“Good different?”
She considers for a moment. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But as I finish the dishes and help her to her room, I feel hope bloom in my chest. Maybe, with time and patience, I can be the mate she deserves.
One meal, one training session, one moment at a time.
Chapter 30
Aurora
A week into our stay at Pack Opal, I finally start to feel more like myself again. The bond in my chest has returned to its usual ache, no longer the strange muted sensation from the failed ritual. But my muscles still protest every movement, the magical backlash making even simple tasks difficult, stiffness and pain taking over.
Every morning, I push myself through training forms, ignoring the trembling in my arms and legs. The healers say the lingering pain and muscle weakness is normal after what I attempted, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Especially not when Kieran watches me with concern in those ice blue eyes, clearly wanting to help but restraining himself from hovering. I hate feeling weak in front of him.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he says when he finds me attempting to stretch after my morning practice. I’ve been working through the forms Dana taught me, trying to hold them longer despite the pain. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. My arms shake as I try to hold a pose. “Let me help?”
I eye him warily, emotions warring in my chest. We’ve settled into a strange uneasy peace these past days, his gentle attention and genuine efforts to change slowly chipping away at mydefenses. The way he remembers how I take my coffee, how he asks thoughtful questions about my life, how he never pushes… it’s different from the Kieran I knew before. But touch is still… complicated.
Especially since I can still feel his hands on my skin from that night we spent together, can still taste him on my tongue. Can feel the broken, brittle pieces of me after he rejected me again.
“Just a massage,” he says, reading my hesitation. His voice is gentle, lacking any of the arrogance I remember from before. “To help with the muscle pain. Nothing more. I’ve been learning proper techniques from the healers.”
I shouldn’t say yes. But my back is screaming from overexertion, and his hands look strong and capable. More than that, something in me craves his touch, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Just a massage.”
He guides me to lie face-down on my bed, his movements careful and deliberate, his hands respectful. The mattress dips as he settles beside me. When his hands first touch my shoulders, I tense—then melt as his thumbs find a particularly painful knot.
“Tell me if I press too hard,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate in the quiet room. “Or if you want me to stop.”
But his touch is perfect, firm enough to work out the tension without causing more pain, as if he senses what I feel as he touches me. His hands are warm and sure as they move across my shoulders and down my spine. Each stroke sends tingles through my body, equal parts therapeutic and electrifying. I can’t hold back a small moan as he works out a stubborn knot, the pain rising then fading completely, replaced with a warm pleasure.
“You learned this from the healers?” I ask, trying to distract myself from how good it feels. From how much I want more. “When did you have time?”
“I’ve been getting up early to study with them in the mornings,” he admits, a hint of shyness in his voice that I’ve never heard before. “I wanted to be able to help with your recovery. The healers recommended it, and… I wanted to be useful. I feel helpless just watching you suffer, knowing I’m responsible. This way, at least I can do something, even if it’s insignificant in comparison to what I see you do for yourself.”
The confession catches me off guard. It’s such a thoughtful gesture, so different from the Kieran who rejected me. That Kieran would never have humbled himself to learn something just to help me, and he definitely wouldn’t have admitted to feeling useless or incompetent in any way.
“Tell me something true,” I say impulsively as his hands work a knot in my lower back. His touch is making me brave, loosening my tongue along with my muscles. “You keep asking me questions about myself. I want to know about you too.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his hands never stopping their soothing movements. “I used to watch you, after the rejection. Not… not in a creepy way, I know how that sounds. I just needed to know you were okay. I saw you at Marjorie’s sometimes, or training with Dana. You looked so strong, so fierce. I wanted to approach you so many times, but I told myself it was better to stay away, because you were doing okay.”
“I wasn’t okay.” The words come out raw and honest. “I was broken inside every minute of every hour of every day.”
“I know that now. And I think I knew it then.” His voice breaks. “I saw how much I hurt you. But I was too much of a coward to fix it. Too afraid of my father, of being weak… of admitting I was wrong.”
“Why now?” I need to know. “What changed?”
His hands still on my back, warm and steady. “I did. Or maybe I just finally became who I always should have been. My father… he taught me that strength meant never showingweakness. Never admitting you were wrong. But real strength is having the courage to face your mistakes. To try to make things right. And the thought of losing you for good taught me that, Aurora. Nothing has ever scared me more than thinking I might never get to hold you in my arms again.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. “Keep going,” I whisper, and we both know I don’t just mean the massage.
His hands resume their movements, working down my spine with careful attention, thumbs pressing and working each knot out along the way. “I was so afraid of being weak that I became exactly what I feared. I became weak, shameful, arrogant and cruel. But you… you showed me what real strength looks like on this journey together. How brave you are, how fierce, but still vulnerable and honest and kind. The way you never let anyone make you feel less than what you are. I love that about you.”
Heat pools in my belly at his words and touch. When his hands brush my sides, skating dangerously close to the sides of my breasts, I can’t hold back a small sound of want.
“Aurora?” His voice is rough. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
