Nyx (Mate's Mark Book 3), page 5
“Think he can last eight seconds?” Cameron asks August, who watches in concerned amusement with his arms crossed and a smile ticking over his lips. “Reyes, I mean. Not Ronan. He can definitely last longer than that.”
“Okay!” I shriek, trying again in vain to knock Ronan off me. “I’m sorry for cutting your hair, alright? I thought it would be fine, like last time!”
“Last time?” he bellows.
“Yeah, when I chopped off that huge chunk in the back and you didn’t even notice…”
“What?!” Ronan roars as he reaches behind him to feel his long locks. His distraction allows me to spin onto my back, and dust flies as I scramble out from underneath him. My foot lands on his stomach, a little harder than strictly necessary. But despite my commentary about his gut, the kick probably hurts my ankle more than his rock-hard abs.
He coughs an outraged grunt while I apply a move he taught me last session. My body twists around him until I find the leverage to force him onto his ass. Sweat stings my eyes as I push my blade to his neck, indenting the skin as his chest heaves beneath me.
“Gotcha,” I gasp, air wheezing from my lungs and my muscles burning from the struggle. I might feel as if I’ve been hurled down a mountain face-first, but by the fucking gods, I’m going to parade my win. Ronan growls low in his throat as he snaps his jaws at me, and I decide that a victory lap is not worth losing a finger. I shriek, scrambling away from those fangs. “Fuck, you’re a rabid animal! Bad dog! Down!”
“You cheat, human,” he spits.
“Don’t get pissed because I’m strategic. You told me to learn my opponent’s weak spots. It’s not my fault yours is that fucking hair.” Ronan lurches forward, and I squawk again as I prepare to run, but Elas’s hearty laugh catches both our attention. He claps his hands as he approaches and flashes me a grin.
“Distraction is a perfectly valid technique, Ronan, and it fits Reyes.”
“Thanks?” I say, catching my breath with stinging lungs. With a dangerous glare still fixed on me, Ronan grumbles and stands, brushing off his clothes with a little too much hostility for my liking.
Cameron chuckles as he walks over and picks the forgotten bags of food off the ground. He passes them to August, who only shakes his head as he carries them inside, and then Cameron’s attention is focused solely on Ronan. The purple fiend’s face softens into a puddle of lovesick goo as he watches his approaching mate.
“Why don’t you work off some of that aggression?” Cameron purrs as he drags his palm down Ronan’s chest, then lifts onto his toes to plant a kiss on his mouth. I track the movement of his hand until he grips the waist of Ronan’s pants, where there is a very noticeable bulge pushing against the denim.
“My eyes,” I wail as I throw a palm over my face, uncaring that it’s covered in dust and grime from our tussle. Anything is better than seeing him in that state, because that…
I peek between my fingers because really, curiosity gets the best of everyone.
Yep.
That is large and terrifying.
I whine again and shake my head against my hands. “There are certain things you can never unsee, and that is burned into my fucking retinas, man. Burned! For eternity! There is zero chance I am fighting you while you have the advantage of two swords.”
Cameron sputters against Ronan’s mouth, and Elas howls with laughter. I begrudgingly drop my hands as a grumbling Ronan puts his hands on his hips and tilts his face to the sky. It’s obvious he’s searching the heavens for patience, but history proves he never finds it. The guy’s fuse is shorter than his tiny teeth.
I smirk to myself, and as if he can read my mind, Ronan’s eyes whip towards mine in a glare. He’s poised to charge me again, but Elas stops him with a heavy hand on his shoulder, his mouth twitching as he tries not to laugh. “Why don’t you, uh, go take care of that? I’ll work with Reyes today.”
Ronan doesn’t bother with a response, just tosses a shocked Cameron over his shoulder and stalks towards their house. Cameron shrieks, but quickly gives up the fight. Glasses askew, he tosses us a cocky wink as he slaps Ronan’s ass. It doesn’t escape anyone’s notice that the Anunian marches even faster.
