I began to regain consciousness slowly, as if returning from a beautiful coma. I felt a pleasant warmth engulfing me—a warmth that wasn't just heat, but safety.
I inhaled deeply, and the scent of coffee and dark chocolate teased my senses; his scent.
I opened my eyes to see him sleeping beside me, holding me tightly as if I might run away from him.
I tried to move to find some space, but he was steady, holding me firmly. I surrendered to my position and began to stare at him, contemplating this being who shared my bed.
He was so peaceful while asleep, completely different from the cold and hard man I knew. I gazed at his eyebrows, the black lashes shading his eyes, and the freckles scattered across his cheek and nose, and I smiled tenderly.
He was incredibly handsome—a natural, effortless handsomeness.
I slowly lowered my eyes to his full lips, then to his chin and sharp jawline.
"Damn," I whispered to myself,
"he screams masculinity." This masculinity stirred a strange feeling inside me, a mix of admiration and attraction.
Why does an overwhelming urge to kiss him wash over me when I look at his lips?
Damn it, this man will drive me crazy even in his sleep. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to stay like this, cradled in his warmth, sinking into contemplation of him forever.
I slowly raised my hand to place it on his cheek, lightly running my fingers over the freckles I loved, as if drawing a map of a face I never tired of exploring.
I chuckled softly, fearing my voice might wake me from this quiet moment. Then my hand moved to his hair, which I had long craved to sink my fingers into.
His hair was soft between my fingertips, and I was completely immersed in this enchanting moment.
I didn't realize his eyes were watching me until I looked at him.
My eyes met his open ones, which held a sleepy gaze.
I froze in place, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks, turning red as a tomato.
He had been awake this whole time, enjoying watching me feel his features.
I felt the heat in my cheeks rising; I found nothing to say after being caught red-handed. While burying my head in his chest out of embarrassment, I quietly pushed away his hands that were clasping my waist, then whispered a single word to end the awkward situation:
"Good morning."
I didn't give him a chance to respond.
As soon as I broke free from his grip—which seemed a bit weaker than before—I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
I stood under the hot water flowing over my body, but it wasn't enough to wash away the guilt that had returned to haunt me again.
I summoned the harsh scene in my mind: my attempt to kill him, my hand that almost took his life.
I felt sadness weighing on my heart, and at the same time, the old anger began to ignite in my chest.
"But he was the one who provoked me!"
I thought angrily,
"with his harsh words that he always used to plant doubt in my soul."
I almost destroyed myself because of him, because of his recklessness that didn't consider the consequences.
I stepped out of the bathroom after wrapping my body in a large bathrobe, realizing I had forgotten to bring my clothes.
I sighed in relief when it turned out the room was empty; he had left.
This was the best solution for my embarrassing situation.
I put on black trousers and a grey sweater, feeling weakness and exhaustion taking over me. I let my wet hair hang down my back, barely able to stand.
I felt a slight dizziness spinning in my head, forcing me to sit on the edge of the bed.
I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted and confused, ignoring everything that had happened moments ago.
I buried my head in the pillow, hands over my eyes, trying to escape the thoughts tossing around in my mind. The door opened suddenly, and I thought it was Julia, my friend who usually bursts into my room like this.
In a tired and bored voice, I said:
"Julia, if you want to chatter, I'm exhausted right now."
There was no reply. I repeated the call a bit louder:
"Juliaaaa!"
But silence was all that returned. I felt something strange, so I moved my hands from my eyes and looked toward the door. Nate was standing there, looking at me with his usual coldness—that look that reveals no emotions.
I froze for a moment, then my features crumpled in anger and resentment. I felt anger burning inside me—the anger I had almost buried with the memories of his harsh words had returned to ignite again.
"What do you want now, huh?"
I said sharply, lifting my head from the bed, ignoring the exhaustion weighing down my body. I was ready for another confrontation, realizing that the calm I had felt was over.
