Page 24 of Untamed

Wiping away a tear that rolls down my cheek, I slip off the bed and make my way to the bedroom door. I should go back home. Except...there is no home to go to anymore.

I can imagine my sister panicking if she noticed that I’m missing.

The corridors stretch long and empty, silent except for the soft pad of my bare feet against cold marble. Feeling uneasy, I tug thesleeves of Ares’s hoodie down over my hands, swallowing in the heavy, aching quiet.

Like the Russo manor, Ares’s place is also too big. Too cold. It makes me feel like a ghost, floating through someone else’s life. I don't know where I’m going, I just move. Around a corner. Past a sun-drenched hallway. Down another wide staircase.

And then I smell it.

Warm. Faint, but real.

Coffee. Toast. Something sizzling low and slow.

I follow it without thinking, like a moth to light, until I step into the doorway of a kitchen bigger than our entire flat in London.

And there he is.

Ares Russo. Barefoot. Once again in a pair of dark jeans and a black vest top that shows off his rippling muscles.

Standing at the stove, flipping something in a frying pan like he’s been doing it his whole life.

For a second, I can only stare.

The sun cuts through the windows behind him, casting his sharp profile in gold. His muscular shoulders are tense, his head bent slightly, focused entirely on what he’s doing.

Not the man who pulled me from the pool. Not the man who held me through my nightmares. Just... Ares. Quiet, steady and terrifyingly real.

He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t say anything, but somehow, I know he’s aware of my presence. Maybe he felt me, or maybe he’s been waiting.

I hover in the doorway, feeling awkward and invisible all over again, until he finally speaks, his voice low and a little rough from sleep or...silence perhaps.

“Sit,” he says, without looking at me. Not quite an order, nor a suggestion, but something in between. I swallow and drift forward on shaky legs, pulling myself up onto one of the stools by the island.

The smells hit me harder now. Coffee. Eggs and toast.

Real food. Something warm, something made forme.

Ares slides a plate across the counter toward me without a word, then moves to pour coffee into a heavy black mug. I stare down at the plate. Scrambled eggs on toast and smoked salmon arranged with a weird kind of care, and my throat closes up.

Nobody’s made me breakfast since...I blink hard, trying to push the thought away. I’m not going to cry, not here. Ares finally glances up at me, his eyes dark and as always unreadable.

“You need to eat,” he says gruffly.

“I’m not hungr—” I go to politely decline, but the firm stare he fixes me with stops me short. So, I nod once, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for the fork.

The first bite nearly undoes me. Warm, buttery...delicious.

Damn.

It’s stupid. It’s just eggs. It’s just food. But right now, to me, it feels like a lifeline.

Ares leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, watching me eat like he’s making sure I don’t shatter in front of him.

He doesn’t push nor speak again.

He juststays.

And somehow, in that moment, it’s oddly enough.

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