“Mates,” I mutter with a whole-body shudder. Elas chuckles as he grabs his weapon and assumes a fighting stance before me.
“Hey, Reyes?” A low, slightly threatening growl rumbles in his voice.
“Uh, yeah?” I ask, my brow lifting as my eyes dart across his frame.
His giant, seven-foot, massively muscled frame.
“Cut my hair and see what happens.”
An hour later, I’m sore as I drag myself along the pathway.
Actually, that’s a lie. I’m not sore.
I’m dead on my fucking feet. A walking corpse.
My muscles hurt so much, it feels like my aches have aches. There are strained, exhausted places on my body that I’m pretty sure I’d never even used before today.
And the sweat. It drips from places there ought not to be drips, but I’m too fucking drained to figure out why I’ve sprung a leak. In my previous sessions, Ronan has handled my training while Elas stood at the side and observed. He offered advice and jumped in to help with positioning and stances. He’s an amazing coach.
And he needs to stay a fucking coach, because seven feet of adrenaline-boosted blue monster rushing towards you? That shit is nightmare fuel. I might never sleep again without seeing the sadistic happiness in that grin as he chased me around the ring. What was I supposed to do against three-hundred-fifty pounds of enthusiasm?!
Run, that’s what.
And run I fucking did, except it didn’t do any good. He’s fast as a motherfucker and only needed two strides with those freakishly long legs before he was on me. Over and over, he took me to the ground, then cheerfully encouraged me to get back up and try again.
I even tried to stab him, and not in a fake, ha-ha, this-is-just-training type of way. No, I was trying to gut the fucker so I could escape.
“Why?” I groan to myself as I shuffle between the trees and stare at the gurgling, crystal expanse of water. The surface is smooth, tinted in shades of green from the leafy reflection. A watery grave sounds like a fucking delicacy if it means my muscles can relax. I beeline towards the stream with every intention of diving right in, fully clothed. It’s not like they can get wetter.
“Oh,” a quiet voice whispers, and I glance over to find Nyx staring at me with those otherworldly wide eyes. He clutches a shirt against his bare chest, and my heart aches as I catalogue his thin frame. Prominent ribs form ridges along the side of his torso, and his waist dips too tight above his baggy shorts. As he rushes to put on his shirt, I stare at the deep-pitted scar just above his elbow.
“Sorry,” I force myself to say as my gaze drops to the ground. The wispy, defeated sound of my voice makes my exhaustion obvious, but I’m beyond hiding it. “You blend in with the trees. I didn’t see you there.”
“You are… hurt?” Nyx moves a tiny step closer, and I take it as permission to lift my eyes to his. He’s clothed now, wrapped in a shirt three sizes too large for him. It hangs so low it almost hides his shorts.
A wheezing laugh leaves me, and he startles, jerking back and squeezing his long, thin fingers around the hem of the shirt. “Sorry,” I apologize again, waiting for his apprehensive gaze to return to mine as I offer him a smile. “Elas kicked my ass today.”
His brows furrow as his eyes flick to my hips, confusion wrinkling his nose. I bite back my smile as he asks, “Elas… kicked?”
“It means he… beat me up…” I trail off, searching for a better way to explain. “He hurt me.” Nyx’s expression goes from confused and curious to shocked, and I rush to finish my thought as I realize how that sounded. “Not like that. Elas is teaching me. He and Ronan are showing me how to fight.”
Understanding dawns on his face, and he nods slowly. “Ronan says… you are a fighter?”
Another laugh rockets from my nose, this one snorty and obnoxious and not attractive in the least. “Yeah, he would say that.” I clear my throat and smooth my sweaty hair back, trying to regain some level of chill that escapes me every time Nyx is nearby. “I try to be, but I’m not very good.”
“Why do you want to fight?”
“To protect y—everyone.” My face flames as he tilts his head, batting those enormous eyes at me. “Ronan and Elas are amazing protectors, but let’s be honest. If something happened, they’d only be focused on their mates.”
“Can you blame them?” he asks softly, and my gaze falls to the scarred mark on his arm. He covers it with a hand, absentmindedly rubbing.
