“Kalinda …”
She shivered, the water suddenly not as hot as just a few moments before. Romano was the fucking sun, blazing in the corner of the bathroom, rivaling any heat in the space.
Slowly he slipped his hand into his pocket and grimaced. When he pulled out his fist, he hissed, his face going taut and hard.
“What are you doing?”
“Do you know the one thing the humans got right about werewolves? Silver. Shifters hate the shit. It’s like iron to the Fae.”
He held out his closed fist toward her before slowly turning it over until his palm was open. She watched, not sure what he was doing, until he unfurled his fingers. In the center of his smoking palm was a shiny, silver bullet, intricate scrolling patterns on the side making it look like a flower ready to be opened. A hole had been drilled through one side, and a delicate chain had been threaded through it.
“To be honest, I cut myself before putting this in my hand. The burning you see is the silver’s reaction to my blood. We can touch silver, but it’s poisonous to us when inside our body.”
Even as she watched, his palm stopped smoking, and she figured the wound he’d given himself had healed.
“Why are you holding a silver bullet on a chain?”
He stood slowly and came toward her. “Because I’m making sure you understand you have my life in your hands, Kalinda. As my mate, there is no one else who could ever make me so weak, could ever break me, or could ever ruin me the way you can. I’m giving you the power my father gave to my mother, knowing you could do the same she did. You’re not a wolf. You don’t have the battle of mating like she had, and she was able to break free. You could much more easily walk away. I know that, and I’m still giving it to you.”
He slipped the necklace around her neck before returning to his seat in the corner of the room. Kalinda fiddled with the silver where it rested just in the space between her breasts.
“Romano?”
“You have the power, Kalinda. I know what that means to you.”
She blinked, fighting against allowing tears to fall. An ache in her throat signaled she might lose that battle. This man slayed her. Not with demands or orders. Not with control or guilt. No, with simple and open honesty as clear as his jokes. He handed her the world because he wanted, for once, to have someone not turn him away. To have someone make him feel like he was enough.
And he’d been fighting for her, even when she’d made him feel unwanted just like everybody else. She was ashamed with herself. She’d been no better. Not understanding his story or what he offered. Not even wanting to see what it meant for him to have a mate who’d made it clear she’d rather fight him than let him in, and he’d still never let her down.
How exactly did you thank a man for that? How could she ever make him feel he was more than enough when all she’d ever done was take from him what he’d offered? She bowed her head, uncomfortable with her view of herself. She’d always prided herself on knowing just who she was, moving to her own rhythm and pushing on to be who she wanted to be. Instead, somewhere along the line, she’d become jaded and judgmental, hiding behind actions so much like others had done when they’d hurt her.
It wasn’t often Kalinda could admit she got a wakeup call and had to smell the roses.
And she never wanted to feel like this again.
She raised her head, her gaze locked on her mate. Her mate. One she’d never claimed, except in her mind. She’d hidden behind his shield, but unlike Zoey, she hadn’t stood and braced him when the world sent him shit. Kalinda wouldn’t let it be like that anymore.
She stood from the bath, warm water sluicing down her form, and she loved how his gaze heated. How he followed the rivulets down her skin, taking in all of her. Her breasts were heavy, nipples hard in the cooler air. She stood before her mate naked, open, and exposed. She wondered how she looked to him as she stretched her arms high above her head and arched her back, the silver necklace bright against her dark skin.
Did she look dangerous too?
Romano moved to stand, and she shook her head. Now was his time. He settled back, and the look of confusion nearly broke her heart. She’d never noticed how he was always doing something, caring for people, working.
Cautiously, she stepped from the bath onto the mat next to it and reached for her towel to dry off. The whole time she kept her gaze on him. His fists clenched at his side and a muscle worked in his jaw. She liked that. Liked that she could bring him to the edge of his control just by watching her.
Once she was dry, she dropped the towel and held out her hand. Slowly, he stood and came close enough to put his hand in hers.
“Kalinda?”
She only smiled before turning and leading him from the bathroom. He followed her silently. It amazed her how a man so large could make no sound when he moved. How he’d honed his body to be a weapon when he needed to be. She had a better understanding of what it meant to be of the warrior class.
It was only a short walk to his bedroom, but by time they reached his door, she was panting. She wasn’t sure who wanted this more, him or her. She opened the door and led him through before stopping long enough to close the door behind him.
His room was much darker, no help of the candles to illuminate, but the large windows with sheer curtains allowed the moonlight in. She could at least be happy his home was surrounded by forest. No peeping neighbors.
Once they made it to the foot of his bed, she pulled him until he stood in front of her. That same, sadly confused look marred his features. Instead of talking, she decided to show him. Spearing his thick, cool strands, she glided her hands through his hair, loving the way he moved into her touch, bowing slightly so she could reach.
This man. God, he warmed her from the inside out. Even as her fingertips traced over his face—the scarred left side and the perfect right—she couldn’t ignore the precarious edge of insecurity and resilience. Fear and absolute control. He was a study in broken perfection. From his strong nose to his soft lips. The hard line of his jaw. The thick column of his neck. His broad shoulders, wide enough to carry a world he didn’t have to.
