His dark voice trails down her spine, lighting a path of desire that renders her breathless. "If only I were in a position of no consequence."
Alia's breath wavers when the pad of his thumb slowly glides across her bottom lip.
"Then I could give in...
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"He is half my soul, as the poets say." - Madeline Miller
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With his hands in his pockets, Valen stands a distance away from the statue of Fenrir. A line forms between his brows as he stares up at the wolf's open-mouthed and snarling face. Head bent and inanimate eyes blazing, it seems the wolf was positioned in a way to resemble the moment before it'd snap its jaws around a man, devouring them completely.
Alia walks around the statue, fingertips occasionally brushing against the cold, cracked stone of each paw she passes. She's almost as tall as Fenrir's toes, and Valen wonders how the wolves of Dytikos managed to create such a large monument.
After some time, Alia returns to his side, but he can't find it in himself to look away from Fenrir's face. Something inside him, a fragmented part of his past, wants to reach out and brush his fingers across the stone. He wants to ease the blatant anger within those frozen eyes.
"Thank you," Alia whispers, followed by a small sniffle. "My," she pauses, voice growing weak, "my parents would have loved this."
Valen tears his gaze away from the wolf, finding Alia's cheek resting on his upper arm. Frowning, he moves his head forward to have a better look at her face, finding her quivering bottom lip held between her teeth and her soft skin covered by streaks of tears. Her slightly bloodshot eyes find his.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, Valen pulls Alia towards his chest. A breath escapes her at the sudden movement, but then her trembling hands grip his shirt. His other hand finds the back of her head, fingers slowly brushing through the brown strands of her hair as he tries to comfort his mate.
Her small amount of restraint crumbles and she begins sobbing into his chest, shoulders shaking.
Valen's eyes are drawn back to Fenrir's. They narrow as a wave of subtle anger brews within him, fuelled by the need to butcher the boy who sleeps in a home guarded by Warriors of the Throne.
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Sitting at the kitchen island, Valen cuts into one of the two reheated steaks on his plate as Alia sleeps in her bedroom. After they left the statue, Alia's legs began to wobble from the fatigue of crying, so Valen decided to carry her the entire way back, wishing to put her into bed himself. For a while, she tried to refuse slumber, whispering 'I'm awake' every few minutes. But eventually, her eyes remained closed and not another whisper reached his ears.
