Page 12 of Knot Their Safe Haven
That’s the real question…am I happy with this life that feels so…unsatisfying?
Despite everything I’m doing. The plenty of lives I’m saving day in and out from selfish Alphas who couldn’t give a damn. My Safe Haven is the foundation…the root of everything…and yet…
Yet…I feel as if the world washed me away…no one would care…
The phone rings again, and I almost ignore it until I see the international number.Dubai.My heart does that stupid flutter it's been doing for fifteen years whenever I see that country code. With a sigh, I can’t help but pull myself of my self misery and press the phone icon to answer.
“Hello, my beautiful Scar.”
My lips twitch to a smile before I can stop myself.
"Using your real voice tonight?" I can't help the smirk that crosses my lips as his deep baritone fills the room. "That's playing dirty, Adyani."
The chuckle that rumbles through the speaker makes heat pool low in my belly.
Even thousands of miles away, through digital distortion, that voice affects me like a physical touch.
"Perhaps I'm attempting what you call a 'thirst trap,' habibti."
Habibti.
My love.
The way he says it, like I'm something precious,worthy of giving up a kingdom for.
"Unless you're planning to reveal your grand female transformation over a video call, this is just cruel."
"Never." Another laugh, softer this time. "When you see me as I truly am, it will be in person. Where I can watch your eyes, touch your skin, taste your?—"
"Adyani."
"Yes, Qalbi?"
My heart.
Always calling me his heart like he doesn't know it stops beating properly when he's not near.
"You can't just call me at..." I glance at the clock, "nearly midnight, use that voice that makes me want to do incredibly stupid things, and expect me to maintain any sort of professional composure."
"Professional? Is that what we are?"
"We're something." I take another sip of wine, needing the liquid courage. "I'm just not sure what."
My hope was to tease, but maybe the nonchalant in my voice matched with the effects of this wine and a stressful day makes it less obvious.
Silence stretches between us, filled with everything we don't say.
Can't say because I guess we’re both cowards…
I close my eyes and picture him—or rather, the him he used to be.
Six feet of lean muscle, deep olive skin that seemed to glow under desert sun, those incredible amber eyes that could go from warm honey to molten gold depending on his mood. His face had been almost too beautiful for a man—high cheekbones, full lips, a jawline that could cut glass but somehow still seemed delicate. The kind of masculine beauty that made people stare, made them question things about themselves.
How does that translate to female? Does she keep the height? The bone structure would be stunning on a woman. Those eyes framed by long lashes, those lips that always looked like they'd just been kissed...
"You're thinking about me."
His—her—voice pulls me from my reverie.
