Perplexity pierces my stare.
“I probably should’ve done more to calm her down rather than antagonize her in the beginning or to stop her from barging in. At first, I thought it was going to be a little funny to see you get shit for the amount of it you give everyone else, but if I would’ve known that it was bonding day or that she didn’t know I-”
“You’re not the one to blame,” I quietly proclaim.
You.
“I am.” Owning the ugly truth has me shaking my head and oddly enough my hunger returning. “I fucked up. I basically did exactly what Dad did. And…And I need to just tuck my tail between my legs and go grovel to my mate.”
“Will you take pictures?”
His teasing immediately receives a narrow stare. “You wanna get burned again?”
Z lightly laughs on a small shrug. “Might be worth it.”
This time a grin is allowed to touch my lips.
“Look, I’m not an expert on Sleepers or that are now Awakers like you, but I do know a thing or two about this whole Fated Mate shit. Want a piece of advice?”
I don’t fight against the instinct to nod.
“It means a helluva lot more if you show them something rather than just say it. Actions are everything.” His thumbs thump together as a thought hits him. “Which I guess makes sense once you realize the words, they’ve been told most of their lives weren’t always true.”
Another slow comprehensive nod appears, this one leading us into another, longer stretch of silence.
Blaming Fate for my fuck ups is just so much fucking easier than facing the fact that I’m not perfect. That no matter what I do or how hard I try, I’m still flawed. I’m still the one Draak out of the whole lot that spends more time embarrassing our legacy than making our ancestors proud. And I don’t know if that’ll always be the case, but I do know that even if it is, I don’t have to be an embarrassment to my female. I don’t want her to be ashamed that she’s with me. I want her to be proud to wear my colors and to have my fucking last name as her own. I want being with her to be the one thing I know without a doubt that I’ve done right.
The one thing I will never stop working at to keep doing right.
Relocating to our bedroom is done after a minor stop with Gene for some supplies to prove to my Fated Mate what it is I know she needs. His glee in grabbing them is only outmatched by his giddiness to finally go clean up the date disaster out by the lake.
An empty bedroom isn’t at all startling.
Beauty of truly getting to know someone is learning their little habits like the way Ana eats M&M’s while listening to true crime podcasts in the bath – on the tablet I use for work for an extra fuck you – when she’s irritated.
Carefully unfurling the rolled together kit on the edge of the bed, I gingerly remove the most important tool. It only takes a couple steps to cross to the ensuite bathroom door; however, it takes many more deep, calming breaths before delivering a knock to the boundary that’s separating us.
The shuffling around from the other side ignites hope yet the instant she opens the door wrapped in a fluffy yellow towel – sans her locket – with a bottle of Leprechaun’s Breath dangling from her grip the expression I’m presented extinguishes it.
Maybe we should come back?
No.
This probably isn’t the best time to-
Now.
“Totally used to wonder what in the fuck could ever make those women on Snapped do the shit they did, but now I totally fucking get it.”
An audible gulp is given.
You sure about this shit?
Yes.
Trusting my ancient side like my younger brother insists, I lift the object upward to her line of vision.
She gives the item a hard stare, then me, then it, and then me again. “You’re just…handing me a murder weapon?”
“I need a shave.”
“Personal fucking problem.”
“I want you to do it.”
Bafflement brushes itself across her expression.
“You know I prefer straight edge cuts. They get closer.” Swallowing my nervousness, I cautiously inch the tool forward. “The results are always smoother.”
“You’ve gone to the same barber since you first started growing hair on your face centuries ago.”
“I have, but I want you to do it this time.”
“Seriously?” She flings a thick, wet lock away from dark eyes. “With as pissed off as I am, you wanna just hand me the fucking opportunity to slice and dice you like the Japanese chef at our favorite sushi restaurant?”
The imagery deepens my lingering tickles of concern, yet I lean into the opposite feelings. “Yes.”
Her head tilts in a sarcastic fashion.
“I trust you.”
A sharp glare is immediately presented.
“You are my Fated Mate, the love of my fucking life with or without a mark, and I trust you.” Holding my voice steady, I add, “I trust you with my heart. I trust you with everything I am. I trust you not to harm me unless you see fit. I really do trust you completely even if I had a momentary lapse of judgment.”
Ana’s expression remains hard; however, her stare slightly softens. “Why didn’t you tell me about Karry?”
Carefully lowering the sharp object, I inquire, “That she was my ex or that I had been meeting with her?”
“Yeah.”
“Neither of us talk about our exes.” My point is accompanied by me leaning my body against the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me any tales about your time dating the real-life version of Sons of Anarchy, so I didn’t think I needed to tell you any tales about my time sailing the sexual seas.” Shrugging my shoulders is thoughtlessly done. “And honestly? I don’t want to know about the dudes that came before me. More so for their safety rather than my pride – but not by much.”
She allows a somewhat flirty grin to grow. “You can’t handle knowing you aren’t the only one to have had me, can you?”
No.
“Fuck. No,” I echo my ancient side. “And Gold can’t either.”
Glints of adoration begin to return to her gaze.
“You are ours, and that’s the only fucking thing that matters. On every front. Your exes don’t matter. My exes really don’t fucking matter. Fuck, just being in the same room with Karry physically makes me sick.”
Relief floods her stare in spite of the fact she doesn’t speak.