by Ellis Marie
“I used to come here all the time before Michael died,” he mumbles, his fingers resuming their constant movement on my arm. I’m grateful that we can’t see each other; he would be able to see the shocked expression on my face. I have a feeling that he finds it easier to talk to the back of my head.
“My mother came back with me once, but only to say goodbye to him. And my father, he—” His words halt sharply, the shake in them unmissable. I silently take his hand in my own and hold it to me, clutching it to stop it from shaking as he takes a breath.
“He never came back here. He couldn’t face it. He was never the same after Michael. It hurt all of us, but my dad . . . it changed him.”
I can hear the pain in his voice; I can feel it coursing through his hand and into me.
That day when I shouted at Trent and I told him that he couldn’t understand what it was like to lose someone without them actually going anywhere, he knew because it happened to his father.
Whatever happened to his family is something that he still struggles to talk about, that’s clear from the moment he began talking, and tonight isn’t the night to ask him.
I’m not going to push him if he’s not ready.
“Tell me about Michael. Did I miss out on a better brother?” I ask nonchalantly as I cuddle into his chest, loving how as soon as the words leave me lips his whole body seems to sag in relief and he pulls me closer to him.
“Definitely.” He laughs, and I twist a little to see that gorgeous smile lighting up his face.
That’s much better.
“He was a complete ladies’ man, far more smooth and charming than I am half of the time.”
I scoff at the idea.
“He was!” he insists, shaking his head as he looks up at the sky. “There was just this confidence about him, like he already knew that he would win any fight he went into, or could get any girl to fall at his feet. I never once heard him falter in anything he said or any decision he made. He was going to be the best alpha you would have ever seen.”
Alpha?
“So, was he meant to be alpha? You weren’t?”
Trent sighs, but his gaze doesn’t move from the stars, as if he’s looking for something up there. “Yeah, he was meant to be the next alpha of our pack. You’re not meant to become alpha until you’re at least of age, which is eighteen, or the previous alpha dies or—” His voice breaks. I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Or they’re no longer fit to be the alpha.”
His father.
“So, were you quite young?”
“Fifteen when I lost my brother, sixteen when I was officially alpha.”
A thought hits me. “Wait, how old are you?”
Trent bursts out laughing, sighing into my hair as he kisses it softly.
“I’m nineteen. I missed a year of actual school to take over the pack, and even though I didn’t need to be, I was held back a year so that legally, everything looked normal.”
“I didn’t know that.” I blush. “I’m not even eighteen yet.”
No wonder he looked so manly. I wonder how much difference a year really makes?
“You are perfect, mi vida.” He chuckles and the heat on my face only increases. “My birthday was in summer. We’re not even two years apart.”
“That’s true,” I mumble, settling back into him.
My birthday is only a couple of weeks away after all, and it isn’t really that odd. I’m just surprised that he has never told me.
“So what does that mean?” I ask. He smiles, pulling the blanket further over us.
“It means ‘my life’, it’s Spanish.”
Oh good, my face can, in fact, get even hotter.
“Did you just learn all of these for fun?”
He runs his hand through my hair, his eyes shining in the moonlight as he looks at me, filling my heart with something I can’t quite name yet as I watch him.
“As an alpha, it’s good to know a lot of languages so that you can communicate and keep in contact with the other packs across the world. There’s nothing worse than not understanding someone in a time of conflict.”
I’ve never really sat and thought about how many werewolves are actually out there, or how big Trent’s pack is in the grand scheme of things; however, maybe I should. It seems like he has a pretty important role in everything.
“And you learnt pet names to win people over?” I joke and his lips twitch in laughter.
“No, that was Michael’s doing. He used to learn them to impress girls. It apparently sounds very attractive.”
I can confirm.
Trent raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t comment on the scoff that sticks in my throat at his words.
“So you learnt them to impress girls?”
“Not quite,” he says quietly. “I learnt them because I wanted to know how to describe my mate when I met her in every way possible. I didn’t want to simply call her something mundane. I wanted to make sure that there were phrases from around the world that helped me to describe something so impossible to describe.”
“And you’ve certainly found them,” I mumble, which only makes him smile as he presses his cheek to mine.
“Mi vida, I don’t think I’ll ever find a word that could even begin to describe you.”
***
I wake up screaming again.
It’s the same dream but different. It starts off with my first time with Matt . . . with the pressure of his body on mine, but as the hands begin to change, to blur, to become the next assailant, the face becomes the person who had watched me in the mall. His eyes are just as cold and unwavering as they had been then.
I expect to see him standing there when I suddenly wake, but I’m only greeted with silence and my own bedroom. I fall back into my pillows while rubbing my eyes, my breathing laboured as I try to get a grasp on my sanity.
It wasn’t real. They aren’t here. I’m safe.
Pulling the duvet closer to me, I roll on my side and curl in a ball, folding in on myself as I try to remind myself of the day I’ve had in an attempt to stop the panic attack that’s threatening to come.
