Page 254 of Untamed

“I was out handling the people who made the mistake of touching what’s mine. Keeping you safe. You think that comes with time for fucking texts?”

I finally turn to face him, towel still wrapped tight around me, water still dripping from my hair. I meet his eyes without flinching.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through the last few days? I thought something happened to you, Ares. You can’t just cage me in your fortress and have me sit here and play quiet little house pet while you disappear for days on end and don’t even bother to check in and let me know you’re at least alive.”

I see his jaw stiffen, but he doesn’t speak.

“I wasn’t asking for a bloody sonnet. Just a text, one word. It would’ve taken two seconds of your precious time to send a message. Just enough to let me know I wasn’t about to open the door to Dante saying they found your body in pieces.” Thesilence that follows is heavy, much heavier than if we were screaming at one another.

I step past him, brushing his arm with mine on the way out. My voice is soft, but the edges are sharp.

“Don’t worry, though. I got real good at talking to myself while you were gone.”

Ares doesn’t follow me right away. The door doesn’t creak open. The floorboards don’t groan under his weight. Just silence, the thick, biting kind that settles into the cracks of the room like smoke after fire.

I walk slowly, every step a deliberate act of control. My towel clings to damp skin, but I don’t care. I don’t rush to get dressed. Don’t hide. Let him stand there and sit in what he’s done, or didn’t do.

By the time I reach the dresser, I hear it. The shift. The low sound of him finally moving. The breath he lets out, slow, heavy. The creak of the floorboard as he closes the space between us.

“Jordyn,” he says, voice low.

I don’t turn. “Look at me.”

I stare at the wardrobe, fingers brushing over the handle but not opening it. My towel slips further down my chest, but I don’t bother adjusting it. Let him see my back if that’s all he gave me for three days.

“You’re angry,” he says. “I get it.”

I let out a quiet, dry laugh. “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t know what to do with someone else’s anger if it slapped you across the face.”

He’s closer now, I feel the heat of him behind me, the tension radiating off his body like a live wire.

With a sigh, I pull open the dresser drawer, the sound loud in the silence, and grab a tank top. My towel slips slightly, water still dripping onto the floor. Still, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands there behind me, all heat and stillness.

When I finally turn to face him, my voice is quiet, measured. No venom, just truth.

“I understand that you’re not used to this.” His eyes narrow slightly, but I keep going. “You’re not used to someone waiting up. To someone who cares if you’re alive or not. Who worries when you’re out there doing whatever it is you do.”

“But you do now.” I hold his gaze, steady despite the sting in my throat.

“You have someone who waits for you. Who worries. Who sits here for days with her chest caving in, imagining the worst. And that’s what being with someone means, Ares, whether you’re ready for it or not.” My voice drops, barely above a whisper. “If you want me in your life, you need to start letting me in. Communicating. Because I can’t survive another three days like the ones I just had, not if you want me to stay sane.”

Something flickers in his expression, too fast to name. A shadow of something that might be regret. Or maybe it’s just the first crack in all that ice he loves to hide behind.

And then he takes one slow step forward, then another. His voice is low, like it’s coming from somewhere deeper than he meant to reach.

“You want someone who knows how to talk about their feelings? That’s not me.” Another beat. His voice drops. “I told you at the start that I don’t do soft.” He looks down for the first time, like the weight of it finally hits him. “This is who I am, Jordyn, I don’t know how to be any other way.”

I don’t answer him. Not because I don’t have anything left to say,

But because the longer I look at him, I’m starting to forget all the reasons I’m angry in the first place.

So, I tear my gaze away and sidestep him, crossing the room without another word. My towel brushes against my thighs with each step, damp and clinging, skin still flushed from the shower and the heat of him standing so close.

I push open the bathroom door and step inside, flicking on the light. The mirror’s fogged again. Perfect, because I don’t want to see the look on my face.

I reach for the lotion bottle, fingers fumbling for the cap like focusing on something else might hold me together.

But then I hear it. His footsteps. Slow, heavy, each step deliberate.

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