Page 81 of The Alpha's Chosen Fate

It was so hard to trust these feelings.Even knowing the truth of the past, I was still afraid.

Could I truly ever be all-in with him?After the chasm his rejection had carved between us?

“In case I wasn’t being clear, I love you.I’ll love you forever even if you don’t want me to.”

I studied our hands atop the white sheet, avoiding his face.

"This isn’t easy for me,” I whispered.

He didn’t ask what.Nor did he act like he expected me to say it back.

"I know it’s not, little mate.”

I could pull back, maintain the barrier my heart had erected to safeguard itself, but Rieka rose within me, her presence insistent.

Don’t fight it, she begged.

I swallowed hard.There was a dark stain on my soul that hadn’t completely lifted.Could I get past it?

His thumb brushed across my skin.The action was tender and loving.Exactly the kind of thing I’d wanted and needed from a mate.

The bond, once a whisper, roared like the ocean in my ears.The wave caught me off guard.

Rieka, numb it.It’s too much.

No, she growled.You need to feel.

His skin singed mine, every stroke igniting sparks that danced up my arm.His eyes, deep pools of resolve, never left mine.

“Why are you looking at me like that?"I asked, my words barely a whisper.

“It pleases me.”

“It does?”

"Immensely," he breathed out.

His thumb continued brushing against my wrist in a slow, deliberate caress—the promise of something more, something deeper.

The next day passed in a blur.Though Briggs was healing, he still offered continuous shows of affection.A look that lingered, a touch that spoke volumes, a smile that seemed reserved only for me.

The darkness of our past loomed, but in these moments of quiet intimacy, helped.The bond between us was a force, a presence that demanded recognition.

And though I fought against its tide, I found myself tempted to surrender with each subtle, meaningful gesture Briggs bestowed upon me.

On the following night, two nights longer than the Alpha thought necessary, I sat in the infirmary, watching Briggs's chest rise and fall.The soft whir of the ceiling fan lulled my thoughts.

My fingers traced circles on the back of his hand.The room basked in twilight, shadows playing across his features, giving him an ethereal glow.

His pattern of breathing altered a minute before the rest of him woke.

"Feeling better?"I asked.

"Getting there," Briggs replied, voice rough with sleep.

He sounded tired, but his coloring was back and his wounds were stitching back together perfectly.

“You’re staring again.”He did it every time he opened his eyes now.

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