Beside me on the sheet, just sitting in the perfect stream of moonlight from the window, is the rose that Trent gifted me on our date.
It had been beautiful—perfect even. I don’t even remember going to bed. When I started to get a little sleepy at the lake, Trent had decided it was time to go home and we packed up. The last thing I remember is driving home and falling asleep in the car.
He must have carried me to bed. The thought makes me smile as I stare at the flower, my heart full just by remembering him giving it to me with such a cute expression.
Glancing down, I realise that I’m still wearing my dress—and most likely makeup—from the date, which makes me hop out of bed quickly. I cleanse my face of any leftover product that my tears haven’t dealt with before removing my necklace, then I begin trying to get my dress off.
He really knew how to get to me, didn’t he? He wormed his way into my heart without me even realising. Past all the caring moments, affectionate smiles, and charming words, he had listened to me. Like really listened to me, even when I didn’t realise I was speaking.
I groan as the zip refuses to move and my body tilts at an awkward angle as I struggle. Am I actually going to be able to unzip this dress myself? I need Scarlette to zip it up so of course; I need someone to help. The thought makes me pause as I straighten up, my ears straining to listen past my door.
It’s completely silent, then a shuffle.
Bingo.
“Trent?”
For a moment, I think that maybe I’ve imagined it and that I’m just talking to thin air, but then there’s a sound like a sigh and a muffled voice.
“Yeah.”
I stifle a laugh at the tone of his voice—like a child that’s been found somewhere he’s not meant to be. I clear my throat.
“Did you plan on staying out there all night?”
A pause.
&n
bsp; “Maybe.”
I look down at my dress and debate for a moment on how to exactly go about this.
“Are you going to open the door? I kind of need your help.”
There’s another shuffle of sound and then the door handle creaks, making me quickly pat down my hair and smooth out the material. I almost scold myself at the giddiness I feel and how aware I am of my looks; he’s seen me in worse states.
And it’s not like he’s put me to bed or anything.
The door swings open to reveal Trent still sitting on the floor of the hallway with a nervous smile glinting in the moonlight and his T-shirt crumpled around him with a blanket and pillow.
“I promise this is a lot less weird than it looks, I just . . .” he trails off before scrambling to his feet and coughing, his eyes avoiding mine. “What do you need help with?”
My heartbeat picks up, and I thank god that I’m not wearing that backstabbing necklace right now. I turn around and pull my hair to one side, motioning to the zipper.
“I can’t get it off. Scarlette had to help me before.”
I feel the heat of him behind me before he even touches me. My body ignites as his breath fans my neck—unsteady and heavy. The air around us becomes hot.
Like a whisper, his fingers brush against my skin and carefully pull the zip, tugging the material as he drags it down my body at a snail’s pace. The shake in his grip makes my heart flutter. As the dress loosens, I fold my arms in front of my chest and hold it to me, my stomach clenching when his finger touches the bottom of my spine.
F*ck.
Instantly, I spin around and step back, trying to reign in the rush of hormones that make my imagination wander to what else those delicate fingers of his can do. It’s clear he’s doing the same because his neck looks as though it’s been bulking out for weeks at the gym, and his mouth is in a straight line.
“I need my pyjamas.”
My shaking voice knocks him out of his daze, and like a flash, the dark alluring man is replaced by a more frantic and sheepish boy that doesn’t know where to look.
“Where are they?”
I glance around the room. My mind goes blank as I try to spot the ones from the night before, but there’s nothing.
Curse Scarlette and her frantic tidying up earlier.
Trent notices my look of panic and alarm, and it just seems to escalate his tenfold as he wildly looks around for something to help while avoiding looking at me entirely.
“I, uh . . . well, here!”
One moment, Trent is standing with his shirt on, then I blink and it’s suddenly gone from his chest and into his hands, being held out to me like a survival blanket.
I gulp audibly as I take it, glancing over his tensed muscles and toned stomach, which make my nerves spring to attention.
Get it together, Elle.
I stand frozen as I look at his nerve-wracked face. After a moment, he understands my awaiting expression and lets out an awkward laugh as he retreats.
“I’ll go outside.”
Trying not to smile, I quickly strip off my clothes and turn over Trent’s T-shirt as soon as the door shuts behind him. Automatically, I inhale a deep breath as the material pulls over my head and my body eases in response.
God, his scent is drool worthy.
I gather my dress and put it on the chair in the corner of my room, laying it down carefully before I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
The T-shirt is big on me, but my legs are long and sticking out quite a lot. I doubt that Trent’s alpha side will be calm in seeing me in his clothes.
As I call for him to come back in the room, I jump into the bed and pull the covers over me, holding my breath as he re-enters. By his reaction, he’s expecting me to be standing there, but when I’m not, he smiles softly and relaxes his posture while I try not to ogle his body.
“Thanks for the shirt.”
He nods silently. He grabs the back of his neck—his go-to sign of not knowing what to say.
But I do.
“You knew I was going to have a nightmare again, didn’t you?”
