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“Sorry,” she tells him, before she looks at me. “He goes by Scar ever since he was sent to The Abyss.”
Now I have a name for my hero. Scar seems to fit him a little better than Sol, but I suppose I don’t know him well enough yet to say that for sure. I’m guessing he picked the new name because of the large scar that runs across his chest.
“Hi, Scar.” I say the words out loud and sign them at the same time.
Alina blinks at me as she sits down in her usual seat to my right.
I look at her, and she says, “Did you just talk?”
Oh, that.I guess it’s been a while since my guardian heard my voice.
“I wanted to speak with Scar,” I admit. “It seemed easier to use my voice.”
He grins a little when I look over at him.
I’m still not able to tell what he’s saying when he talks, but I feel my face flushing with heat when he signs, “You are beautiful.”
I look at Alina. “What did he say?”
“Aside from the compliment?” Alina teases.
I roll my eyes at her. I’m definitely turning red.
This is so embarrassing.
“He said he wishes he’d had time to learn more ASL before he saw you again.”
Goddess, I wish I didn’t need a translator for this, especially not when she’s the mother of the guy I have a fated connection with, and coincidentally the woman who also raised me.
“That’s okay,” I admit. “I’m used to adjusting.”
He doesn’t seem pleased by that confession, and for some reason his troubled expression gives me butterflies in my stomach. It must be because I’m overdue to go into heat, and I’m already beyond sure he’s meant to belong to me.
“Eat,” Alina prompts me, picking up her fork.
I nod, even if I feel a little self-conscious about eating in front of this guy.
Scar, I remind myself.
Even if I didn’t know where he’d come from, he looks like the kind of guy who hunts for his food. He doesn’t just have it provided for him by the people who are tasked with rearing and slaughtering the livestock here in Nightshade. He works for every meal he eats.
Alina prompts him to eat, and he shakes his head.
I think he’s telling her he’s not hungry when he talks.
His gaze barely moves away from me. He’s watching me so closely I keep dropping my fork into my bowl. I don’t know how I’m managing to avoid splashing myself with the gravy.
A few bites in, and I’m too hungry not to finish every last drop.
I’m mopping up the last of the gravy with the final end of my roll when Scar moves forward and pushes his bowl toward me.
I recognise the word when he says, “Eat.”
That’s why he didn’t touch his bowl.
He wants to take care of me.
Like a mate.