I put my hands over my eyes again, trying to ignore his presence.
"If you're going to talk about what happened, I don't want to."
I spoke coldly, trying to end the situation before it began, but there was no response. His silence continued to fill the place, increasing my tension.
Suddenly, something I hadn't thought about for a while occurred to me.
"My wolf,"
I whispered in my mind.
"I haven't spoken to her for a week."
This duration was unnaturally long. She is usually quiet, but she had never ignored me this way before.
I tried to communicate with her, but to no avail. I couldn't sense her presence.
My heart pounded violently, and dizziness invaded me again, but I ignored it. I sat up abruptly on the bed, staring into space.
"Siran isn't responding."
I said in a trembling voice, looking at him in horror.
He was eyeing me with questioning and wonder, but I no longer cared.
There was something far more important happening now—something threatening a part of my being. My wolf, Siran, had disappeared.
"Siran, my wolf, isn't responding!?"
"Not responding?"
Nate said questioningly, but there was a tone in his voice I wasn't used to.
I nodded to him in confirmation, and in the next moment, he was approaching me, eyeing me with a gaze that pierced my soul.
I looked at him, and his eyes were turning a glowing bloody color—a color I had only seen in his moments of most intense anger or anxiety.
After a short silence, he said, knitting his brows as if a new idea was forming in his mind:
"My wolf doesn't sense her presence either."
These words shook my core.
"Damn... damn,"
I muttered, fear creeping into my bones.
"Try communicating with her again."
I closed my eyes tightly, directing all my focus toward Siran.
"Siran... Siran... where the hell are you?"
All other thoughts were fading, leaving nothing but this desperate call.
But silence, and nothing but silence, was what filled my mind.
I screamed again, this time with more force: "Siran!". Suddenly, I felt a bit of her aura; it was faint and tired. I heard her voice in my mind, a weary and exhausted voice:
"What is it, Cyra? What's this disturbance? I want to sleep."
My patience ran out, and I screamed at her angrily, my voice loud in my mind:
"Damn you, you clumsy wolf! You terrified me!"
She chuckled at me, and her faint laughter cut our communication. I opened my eyes with relief, feeling a weight lifted off my chest.
"She finally responded,"
I said to Nate, who was eyeing me with his bloody eyes.
"She's tired."
It was the ridiculous end to a situation that almost drove me to madness.
Nate nodded his head, signaling that he understood what happened.
His eyes regained their natural color, but the redness didn't completely vanish; a faint aura of it remained. I wanted to know more about this being that shared his soul, so I asked him inquisitively:
"What is your wolf's name?"
The moment I asked my question, his eyes returned to redness, but this time the glow was stronger.
"Dark,"
he said in a low voice, as if the name carried a lot of meaning within it.
I smiled and repeated the name softly, as if testing its taste on my tongue.
"Dark... Dark."
"A beautiful name, a name that suits its owner."
As soon as I spoke those words, the glow in his eyes increased. I chuckled softly, realizing his wolf felt flattered by my words.
"I think he liked it,"
I said with a smile.
Nate replied with a slight smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"A lot."
I chuckled softly, asking spontaneously:
"What color is he?"
Nate answered, staring into my eyes with focus, as if seeing what was inside me,
"Black."
My eyes widened to their fullest, and signs of amazement appeared on my face.
"Siran's fur is also black."
The glow in his bloody eyes increased, and I felt a strange power flowing from them, as if he wanted to take control.
Nate was resisting this urge, but I said to him without hesitation:
"Let him."
Nate looked at me with a confused and blurred gaze, as if my words surprised him. I continued confidently:
"Don't worry, I can handle him."
Nate let out a long sigh, appearing to surrender, then handed over control to Dark. In an instant, Nate's cold look disappeared, replaced by a sharper and more fierce look—the look of a wolf, but it wasn't scary; it was full of curiosity.
I let out a loud laugh, not believing what I just heard.
