“Didn’t you just eat, dear? Why is your stomach growling?” Beatrice inquires as she tucks me under the covers, her fingers grazing over my stomach as it rumbles beneath her palm. She’s insisted that I remain in bed for the next 24 hours. My muscles ache from the brief excursion downstairs and back up, ensuring I won’t attempt that again soon.
“No, I haven’t,” I reply, and my stomach growls again.
“Why? I thought creamy shrimp pasta is one of your favorites.”
“You remember,” I smile, reminiscing about the numerous times I asked her to make it for me after the first time. She nods.
“It is, but I didn’t want to eat it because his majesty served me.”
“You’re worried he might’ve poisoned you again,” she says, her gaze softening. I nod slowly. There’s no need to hide it from Beatrice; it’s not something I wish to keep from Nickolas.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Amelia. If anyone wants you well in time, it’s him,” she assures me.
“You mean alive because that’s all he wants. Me alive so he can make my father give up his life for mine when the time is right.”
She doesn’t say anything and sighs.
“I will bring you another plate soon,” she pats my hair before heading towards the door to leave.
Turning away from the world, I pull the covers over my head. Exhaustion looms over me, and I fear I might succumb to sleep before Beatrice returns. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I surrender to the drowsiness. The creaking of my door opening and Eric’s familiar scent awaken me.
Pulling the covers back, I find him entering the room with a food tray in his hands.
“Hello, Amelia,” he greets, walking towards me as I sit up to receive the tray. Placing it in front of me, he helps adjust the pillows by the headboard.
“Hi, Eric,” I return the smile he sends my way. Lifting the lid off the plate on the tray, I see that Beatrice has indeed followed through on her promise. I smile and pick up the fork, eager to dig into the creamy pasta.
“How are you feeling?” Eric asks, taking a seat on the bed by my leg.
“Good,” I mumble with a mouth full of pasta.
“Do you mind telling me how you ended up there?” he asks, and I pause from eating. Lifting my eyes to meet his, I see them filled with pity. He must’ve seen seen my body.
I force a smile and reply, “No,” then resume eating, hoping he’ll drop the topic.
“Amelia,” he grabs my left hand, causing me to pause again. Tears sting the back of my eyes. I throw my head back, sniffling.
“I don’t want to talk about what happened, okay,” I say, dropping my eyes to meet his as they fill with more tears, remembering the horror I faced.
“That’s fine. I won’t force you to talk about it. You should also know I am here for you, Amelia. I might be the enemy’s best friend, but I am here for you if you need me,” he says, squeezing my hand gently. The tears drop, and my shoulders quiver as memories of the torture I endured hit me like a bulldozer. Marie is in a coma, and my inability to do anything to help her or my situation intensify the pain.
I cover my face with my hands and sob my heart out for the horror I faced and the injustice done to me. A pair of comforting hands wraps around my body, and a warm chest presses against me. I grab Eric’s shirt, staining it with my tears. He doesn’t complain as I soak it and holds me as I cry until I have no tears left and doze off.
NICKOLAS
I ascend the stairs from my office to Amelia’s room, intending to check up on her. I’m still puzzled by her earlier behavior but decide not to dwell on it too much. As I approach her room, I hear the sound of people talking. My brows knit together, wondering what could be exciting for the maids.
“They look so cute together. It’s so sad they aren’t mates,” I hear one of them say.
“They would’ve been perfect for one another. Just look how much he cares for her,” another adds.
What the fuck are they talking about? My steps quicken, and the scene before my eyes isn’t what I expected. Eric is holding Amelia in his arms as she cries, unaware that the door is open. A tug in my heart forms as the maids drop Amelia’s belongings and scatter.
My nose flares up as a burning fire lights up within me. I don’t like that the maids entertain the idea that someone else could be perfect for Amelia. She is my mate. Only I should be perfect for her, not my fucking best friend.
Pushing the door open fully, I step inside, the fire within me growing as I watch him stroke her hair, putting her to sleep. I don’t like it. I don’t fucking like it at all, and he needs to stop before I break his hand. I don’t even care that he is my best friend and probably doesn’t see her that way.
“Eric,” I say through gritted teeth as I try to control my anger.
“Nick,” Eric says, turning around to see me, looking a bit surprised but not alarmed. Of course, he isn’t alarmed. His intentions are pure, but I can’t help the part of me that wants to break his hand for touching my mate.
“I was just about to come look for you,” he says, walking up to me.
“Really? Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“Let’s go to my room,” I say, heading for the adjourned door.
After departing Amelia’s, we settle by the fireplace upon reaching my place, each of us cradling a glass of bourbon. Eric swiftly drains his drink in a single gulp before breaking the silence with words.
“We have a problem.”
“I can tell,” I say, looking at him as he refills his glass.
“Amelia refused to talk.”
“That’s surprising,” I remark, sipping my drink.
“What I know so far is what my mate has told me.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“My mate tells me the person you killed isn’t the only one who hurt Amelia.”
“What!” I sit up in my chair, shocked.
“I fear they might come for her again,” he says after finishing his second glass.
I close my eyes, running my hand through my hair, sighing.
“What else do we know?” I ask, opening my eyes.
“Unfortunately, we know nothing about this second person. Just that the person is a lycan.”
“That could be fucking anyone.”
“Yep,” he replies, his shoulders dropping.
“Fuck!” I throw the rest of my drink back.