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Amora
I wakeup some time later sandwiched between Malix and Kian.
Kian’s arm is heavy on my hip, his breath tickling the skin of my neck. Malix turned away from me at some point while we were sleeping, but he has one foot tucked behind him, wrapped around my ankles as if he doesn’t want to let me go, even in his dreams.
The old me would have felt awkward as hell in this position. Pinned down. Burning up between their body heat. I’m no stranger to sex, but cuddling… not so much. I’ve always preferred my personal space.
It’s not half bad though, really. There’s something infinitely safe about being here with them. The sounds of their breathing in the dim room. Their unique scents of sunshine and whiskey mingling, both in the air and on my skin.
Too bad it can’t stay this peaceful forever.
There’s no clock in the room, but I can tell the sun has lowered in the sky outside the closed drapes because the dusk atmosphere inside the room has deepened. Frost’s been downstairs alone for a while now. Probably hungry. And cold. The warmth of the two men on either side of me makes me feel guilty. While he’s been down there, broken and alone, I’ve been up here, feeling pleasure instead of pain.
I can’t let him be alone.
Kian and I might have come to an uneasy truce when he stepped into the room earlier, but I know he’s still going to try to keep me from trying to bring Frost back. I can’t let him do that.
I carefully slide out from under Kian’s arm and extract my ankles from under Malix’s foot. Moving slowly and slithering in a ridiculously snake-like way, I make it off the bed without waking either of the men, then stand to gaze back at them. After I’m sure there are no signs of life, I tiptoe out of the room and head downstairs.
After slipping into the kitchen, I dig around in the cupboards, shoving aside cans of every kind of vegetable under the sun until I find a can of barbecued meat at the back of the pantry. The expiration date hasn’t passed yet, so it probably won’t hurt us. I imagine in Frost’s current state, he’s not going to be interested in Pop-Tarts or beans.
I upend the can into a bowl and heat it up in the microwave. Once it’s lukewarm, I help myself to a few bites to assuage the gnawing hunger in my stomach, then I grab a wooden spoon with a long handle from the drawer and creep downstairs.
Frost is sleeping when I open the door. The sound of the lock turning doesn’t wake him, but the moment the hinges creak like something out of a horror movie, he shoots to his feet and snarls at me.
The light pouring through the open door behind me slants across him, illuminating his face. Even wild, with his blond hair ragged and sweaty, his blue eyes dark, and his shadows warring across the expanse of his naked body, he’s still beautiful. The blanket is crumpled uselessly under him, as if he doesn’t even recognize that it’s meant to keep him warm.
I walk farther into the room, and he growls viciously, lunging against his chains. The pipes overhead rattle precariously, but they hold. Regardless, fear sends my heart racing, and a cold chill prickles up the back of my neck.
There are shadows inside these men. All three of them. I’ve known it from the beginning. Hell, from the very beginning I thought the shadows were what made them evil. What would one day make them the catalysts for the end of the world.
But the thing is, I don’t believe that’s true anymore. I’ve seen who they are, even with the shadows raging inside them. There’s more to them than the magic that lives restlessly beneath their skin.
Even Frost. Even now. He may be mindless and nearly mad from the darkness, but I know he’s still in there.
I think of Malix earlier today, telling me they aren’t meant to be loved, and it hurts me as much as if he’d insulted me instead of himself. We’ve only been in each other’s lives a relatively short time, but what I know after that time is that they aren’t all shadows, even when they believe they are.
Frost isn’t lost. Not even now, overloaded with Quinton’s monsters. My onetime mate is still in there. My gentle, soft, quiet Frost. The man who has borne so much pain and still has the capacity for sweetness. He still exists inside this wild creature.
I just have to find him.
Holding the bowl tightly between my hands, I cross the floor until I’m just outside his grasp, and then I sit cross legged on the ground. Having him yank against his bindings and loom over me like a madman isn’t exactly comfortable, but I figure if I come at this like I’m trying to get close to a scared dog, maybe he’ll respond.
