Chapter One Night 97
Chapter 97
Audrey
As I drifted in the darkness, faint whispers tickled the edges of my consciousness.
“Silver Star… Our Silver Star…”
The voices were barely audible, like a whisper on the wind, but they tugged at something deep inside of me-a part of myself that had been lost to time.
A memory, perhaps? If only I could grasp it, understand its meaning.
The voices grew louder, more insistent. “Come back to us, Silver Star. Remember who you are…”
I struggled to call to them, to understand, but they remained just out of reach.
“Wake up, Silver Star.. Wake up..”
“Wake up. Audrey, wake up. The cool touch of fingers on my forehead gently pulled me back to reality, the mysterious voices fading away and quickly being replaced by a sharp pain in my head.
I blinked, my vision slowly coming back into focus. Edwin’s concerned face hovered above me, his brow furrowed with worry, I was still on the floor of his sewing room, my head throbbing where I had hit it on the shelf.
Ugh. What happened?” I mumbled, trying to sit up. The room spun around me, and I felt too nauseous to move.
Edwin gently pushed me back down, his hand warm and steady on my shoulder. “You hit your head pretty hard. You were only out for a minute, but I was about to take you to the hospital if you didn’t wake up soon.”
I groaned, the pain in my head intensifying, but I felt clearheaded enough to know that it wasn’t serious. “No hospitals,” I muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Edwin insisted with a soft huff. His voice was stern, but I could hear the underlying concern in his tone. “Here. Let me help you up. Get you off this hard floor.”
Before I could protest, Edwin was suddenly scooping me up in his arms. I let out a small gasp, surprised by how easily he lifted me. His body was warm against mine, and I could feel the strength in his muscles as he carried me.
“I can walk, you know,” I muttered, even as I found myself nestling closer to his chest.
Edwin chuckled softly. “I’m sure you can. Just humor me, Audrey,”
I didn’t protest further, and he carried me to the living room and laid me down on the soft sofa. The leather was cool against my skin, a stark contrast to Edwin’s warmth.
“Stay here,” he instructed, gently easing me onto the soft leather I’m going to get some ice for that bump.”
I nodded, immediately regretting the movement as another jolt of pain shot through my skull. I watched through squinted. eyes as Edwin left. A soft breeze blew in through the still-open balcony doors, and I shivered slightly.
As I laid there, waiting, I wracked my brain in an attempt to recall that strange dream I had had when I’d passed out. But unfortunately, it felt too distant to grasp now, and trying to remember just made my skull ache even more.
Whatever it was, I figured that it couldn’t have been that important; likely my addled brain was playing tricks on me.
Edwin returned quickly with an ice pack, which he pressed gently against my head. The cold seeped into my skin, numbing the pain slightly.
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Chapter 97
“I also brought your late and c**n roll,” Edwin said, gesturing to the coffee table, where he had moved my drink and food to a ceramic cup and plate. “I thought the sugar might help you feel a Hule betler,”
“Thanks,” I murmured, reaching for the cup. The warm liquid and sweet pastry did help, giving me a small boost of energy. As I sipped the latte, I watched Edwin’s shirt flutter slightly in the breeze-revealing the hard muscles beneath the fabric.
Now that I could remember-those moments leading up to hitting my head. The air had been cr*ing wi**th energy, our bodies thrumming with desire. It was dark and dangerous, and so, so delicious. If only I hadn’t pulled away, then maybe I wouldn’t be laying here like this…
“Something wrong?” Edwin asked, noticing me staring.
I shook my head. I had to look away to hide my blushing face.
As Edwin walked away to get some ointment, I gingerly touched the bump on my head and winced at the pain. “St**id human.” I muttered under my breath. “Can’t even walk straight without hurting yourself.”
Edwin paused in the doorway, his head tilted slightly. “What did you say?”
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Nothing. Just… frustrated with myself.”
He came back a moment later with a tube of ointment in his hand. His eyes were fixed on me, searching my face as he began to gently rub the ointment into my bump. “Why are you speaking so poorly of yourself?” he murmured. “There’s nothing wrong with being human.”
I snorted, wincing at the pain it caused. “Except for being weak compared to werewolves. We don’t have your healing abilities or strength. Sometimes I feel like I’m made of glass in a world where everyone else is made of steel.”
Edwin frowned as he applied the ointment to my bump. His touch was gentle, and yet it burned me in more ways than one, “Is that really how you see it?”
When I didn’t respond, he sighed and started rolling up his sleeves to reveal his sinewy forearms beneath
“Look,” he said, pointing to various small scars on his tanned arms. “Burns from cooking. Cuts from working. He hesitated for a moment, then began unbuttoning his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my eyes widening. My heart rate picked up as more of his skin was revealed, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from lurching forward and touching the spots where he had exposed himself.
He pulled his shirt open, revealing a jagged scar across his chest. See this scar?” he asked. I nodded. “It was from a s**id. fight many years ago. Werewolves get hurt too, Audrey. Everyone does, especially from st**id things.”
Without thinking, I reached out and touched the scar. Edwin tensed but didn’t pull away. The raised skin was smooth under my fingertips, a stark contrast to the rest of his hairy chest. I traced the length of it, feeling the way it curved across his
muscles.
“I don’t remember seeing this,” I murmured, thinking back to our night together. My face heated up just at the memory.
Edwin smirked, a knowing look in his eyes. “You were pretty drunk that night. Must not have noticed. I’ve had this scar since I was your age, more than ten years ago.”
The reminder of our age gap made me blush even harder, but in that moment, it was more comforting than anything. 1 found myself leaning into him, inhaling his scent. His cologne, once again, was dizzying
“Thank you” I murmured into the crook of his neck as I wrapped my arms around him.
Edwin growled softly in response.
But then, suddenly, his hand was in my hair, gently touching the area behind my ear where my silver streak usually grew. He
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Chapter 97
held up a strand, inspecting the roots. His fingers were gentle, but I felt exposed, vulnerable.
@x96%
“Do you dye your hair?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes intense. There was curiosity there, and something else I couldn’t quite place my finger on.
Panic shot through me, icy and immediate. I jumped up, nearly knocking over my latte in the process. The dizziness overwhelmed me, but I pushed it down.
“That’s none of your business,” Isnapped, my voice sharper than I intended.
Edwin looked taken aback by my sudden change in demeanor. “Audrey, I didn’t mean to-
But I was already moving, grabbing my things. “I have to go. Thanks for… for the help.”
Without another word. I bolted for the door, leaving behind my art store bag and any semblance of dignity. I didn’t stop running until I reached my dorm room, my heart pounding and my head still throbbing,
As soon as I locked the door behind me, I rushed to the bathroom. Sure enough, a sliver of silver was visible at my roots. How could I have been so careless?
“No, no, no,” I muttered, leaning close to the mirror to inspect the damage.
I frantically dug through my drawer, pulling out my emergency hair dye kit. With shaking hands, I mixed the dye and applied it to my entire head, making sure to saturate the roots thoroughly-even though the silver only grew from one spot.
As I waited for the dye to set, I paced the small bathroom, my mind racing. How much had Edwin seen? Would he hate me now that he knew what I hid from the world? Would he, too, see me as a bad luck charm? An evil omen?
Finally, after what felt like hours, I rinsed out the dye. As I towel-dried my hair, I examined my roots closely in the mirror. The silver was gone, hidden once again beneath a layer of black.
Relief washed over me, quickly followed by frustration. I smacked the bathroom sink hard with the palm of my hand, the sound echoing in the small space.
“D**t!”
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