It’s like I can feel his intake of breath from across the room, the weight of it sitting between us with unanswered questions begging to be asked.
Did he have a nightmare too?
“I thought maybe, after the guy today, but I wasn’t sure.”
My fingers twist together in the sheets. I swallow the prickle of fear that’s made its way into my throat, pushing back the awful memories of my past.
“Could you sleep here again? With me?”
If anything, the tension in the room skyrockets as I try not to blush at my words and the choked sound that leaves his mouth.
“Y-yeah, of course.”
I quickly roll over and face the other way as he grabs his things, shutting the door behind him. Seeing him half-naked when I’m already feeling like this really isn’t going to help the situation at all, and I’d rather not be a hot mess that’s unable to get back to sleep.
The bed dips beside me and the duvet pulls slightly as he gets under, his leg brushing mine in the process. I flinch a little and immediately regret it as soon as I feel him sit up and swear, berating himself.
“Ah f*ck, Elle I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s alright,” I reassure, turning back over so he can see my soft smile and unafraid eyes. “It was just a surprise, that’s all.”
He stares at me for a moment, the internal battle in his head flickering as he watches, making sure that I’m telling the truth. When he seems satisfied that I am in fact calm and wanting him to be here, he settles down again as he lays on his back with a huff of air.
I grin and snuggle into the bed, tucking myself inwards as I try not to stare at his beautiful face and, instead, on the threads of the material around me.
For once, the silence around me isn’t awkward. Instead, I find it almost funny that he’s so tense and on edge in this situation. It reassures me that he’s soft on the inside.
“Thank you for carrying me to bed.”
“How do you know it was me? Could have been Cole.”
The incredulous snort that leaves my lips is immediate. Trent looks at me with his eyebrows raised in humour.
“That’ll be the day.” I laugh. “You letting anyone touch me while I’m asleep?”
There’s a pause and then Trent and I both start laughing, our bodies curling into each other as the space between our bodies decreases a little.
“Yeah, okay. That’s fair,” he murmurs, rustling into a more comfortable position. “I didn’t want to wake you, you seemed tired. I hope that’s alright.”
I nod in response and the sigh of relief echoes around us, the silence returning as we lie in the dark.
Say something.
“You haven’t asked me.”
It’s a statement that sounds vague, but I know that Trent knows exactly what I mean. It’s as if I can hear the question in his head, stewing there and begging to be let out.
His reply is gentle and hesitant. “I didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it.”
Did I want to talk about it? Of course not.
No one wants to sit and tell someone their darkest secrets or expose their vulnerability in such a brutal way, but I also don’t know how much longer I can hold it in me. It’s as if it’s scratching at my skin from the inside, working me down inch by inch until I can’t hold it in anymore.
So even though I don’t want to talk about it, I sort of have to, don’t I?
Or else you’re never going to get past it.
I breathe in shakily and my body retracts even further. Claws of pain crawl up my neck and into my head as the words try to form in my mouth but they feel like foam. Like they’re choking me. My worries of not being good enough, of him thinking that I’m tainted or unpure, of the pitied looks that he might give me swirl like a whirlpool, pulling me under.
A gentle touch makes it all drain away.
I retu
rn it, wrapping our fingers around each other as I swallow down the reservations that have kept me silent, ignoring the aching feeling of apprehension.
Trent had opened up to me tonight. Now, it’s my turn.
“The nightmare is my first time.”
His shock ricochets through him, the soft gentle breathing from before now paused as he stays silent, listening to my words that are like a whisper. I wonder what else he was expecting.
“I was fifteen. It was Christmas Eve. Matt had come to my house because got me a gift . . .”
I’m grateful that he doesn’t try to speak or comfort me while I tell him my past. I think any interruption would make me stop and regret even speaking, but it all pours out of me like a dam that’s finally broken. My voice stays soft and only cracks once—when I tell him about the faces changing from Matt, to Carter, then finally into the man from today.
Trent’s body is rigid. I’m almost tempted to check that he hasn’t fallen asleep with how still and unmoving he is, but the way his body is tensed tells me that he’s heard every word, felt every awful memory just as I experienced them.
When I finish, it’s as if my lungs double in size—the breath I take feeling like pure oxygen that goes deeper than it has been able to in years.
I said it out loud.
“That day that we first met, I knew something was off about him.” Trent’s voice is like a growl, and in the darkness of the room, I can almost taste his anger. “After the party with Carter, I thought he was the problem. I got the guys to watch him because I saw how scared you were. If I’d known about Matt—”
He sits up abruptly, removing his finger from mine as his hands clutch the side of his head, his body shaking with anger.
“F*ck, I antagonised him. I called you Elle on purpose in front of him! I’m such a goddamn idiot! I just made things worse for you.”
“Trent.”
His gaze snaps to mine as I try to calm him down but all it seems to do is upset him more as a look of anguish molds his features. His back shakes and contorts in the moonlight, and I swear I can see his muscles bulging, stretching out into something else.
