King Micajah

t h i r t y - t w o

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t h i r t y - t w o

He's freshly showered, body dewy with sheen as he's stepped out, a grey towel loosely on his hips. His hair is wet, sticking to his forehead, eyes light in colour. His tattoos are glossy and litter his perfectly sculpted body. The silver hues are onto the wound that scars the side of his neck down to his shoulder. It was crusted with blood, still not having closed up quite, but he was healing much quicker than any normal Alpha. It was deep wound, that would scar similarly to the one on Adah's stomach.

It wasn't like when Adah was bitten – that took longer because her wolf was hurt by her mate, and without her energy, it took a lot more out of Adah's human form -  a different process.

His hands hold a white dressing, brows furrowed, unsure of how to place them onto it. Behind him, the first aid kit is opened on the bed. His eyebrows are narrowed in concentration, face thinking deeply, so intent that he doesn't notice her come in.

"Need a hand?" arms folded before her, a brow arched up at him. His eyes settle on her immediately, the wolf in him relaxing at the sight of her. His lips coil into a smirk.

"If you can my love," his tone is light, and velvety to the ear, eyes twinkling in the same notion a star does among the dark of the night.

She heads to the bed, waiting patiently as he slips out of his towel into a pair of grey boxers. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet pooling hard into the carpet. His form is tense, one hand massaging the other, easing out all the tense knots. Adah sits on her knees on top of the bed, digging into the material of the silk covers.

Her eyes latch onto the wound, the wolf in her huffing at the marks her mate would now bear. She didn't appreciate marks made on his body, especially as they weren't from her. 

"Some wolf got lucky. Barely missed your throat," she murmurs, taking the bandage from Micajah, pulling the first aid kit that was already left open on the bed closer to her.

She takes some antiseptic onto a cotton pad, dabbing it over the wound, cleaning it gently. She can tell it stings, but Micajah doesn't move muscle apart from his jaw, which just tightens harder.

"What a shame," his tone is light, teasing, but Adah doesn't want to laugh. 

It's like a knife hits her stomach. What if the wolf didn't miss? What is Micajah hadn't survived? Her stomach fills with dread, and she swallows, picking up the bandage. The cloth is like a soft mesh, stretchy in her hands.

Micajah senses her wolf's uneasiness, and he pulls his shoulder away from her, turning his form around so he could meet her eyes. His hands cup her cheeks.

"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere," his words are strong, and confident. His eyes are soft as they look at her, a thumb caressing the outline of her lips. Adah looks down, not wanting to cry again.

"I'm okay. I promise my love. I'm breathing. I'm right here," his voice softens, and she nods, kissing the top of his head.

"I have no intention leaving you. Ever," it's almost a whisper. She brings up a finger, wiping the moisture from her eyes and taking a deep breath in. She doesn't say anything, as she turns his form around, hands placing the bandage over the wound, and then placing the medical tape down to hold it.