“I guess not, but I’m not the best judge of that. I have nothing to compare it to.”
“You have never loved another?”
His eyes flick up to mine but settle back onto the ground as he shuffles between his bare feet. “No,” I answer honestly. “Most of my life, I’ve been alone…” As I realize who I’m talking to, the words die on my tongue. Nyx glances up at me, but there’s only relief in his expression, not anger or accusation.
“I understand,” he whispers.
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
An awkward silence falls as we both stare at each other, not knowing what to say next. Nyx gestures towards the water, then nods at my sweaty clothes. “You came to swim. I will leave you.”
The words are right there, begging to be said. An unspoken plea, hoping to convince him not to go. They want to invite him to… what? Stay and swim with me? He’s already uncomfortable enough, if the nervous flick of his eyes and fidgeting fingers against his thin arm tell me anything.
His reserve is empty. There’s nothing there to give.
“Okay,” I finally say, and I try not to be hurt by the relief on his face.
“Enjoy.” He gestures towards the water, and I nod before he wanders off into the forest. The moment the shadows cover him, he blends into the underbrush and disappears.
Without his presence to distract me, my exhaustion hits me in full force. I dive in and relish the cool water as I wash, then stay for a few minutes and float on the surface. Droplets fall from my clothes and hair as I shove my feet into my shoes, grimacing at the squelch of wet fabric. I trek back to my house, cursing my lack of foresight in not bringing a change of clothes.
Not wanting to bring any water inside, I kick off my sneakers to dry in the sun. When I take a step towards the door, a lump presses into the arch of my foot. I stop and hop on one leg, staring down at the ground.
A rock the size of a small plum sits in the center of my doorframe. It looks like it came from the stream, with its edges polished smooth. The dull brown is unremarkable until the sunlight hits it and causes gold speckles to appear. I glance over my shoulder and find no one there, but swear I see movement in the window of Nyx’s cottage.
Did he leave this for me?
A gift from someone who knows what it means to have nothing.
A smile tugs at my lips, and I try to bite it back, but the corners of my mouth tilt up. By the time I bend to pick up the stone, I’m cheesing like an idiot. It’s sun-warmed and smooth, and I hold it up to the sky as the light prisms into shades of golden yellow. I look behind me once more, and this time, I don’t hide my smile.
Inside, I place it on the windowsill where the most sunlight enters. And if it happens to be the window that faces a certain other cottage, where someone else might spot it sitting there…
Well, that’s just a fortunate coincidence.
Nyx
Delicious smells waft in my direction, and my nose lifts as I take in the sweet scent. Dirt cakes my hands, though, and my mind is louder today than it has been in a while. It wouldn’t be wise to be around the others, because even if I wasn’t too dirty to investigate, I would make them uncomfortable with my silence.
So, I stay here among the flowers.
An entire brand new row of fresh yellow blooms lines the edge of my garden, and I pat the soil surrounding these I just replanted. They were thriving in the forest, covering wide areas of ground, but something had been nibbling on the plants at night. I can’t be upset with some innocent creature finding dinner, but these were so beautiful that I couldn’t stand the thought of them being eaten. I inspect my ever-expanding garden.
It seems I have this problem a lot.
A yawn stretches my mouth wide, and I have to remind myself not to rub my eyes while my hands are dirty. Last night was another sleepless one, for both Elas and me. He came when I was lying in bed, staring at my ceiling, but instead of knocking, he paced. Back and forth, back and forth, until it was clear he needed me to decide for him. As I opened the door, his emotions were conflicted. Apologetic regret for bothering me mixed with the relief of not being alone.
We talked little, though, aside from Elas sharing stories when the quiet became too much for him to bear. That was okay with me. Healing doesn’t always mean confronting the demons that haunt us, or reliving the terrible things we’ve endured. Sometimes, it’s just knowing someone is there to listen.
It’s obvious August is the center of his world, and he talks about him frequently. He worries about what his mate might think about him wandering off to spend time with me on these lonely nights, though he assures me he always tells him the next morning. That doesn’t surprise me. Elas is a special sort of loyal, even to those that don’t deserve his loyalty.
