Aiden snorts, a sound full of disgust. “Could you stop offending Kojo? He’s innocent, and his reactions are normal. He just lost his entire clan.” He moves closer, his tone sharpeningwith each word. “His Bouda catching your scent just changed his entire world. Gave him a sliver of hope. I’ve known this shifter for three years, and he’s never been this hopeful since I found him digging through a dumpster, scavenging for food.”
Nobody speaks. The laugh track on the television keeps cycling through its artificial mirth.
Aiden takes another step toward me, his voice dropping to something more intimate, almost conspiratorial. “You think being Black is hard? Try being a Black shifter.” He exhales hard through his nose, rubbing the bridge with two fingers like he’s trying to massage away a headache. “If you knew what he’s been through, you wouldn’t even have words for it.”
Aiden turns away and drops into his chair at the table. “For the record, you’re not even my type.”
Kojo’s head snaps up at that, protective instinct flaring. “Stop offending my mate.”
Aiden holds up both hands, palms out in immediate surrender. “Alright, man. I’m sorry. I’m just tired of watching you suffer. You’ve been suffering for a long time.”
The room goes quiet except for the television’s relentless soundtrack. I press my forehead to my knees and focus on my breathing, waiting for the panic to flatten out into something I can carry without breaking.
“Kendra.” Kojo’s voice reaches me, softer now, tentative.
“What?” I don’t lift my head, not ready to face him after what I’ve accused him of.
“May I please tend to your injuries?”
The gentleness in the request finally makes me look up. He stands two feet away, deliberately holding himself back, those amber eyes searching my face for permission.
I nod and sit up straighter, and he closes the distance, settling onto the edge of the chair beside the bed. When he reaches out and cups my face between his palms, the heathits me so hard I gasp. His hands radiate warmth that pours through my skin like liquid sunshine, easing the ache almost immediately.
“You really do run hot,” I murmur, leaning slightly into the comfort of that warmth despite myself.
He smiles, and up close the look transforms his entire face, those sharp features softening into something almost tender. “It is my furnace. My body temperature adjusts to the environment. The colder it gets, the hotter I burn.”
He tilts my head gently with two fingers beneath my chin, studying the bruise. He reaches for the ice in a small bucket on the nightstand, wraps it in one of the washcloths from his lap, and carefully presses it to my cheek. I wince at the cold contact, and his entire body goes rigid in response.
“I’m sorry I pepper sprayed you,” I tell him, the apology surprising even me.
His brow furrows in genuine confusion. “Is that what that solution is called?”
“I just wanted to go home.”
He adjusts the ice, his fingers curving along the line of my jaw. “I will build you a better home.”
I smile at that. Barely, just a small crack in the wall I’ve been maintaining since I opened my eyes in this strange room. He doesn’t push the advantage. Doesn’t try to fill the silence with promises or explanations I’m not ready to hear. He just holds the ice against my injured cheek and lets his other hand rest near mine on the blanket, radiating heat like a space heater someone shaped into the form of a man.
What’s really bothering me isn’t the room or the door or even the word “majesty.” It’s that Aiden hit me with more truth than I was prepared to hear, and the impact stings worse than my bruised cheek. Gig worker. Society sending women back to the Stone Age. Rejecting worship for a life that’s been grindingme down to nothing for fourteen months straight. He’s right about more than I want to admit, and the part of me that’s been holding everything together with stubbornness and spite knows it.
But I’m not jumping blindly into whatever this is. I’m being careful, because I stand to lose everything I have left if I’m not. Which isn’t much, I know, but it’s mine, and that has to count for something.
