He smiled, a hint of tenderness in his expression. “I was already falling for you back then, you know.”
I blinked, then my eyes widened in surprise. “You’re joking! We fought the whole time. And you were distant as hell!”
He shook his head, his look dark and serious. “I fought with you because I was fighting my feelings every single day, and I was frustrated. I thought, to be a good teacher, I needed to keep my distance from you, and you made me feel things I didn’t want to. I was scared of how much I wanted you, of how much I cared.”
He swallowed hard. “How much I loved you, even then.”
“I think I loved you then, too. And IknowI love you now,” I whispered, leaning into him, my heart full.
We stayed like this for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the stars shining brightly above us.
And as the night wore on, I knew this was the beginning of a beautiful joy which would only grow stronger with time.
It was near sunrise by the time we climbed back down the stairs. Without a second thought, I made my way into his bedroom, getting ready to finally find some sleep.
James watched me with a hint of amusement but followed my lead without hesitation. Exactly like in one of those romance novels, I washed up a little in the adjoining bathroom, where James handed me a shirt to sleep in. As I pulled it over my head, his scent drifted over me, warm and familiar.
Climbing into bed beside him, my body was worn out, but my mind was still racing, unwilling to let go of the perfection ofour first real date. James opened his arms, and I nuzzled into his neck, savoring the warmth of his embrace.
My fingers began to trail across his chest, tracing the familiar lines of his Skindo tattoo. As my hand moved over the design, I brushed over the raised texture of the marks beneath—the burn scars he had once shown me. I wanted to ask about them but hesitated, not wanting to push my luck.
As if sensing my curiosity, James squeezed my hand. “You can ask, you know,” he murmured.
I glanced up at him, uncertain. “It’s just… I’ve never understood what happened. How did you get them?”
He was silent for a moment, his stare distant as he gathered his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but there was an underlying sadness, tugging at my heart. “They’re from when I was a kid. The group home I was in… It wasn’t the best place. The disciplinary actions there were harsh, to say the least.”
He paused, and I could tell this wasn’t something he talked about often, if at all. “One of the caretakers—she was meaner than others—accidentallydropped a pot of boiling water on my arm. I was lucky it didn’t hit my hand, but my arm…it was bad. Human doctors couldn’t fix it. Took a few Healers to repair some of the damage after I was retrieved by Cyclos, but the lacerations never fully healed.”
My heart clenched as he spoke, the pain of his past so palpable in his words. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I didn’t try to hide them. “James. I’m so sorry.”
He kissed me lovingly, a gesture meant to comfort, but it only made the tears fall harder. “It’s okay, Emma. I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it. It’s a part of who I am now.”
As he spoke, his gaze drifted to my own scars, also decorating my arm. Different ones, born from different memories. He didn’t have to say anything—I knew what he was thinking.
I swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable as I began to speak. “When Logan and his men took me, I really thought I was going to die. These markings… They remind me of the fear, but not of any pain. I never actually felt what they did to me, thanks to the sedation.”
James stiffened beside me, his body tense. I paused, and searched his face for any sign I should stop. He gave me a curt nod, a clear sign to continue. “In a twisted way, the illegal translation they used on me prevented deeper trauma,” I added quietly.
His jaw clenched, the muscles working under his skin as his anger flared. I leaned in and kissed him quickly, then tried to reassure him. “I’m okay,” I murmured.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he whispered, immense regret clear on his face. I couldn’t stand how his words were heavy with guilt.
I shook my head, then spoke firmly. “You protected me more than anyone ever has, James. You trained me so I could protect myself. The reason I survived any of this is because of you. Don’t ever forget it.”
He sighed, then pulled me even closer, as if trying to shield me from the memories. “Do you still think about it?”
I hesitated for a second before I nodded. “I still have nightmares about Coastal…and sometimes—I know it’s superficial—but I feel less pretty because of the scars.”
I looked away, embarrassed by the admission, but James gently turned my face back toward him, his stare intense and resolute.
“Emma,” he said with quiet conviction, “these marks are a testament to your strength and resilience. They’re battle scars, and they’re one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen on a woman. They don’t make you less—they make youmore. Don’t you ever forget that.”
His words washed over me like a soothing balm. I nodded, too choked up to respond, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. The warmth of his embrace, combined with the emotional exhaustion of the night, soon lulled me into a wonderful, dreamless sleep—the first peaceful rest I’d had since Coastal.
In his arms, I finally felt safe.
THREE