"You are stunning up close."
His sudden words were shocking and funny at the same time, especially since they came from a being that seemed to hate me.
I laughed hard, saying to him:
"Dark, you are really sweet."
Then I extended my hands to stroke his hair, as if dealing with a large puppy.
My touch was light and soft, and it seemed he liked it.
He smiled a mischievous smile—not Nate's smile, but the smile of a cunning wolf. Suddenly, he pulled me toward him, and I found myself in his arms.
"You don't know how much I've wished for this moment,"
he said to me in a deep and stirring voice,
"but the Ice Man prevents me."
I laughed again, feeling electricity running through my body from his proximity.
I locked my hands around his neck, looked into his bloody eyes, and said to him with a smile:
"What a pervert you are."
This moment was strange and completely different. Nate wasn't there; it was Dark, the black wolf, who was bolder and more spontaneous than his human partner.
There was a strange chemistry between us—a chemistry I never expected.
Dark smiled mischievously and began to lean in with the intention of kissing me.
I placed my finger on his mouth, in an attempt to stop him.
"You don't want the Ice Man to get angry, right?"
I said in a tender and playful tone.
"And prevent you from coming out again."
His features changed immediately, and a childish pout settled on Nate's face, as if he refused to be compared to him.
"That monster,"
he said in a low voice, but it was clear in my mind.
I chuckled lightly at his cute appearance, then said to him soothingly:
"Don't be sad. When Siran gets better, I'll let her meet you. And you can kiss her then."
He eased his pout a little, and signs of hope appeared on his face.
"Really?"
he asked, his bloody eyes sparkling.
I nodded to him, then kissed his cheek gently, as if promising him that. I pulled away and said seriously:
"And now, return control to that Ice Man."
The color of his eyes returned to gray, and Nate's look seemed cold as ice—a look I didn't understand. I said with fake coldness, hiding a sarcastic laugh looming on my face:
"Your wolf is sweet, quite the opposite of his owner."
Nate's features froze, and he knitted his brows in slight anger. He couldn't hide his annoyance, and I was preventing myself from bursting into laughter at him.
"What? Why are you staring at me like that?" I said, trying to hide the smile that wanted to appear on my face.
"Did I say something wrong?"
He exhaled in frustration and shot me a sharp look, as if blaming me for this situation. At that moment, I realized the reason.
"I think he's jealous of his wolf,"
I thought to myself. The idea was funny and interesting at the same time.
It was clear that Dark represented a side of Nate—a warmer and more emotional side—and perhaps Nate felt threatened by this side that seemed to appeal to me more.
Suddenly, I remembered his hybrid.
A serious look filled my eyes now.
"And what about Black?"
I asked, eyeing him with a serious gaze. Nate looked at me with a strange look, as if I had crossed a line.
"No,"
he said in a definitive voice.
"Why not?" I followed up, "Isn't he a part of you? I want to talk to him."
"I said no!" he said with anger mixed with fear this time. "He will hurt you."
I answered him coldly:
"And who said he would hurt me? Your loss of control that day means nothing to me. We all go through such situations. Now... come on, Black, I know you hear me, and I know very well that if you wanted to come out, Nate wouldn't be able to stop you. Come on, don't be a coward!"
My words were cold and challenging.
I looked at Nate, who froze in his place, his eyes filled with shock.
Moments passed, then the color of his eyes changed slowly.
The gray turned into pitch black, and black veins spread around them, like a black spider web.
It was terrifying, but I didn't move.
I knew this was what I wanted: to face Black, the dark part of Nate.
I smiled a wide smile, a smile I didn't know I was capable of in such a situation. I raised my hand in the air and waved to him nonchalantly, as if welcoming an old friend.
"Hello,"
I said, my voice carrying a playful tone that completely contradicted the scene before me.
Black was eyeing me with a dark look—a look carrying much anger and threat.
"Why did you want to see me?"
he said, his voice deep and sharp, trembling with rage.
