Chapter 12
Tris
Arthur whisks me away from the table before I can even protest. I’m not even sure if Brian, Liam, or the twins notice him taking
me away–it’s as if I’m sitting at the table one moment, hot soup splashing across my leg, and the next we’re in the bathroom.
Even though werewolves are supernaturally fast, Arthur has always been one of the fastest.
“Arthur, what are you-”
“Quiet,” he commands, his fingers deftly pushing up the skirt of my dress to reveal my burnt leg. The soup must have been hotter
than I expected, because my skin is inflamed and already callusing slightly, and I wince as he turns on the faucet and runs cold
water over it
“You could’ve been more careful,” Arthur snaps as he soothes the burn.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself,” I grind out. But the way my fingers dig into his broad shoulder and the
strained tone to my voice betrays me.
Arthur’s jaw tightens as he looks at me, his piercing green eyes locking onto mine. “Clearly, you do.”
I want to argue, to tell him to back off, but I can’t seem to find the words. The proximity, the scent of him–familiar and intoxicating is too much, and the fated mate bond begins to take hold of me.
I swallow hard and force myself to look away. I want him to be the one to let go of me first, as if that would make all of this easier,
but he doesn’t.
Instead, he shuts off the faucet and begins carrying me out of the restroom.
“This needs ointment,” he says simply.
“Arthur,” I reply, trying to wriggle free, “I’m fine. Just let me go back to my family.”
The mention of that word–family–just seems to make his arms tighten even more around me. He doesn’t answer, but I know it’s pointless to argue any further. He has already decided to take charge.
With an ease that makes me both annoyed and flustered in more ways than I would like to admit, he whisks me out of the
restaurant and into the cool evening air.
“Arthur, put me down,” 1 hiss, glancing around to see if anyone is watching.
Of course, he ignores me completely.
I struggle weakly against his grip, but it’s no use. I’m not sure what he’s planning on doing, but I’m not sure how I feel about it. Does he think he can just spirit me away, force me to be his mistress? I almost consider calling out for help, but something stops
- me. The overwhelming sensation of the mate bond, perhaps.
1/3
+20 Bonus
Even if I try to run, I know I won’t get far. I didn’t expect this, but my leg really does hurt–it must be a third degree burn.
But once we reach his sleek black car, he just places me gently in the passenger seat and opens the glove compartment, pulling
out a small first–aid kit. He crouches in front of me, his movements precise as he unscrews the cap of a tube of ointment.
“This might sting a little,” he says, his voice softer now.
“I can do it my
do it myself,” I say, reaching for the tube.
He swats my hand away. “Stop being stubborn.” I grit my teeth and look away.
The cool ointment against my skin is a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. Every brush of his fingers sends a
ripple of emotions through me, each one harder to suppress than the last.
As he’s smearing the ointment across my burn, the sound of my phone vibrating in my pocket breaks the tension. I pull it out,
relieved to see Brian’s name on the screen.
“Where are you?” Brian asks as soon as I answer. “You just disappeared.”
“I’m with Arthur,” I say, glaring at him as he continues applying the ointment. “It’s fine, really. Just finish celebrating with the
kids.”
“Iris-”
“Brian,” 1 interrupt. “Please. It’s their birthday. Don’t let this ruin it for them.
There’s a pause before Brian sighs. “Alright. But text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
The call ends, and I slip my phone back into my pocket. Arthur has already closed the first–aid kit and is putting it away.
“I’ll drive you home,” he says, standing and offering his hand to help me up.
“I can call a cab,” I reply, defiantly crossing my arms.
“You can barely walk,” he points out, his tone brooking no argument. “Just get in the car.”
I hate that he’s right. Reluctantly, I nod and give him my address.
The car ride is silent, something that’s either a blissful reprieve or just making things worse. I keep my gaze fixed out the
window, hoping to avoid any further conversation. I just want to get home and not have to look at him again.
But even then, I find myself murmuring out a faint, “Thank you.”
Instead of answering, Arthur glances at me briefly before reaching for the controls on the dashboard. The music playing on the radio shifts to something softer, something we used to play during long drives together.
It catches me off guard, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s done it intentionally. I glance at him, my heart thrumming in my chest, but he doesn’t pull his gaze from the road again..
2/3
+20 Bonus
When we arrive at Brian and Liam’s apartment, Arthur gets out first, opening my door and offering his hand to me again. I hesitate but take it, even if only because I know I can’t quite manage the stairs on my own right now.
To my
surprise–and perhaps dismay–he doesn’t stop at the door. He follows me inside, his eyes scanning the space as if trying to piece together the life I’ve built without him.
“Whose apartment is this?” he asks as he runs his fingers across an ornate glass vase on the hallway table.
“Brian’s,” 1 say, glancing at him.
“You’re living here with Brian’s family?” he asks, indicating that he really has figured out the truth about me and Brian–that we’re not actually together, that I’m just the godmother of his kids.
“It’s temporary,” I say, limping toward the couch. “I’ll leave again soon.
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be leaving again soon,” I reply, sinking into the cushions and avoiding his gaze.
Arthur’s expression darkens. “Where did you go before? Are you planning to leave again?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I say, forcing a steadiness into my voice. “You’ve already done more than enough. You can go
now.”
Arthur hesitates, his eyes fixed on mine. The silence stretches thin between us, and I’m not sure if he’s going to listen to me and leave or try to kiss me again. And honestly, I’m not even sure which I’d prefer.
But then, as if on cue, my phone buzzes from the couch beside Arthur. My heart stops. The ringtone is unique–Miles‘
s‘ ringtone and the name on the screen says, “My Baby Boy“. All of the evidence Arthur would need to know that I’m lying about our son,
that I never aborted our baby.
I can’t let him know about Miles. Miles is my son, not his.
Before Arthur can say anything, I rush over, reaching for the phone.
D