He shares tiny glimpses into their relationship that give me a warm buzz in my chest, while also making me ache for the comfort that they find in each other. It surprised me to realize I was… jealous. That I covet what he has. Not August specifically, though he is lovely. But the connection. The familiarity and intimate certainty.
For most of my life, I’ve been in survival mode, and it left me unable to process anything beyond anger, fear, and loneliness. Those became my baseline, and jealousy is far removed from my emotional banks. But as I longed for the comfort of another, I knew that’s what I was feeling.
Elas asked if I had ever had a friend in Ljómur, but the answer was depressingly simple.
No.
My cell, A-01, was the very first. A concrete wall on one side with a solid barrier separating the adjoining cell on the other. No matter how many times my neighbor changed, one detail remained a constant.
It was always a human.
Someone who could not speak my language or comprehend my words. Someone whose eyes I couldn’t see to communicate silently, with no means to speak so they could understand.
Alone.
Always so alone.
The closest I ever came to a friend was a human female who lived beside me for years. She understood my pain and shared its crushing weight, even if we had no way to talk. On the nights I cried to myself, she’d hum or sing in soothing tones until the tears dried. She was like a bird, constantly chirping and making noise. A much-needed reminder that I wasn’t alone. On those days it was her turn to hurt, I’d sing the only lullaby I remembered from my childhood—a soft melody about a heart half empty until love fills its barren corners.
I wonder if my heart will always be half empty.
Elas, like the others, wants to ask about my mate… my lack thereof. That gaping hole in my chest they believe was once filled with the same joy they have. To them, to have a mate is to be loved, and anything else is an impossibility.
But while their tales end in sweet evenings and playful touches, mine was a different type of story altogether.
Mine was nothing short of a tragedy.
Just another lash in a life tied to a whipping post.
Light footsteps crunch in the gravel, and I blink a few times, wondering how long I’ve been lost in my memories. The same delicious scent floats closer, and I glance over my shoulder to find Reyes cautiously approaching. Sunshine bounces off his deeply tanned skin, and when he smiles, he shows all his teeth.
He’s happy.
Once, he told me he hoped the beautiful plants here could bring me happiness, and gods, how I’d wanted to believe it was possible. And when he smiled at me, for a moment I had believed it. Believed that sometime, somewhere in some distant future, I could wake up and be whole again.
That I might not be cursed to live this half-life with this half-empty heart.
I move up his frame, allowing myself to examine the firm muscles in his arms before looking at his face, where that smile holds, patient and unwavering. He’s always so steady, a counterpart to my insecure volatility.
It terrifies me, because I want to know more. This curiosity about another is uncharted territory, but I’m desperate to learn more about Reyes. What motivates him, and what he likes.
Did he like the rock I left him? Did he even realize it was from me? It was such a small thing, such a ridiculous spur-of-the-moment idea, but it reminded me of his eyes and how they sparkle that same gold in the sun. It was already in my pocket when he showed up at the creek, and I wanted him to have it. I wanted him to know I see him, just like he makes me feel seen.
“Hi, Nyx.” I swallow my spiraling nerves as I stand and dust off my hands. His eyes move from my filthy palms and knees to the flowers freshly tucked into the ground. His lips twitch in a way that tells me he’s amused by something I’ve done, but there’s no malice behind it. He never makes me feel judged. “Have you been adding to your garden?” he asks, and I nod, gesturing needlessly at the small yellow flowers.
“Dandelions,” he says, still with that patient smile as I test the word.
“Dan-dee-lion?”
His smile spreads, and with it, the warmth in my chest. “That’s right. Some people call them weeds, but I think they’re beautiful.”
“What is this weed?” His mouth twitches again when I drag out the sound a little too long, and I find myself staring at his lips. The top one is flatter than the bottom, and usually pulled tight unless he’s smiling. I like it when he smiles, and he gives more of them to me than the others. It feels like a gift.
