he turns sideways to carry me out the door onto the balcony. “If you say so. I know that wasn’t supposed to happen, so if I make you uncomfortable or if you feel like I’m moving too fast, just tell me and I’ll back off,” He says quickly, all in one breath. Despite being barefoot, he seems to feel nothing as he stands in the foot-deep snow, holding me in his arms as we look out at the mountains in the distance, made white overnight by a blanket of snow.

His skin is so warm that I snuggle closer to him, grateful for the strength behind his arms. I watch as the snowflakes melt on his skin immediately as if he’s an actual furnace. “Do you ever get cold?” I ask, evading his question.

He glances down at me with snowflakes in his hair and his eyelashes, making his dark eyes stand out against the white contrast. “No. Not unless I’m bleeding out,” He says with a chuckle that doesn’t meet his eyes.

I stare at him, furrowing my brow. I didn’t find that very funny, especially when the weight of his voice hints at something deeper. “I know the feeling,” I say quietly, turning to look back at the scenery. The mountains look impossibly more beautiful in the snow.

Our breath clouds together and he stares at me, commanding my attention back to him with his gaze. His expression is dark, jaw set at my comment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

I reach to stroke a hand against the stubble on his cheek, cutting him off. “It’s okay. I know that you pretended not to know about what happened so I wouldn’t have to talk about it, right?” His throat bobs, which I take as a yes. “If you’re my Mate… if that’s true, then you deserve to know the truth about what happened.”

“Lydia…” He trails off, muscles tensing around me. He gazes out at the treeline behind the townhouse. “You don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to. I don’t know if I could handle hearing that right now.” His voice is trailed by a growl, his eyes dark and expression murderous as he stares out at the trees.

I swallow, grateful that he stopped me. I’ve been doing so well not talking about it, so that’s an old memory that I’d rather not crack back open, frankly. A cold breeze cuts through the gaps in my robe, making me recoil into Adrian’s warmth as a shudder racks my body. “Okay,” I say, voice soft. “Let’s go make some food.”

He turns and puts me down inside of the bedroom before knocking the snow from his feet and following me in, latching the balcony door firmly. “You should put some clothes on and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll make you some coffee,” He says, making his way towards the door. Though he’s obviously trying to hide it, I can still detect the strain in his tone when he speaks. I guess I didn’t consider how mad it would make him for me to talk about the attack, but if we are supposed to be soul mates, I guess hearing about another man raping me wouldn’t be therapeutic for him. Judging from the way he stalks from the room, I might guess that he would be tempted to hunt down my attacker and kill him, himself.

I shake my head clear of the thought and head to the closet, going to find a warm, comfortable outfit for the day. I choose a cute pair of underwear and a matching tracksuit to keep me warm, rubbing my arms up and down to try and forget the feeling of hands pinning me against the ground. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I pick my phone up from the nightstand and send a message to my dad, asking him to call me whenever he has a free moment. There’s a lot that I need to talk to him about, especially about why he didn’t tell me he’s a fricking Sorcerer? What does that even mean? I feel suddenly tired and decide to head downstairs in my fuzzy socks, in need of the coffee I was promised.

Adrian hears me coming down the stairs and peeks out from the kitchen, extending a steaming coffee mug to me. “How do crepes sound?” He asks, walking me to my usual stool at the island. He deposits me in my seat before circling around to the kitchen, gathering ingredients to make the batter.

“They sound good. I think we still have some blueberries and strawberries we could add too,” I say, taking a long sip from the cup, cradling it against my body for warmth. He must be able to hear the reservation in my voice because he turns to look at me over his shoulder.

“You can ask me more questions if you want, it’s going to take a little while to make these.”

I run a hand through my long hair, smoothing it out over my shoulders as I sip my coffee and think. I have so many questions left but don’t know where to start. I decide by asking the question in the forefront of my brain, tracing the lip of my mug with an index finger. “What exactly is a Sorcerer?”