"I am a bloodthirsty demon, doesn't my appearance terrify you?"
I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest, as if talking to a punished child.
"And what of it?"
I said, raising my eyebrows.
"I love demons; they are a rare species. And what's wrong with your appearance? I find it appealing."
My words were sincere; Black was stunning in a terrifying way. The black veins around his eyes increased his mysterious charm, and his eyes were burning with a black fire.
"And if I am to die at the hands of a demon,"
I added with a wide smile,
"it would be my pleasure."
I ended my speech with a wink, trying to provoke him further.
My reaction was unexpected, increasing both his confusion and anger at the same time.
Black wasn't used to being dealt with this way, and this fact stirred a sense of victory inside me. I wasn't afraid of him; rather, I was attracted to his power and danger.
I eyed him with a challenging look and said coldly:
"Don't be boring like your partner. I like the dangerous ones."
Black looked at me in disbelief, his pitch-black eyes widening in shock, as if he had never heard such talk before. Neither Nate nor Black had ever found anyone to talk to them this way.
I approached him quietly and extended my hand to stroke his cheek tenderly. My touch was light, but it was enough to deliver a clear message.
"We all have a dark side,"
I said softly.
"So, don't take it as a personal problem. I don't want you to be alone anymore. Come out to the world and see its beauty. I am here beside you, beside all of you."
His black eyes shined for a moment, as if a ray of light had pierced his darkness. He grabbed my hand that was on his cheek and kissed it gently, as if it were a precious treasure.
"You have it, darling,"
he said in a deep, shaky voice.
I smiled shyly, but I couldn't restrain myself.
"Damn, I love villains,"
I said, my voice carrying a tone of amusement and confession.
Black laughed out loud, his laughter full of joy and relief.
He pulled me toward him strongly and buried his head in my neck, inhaling my scent deeply as if discovering something new in it.
I held him closer and ran my fingers through his hair tenderly, as if comforting a frightened child.
He pulled away from me after a while, looking at me with a calm smile—Black's smile, which was completely different from Nate's cold smiles. I kissed his cheek gently and whispered to him:
"Bring Nate back."
He closed his eyes, and in moments they returned to their natural gray color. Nate looked at me with an expressionless gaze, but it carried a lot of amazement.
"See?"
I said enthusiastically, unable to curb my smile.
"He is romantic and calm, not like someone I know."
Nate eyed me with his sharp look, that look that freezes me in my place.
"I can't believe you tamed him,"
Nate said, his voice carrying a tone of disbelief, and perhaps jealousy.
I smiled mockingly and said to him:
"I didn't do anything but tell the truth that you're running away from."
It was a reminder to him that his dark side isn't something he should fear, but a part of him—a part that deserves love and acceptance.
"By the way, I'm sorry I wanted to kill you,"
I said with great annoyance, my face expressing a mix of regret and stubbornness.
"But I'm not sorry that you provoked me; you deserved it."
Nate looked at me as if I were a strange creature, his facial features carrying an unbelievable expression. He said coldly:
"I didn't mean that, and you know it. I only wanted you to bring out your power."
Those words were like a lightning bolt that woke the volcano of anger inside me.
I felt the blood flowing through my veins profusely, and I froze for a moment from the horror of what I heard.
Then I exploded at him, my voice rising from the intensity of anger and disbelief:
"And because of your recklessness, I almost destroyed the kingdom and myself because of your stupidity!"
The words came out of me like burning arrows, carrying all the pain and frustration I felt. It wasn't just a fleeting folly; it was recklessness that almost ended everything, and now he speaks of it as if it were a normal matter.
"Your language!"
Nate said sharply, his gray eyes eyeing me with anger. But my gaze didn't waver.
I met the sharpness of his looks with the same sharpness, and with complete confidence.
"You will regret this, Mr. Nate Winter,"
I said with deadly calmness, but my words carried an underlying threat.