So I make myself seem smaller. Less of a threat.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, avoiding his gaze as I dip the wooden spoon into the shredded meat. It looks like some kind of luxury dog food, not meant for human consumption, but I’m familiar with the brand because we ate it back in my pack. Cheap, easy to cook, and it lasts forever. Living off the grid in the middle of nowhere doesn’t leave a lot of options for fine dining.
Frost doesn’t respond, but the tension in his body fades slightly. He sniffs at the air, and a dribble of saliva appears at the corner of his full lips.
Good. He’s hungry.
I can work with this.
Slopping up a spoonful of meat, I hold it out, careful to keep the spoon at the very tips of my fingers. I finally meet his gaze, careful to only hold it for a second before I look at his lips instead. “Here. Have some. It’s warm.”
He backs away from the spoon, snarling, and ducks into the shadows behind the water heater.
I swallow my despair and hold the spoon up to my own mouth. “Look,” I say gently. “Food.” I peel off a small bite of the salty meat and chew, keeping the rest of my body still.
Frost blinks. Licks his lips. He crouches to the floor and eases forward on the balls of his feet. It’s not even a human movement; it’s like something an ape might do.
“I know you’re in there,” I murmur softly, offering the spoon again. “Come back to me. Please. I’m right here.”
He leans forward, wrists cocked against the chains as he sniffs at the spoon. Then he flicks a wild-eyed gaze at me before chomping at the wood.
I pull the spoon back before he can yank it away with his teeth.
He chews madly, juices spilling over his chin and little pieces of shredded beef falling from his lips onto his bare knees.
“More?” I pick up another hunk of food and hold it out.
As if he’s immediately forgotten that the spoon holds food, he shrinks away from it, lashing out with his foot. I absorb the blow in my knee and gasp at the violence behind it, at the sharp, stabbing pain that lances up my thigh and into my hip.
Before he can kick me again, I scramble backward, out of range from his long legs, dragging the bowl with me.
He growls and flails around for several moments, kicking out at the water heater and the walls, dragging at his chains.
I just wait, trying not to cringe when his ankle bone slams into concrete or when his elbow hits the metal side of the water heater. He seems completely oblivious to any external pain, which terrifies me because it indicates that the internal pain is so deep he can’t feel anything else.
How the hell can I save him from this?
He finally calms, slumping on the concrete with his chained wrists tucked beneath his torso.
I scoot forward, careful to remain outside the range of his feet and hands, and offer him the spoon again.
“Did you know most fairytales are a lot darker than Disney makes them out to be?” I ask, saying the first thing that pops into my head in the hopes that my voice will help calm him.
Frost lifts his head and eyes the spoon, then opens his mouth. If he’s heard or understood my words, he makes no indication, but his gaze tells me he’s ready to eat.
I slip the spoon between his lips, dump the food, and yank it back before he can maul the wood. “Grimms’ fairy tales are terrifying. People die. People hurt each other. People are horrific beasts,” I say softly as I hold out another bite. “And good doesn’t always win.”
He opens his mouth and accepts the spoon, but this time his gaze isn’t on the meat—it’s on me.
Even if he can’t comprehend my words, he’s responding to my voice.
That has to be progress. I can’t let it be anything but progress.
Dipping the spoon back in the bowl, I go on. “Beauty and the Beast isn’t a Grimm fairy tale though. I’m not as well read as you, but I liked princess movies when I was a kid. We didn’t have many, and our television couldn’t run long on the generator, but Beauty and the Beast was my favorite.”
Frost puts his hands beneath him and gingerly sits up. I freeze, spoon mid-reach, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. But he just looks me deep in the eye and opens his mouth. His expression is wary, still slightly wild, and even a little confused.
Okay. Lean in, Amora.
“I know, I know, weird right? I’m not the kind of girl who likes princess shit,” I murmur with a quiet chuckle, placing the spoon against his mouth. “I liked it because it seemed so unreal. This beautiful girl and this hideous beast. But they come together in this relationship where they have so much in common. Where she sees his sweetness and kindness beneath the beast, and he wants to be better for her.”
Frost chews his canned meat, his growls quieting as his gaze lingers on me. Some of the humanity seems to be rising to the surface in him.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
