Chapter 38 My Morning After Magic
Malia's POV
The morning sunshine creeps into my window, warm and golden-toned.
I stand in front of the mirror, still a little bit dazed from the night before, pressing my fingers to my lips as if that will make me feel Aiden's kisses on them longer.
As the natural copper tones of my auburn hair fall in messy waves down over my shoulders, the sunlight streams through and I smile at my reflection. I got the color from my mom, and the freckle cluster across my nose and cheeks I also got from her.
I used to hate them.
Thought they made me look juvenile, unstamped by the smooth perfection most She-Wolves in Mooncrest have.
But when I look at myself today, really at my face, I know what Aiden might see. How my pale skin is dusted with freckles like a sky full of stars.
The natural rose of my lips, which fuller from yesterday's kissing.
The flush that still remains in my cheeks where his hands held my face. uuu cool I finishing togetting ready in a soft sweater and jeans that show off mycurves.
My phone buzzes. Aiden: Outside. Take your time, my heart flutters.
I collect my bag and go down the stairs, anticipating seeing him waiting at the door of the dorm as always.
Except his car — not any car but that slick black one that just screams money and privilege — is parked right out front!
He's propped up on it, already crossing his arms, in dark jeans and a gray henley that swallows him whole.
When he notices me, his face relaxes into something gentle.
"Morning," he says, sliding open the passenger door.
"Morning. Where to? We have classes…"
"We're skipping." He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world to say, like ditching class is no big deal.
"Aiden, I can’t just skip—"
"One day." He moves closer, and his hand reaches up to slide a run of auburn hair from my face. "Give me one perfect day. Not one moment of campus drama. Not one second of whispers. Not one bit of Lydia. Make it you and me."
I can’t say no, the way he’s looking at me.
"Okay," I whisper. "One day."
His smile is devastating.
He drives us out of town on country roads and winding back roads. We talk about everything and nothing—he tells me what it was like to grow up with brothers who were at once rivals and best friends, the pressure of being the oldest by eight minutes, of expectations that felt like chains.
I talk to him about my childhood, about how invisible I felt in my stepmother’s home, about the first time I switched, and how scary it was to feel so powerless in comparison to my step-sisters.
Aiden says, jaw tight, "they made you feel less than. But you're not. You never were."
“Sometimes it’s difficult to look at it that way.”
“Then I’ll tell you again until you do.”
We pause at a tiny diner that looks as if it hasn’t been updated since the ’50s—red vinyl booths, checkered tile floors, a jukebox in the corner.
It’s perfect.
We slide into a corner booth and Aiden orders for us—pancakes, bacon and coffee that could strip the paint.
"How did you know I like pancakes?" I ask.
"I pay attention." His eyes meet mine across the table. "I notice everything about you, Malia. The way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. The way you put your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous. The fact that you always order tea instead of coffee unless you're really tired.”
My cheeks heat. "That's… a little intense."
"I'm an intense person." He leans back, and makes no apologies. "Especially about the stuff that means something to me. And you matter."
The food is served, and we eat, trading tales of childhoods.
Aiden tells me about when Rowan shifted by accident during a formal dinner and wrecked their mom’s favorite tablecloth. About Cian’s first show when he was eight, when he painted their father as a dragon and got sent to his room. I laugh until my sides hurt.
Then he steals a piece of my bacon, and I steal the last bite of pancake he has, as my revenge.
"Thief," he says, with a smile. "This started this."
He leans over the table and kisses off the syrup from the corner of my mouth. “Now we're square,” he murmurs.
After breakfast we drive out to a place he knows—an opening in the woods, a wildflower-studded glade, private. Overhead, he spreads a blanket on the grass, and we stare up through the open sky.
“This is nice,” I say quietly. “Tranquil.”
“You deserve peace.” He rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand to look at me. "After everything you've been through -- the disappearances, the blood moon, Lydia's harassment -- you deserve moments like this."
I turn to face him, mirroring his position.
We’re close enough that I can make out the different blues in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls over his forehead.
“Thank you,” I say. “For today, for last night. For seeing me.”
“Always,” he promises.
Then he's kissing me—soft at first, sweet and gentle. But it deepens quickly.
His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer.
I run my fingers through his hair, and he groans quietly against my mouth. The kiss turns heated, desperate, full of want and need and something more.
He shifts, moving over me, his body pressing mine into the soft blanket. His weight is delicious — solid and warm and utterly in the best way.
One of his hands find my auburn hair, tilting my head as he deepens the kiss further.
The other fingers fell along my side, trailing along my curves as if in possessi ve worship.
"Malia," he breathes against my lips – pulling back just enough to be able to look at me.
His breathing was rapid and his eyes were black with lust.
"Tell me to stop if I’m getting too far. Tell me if this is too much.”
"Don't stop," I murmur.
His expression flares with—hunger almost love.
He kisses me again, this time with more force, more demand.
His lips leave my mouth and go to my jaw and down to my neck, where he locates a couple of sensitive places and I find myself gasping.
I arch beneath him involuntarily, and he groans.
"You're killing me," he murmurs against my skin.
His hand slipped beneath my sweater, and I felt his fingers on my bare stomach, the electricity of his touch coursing through me.
I wriggle under him, overwhelmed by the feeling of his touch setting every nerve ending on fire.
He took my mouth again, drinking my muted noises as his tongue moved rhythmically against mine in a pace that was nearly sinful.
His hips grind towards mine and I feel his heat, needle hard and insistent.
There was heat pooling low in my stomach. I run my hands under his shirt, feel the solid planes of his chest, the muscles that twitch when I touch them.
He broke the kiss with a string of swearing, his breath shallow.
"We should stop," he says, but he doesn’t move away. “Before I forget, we’re in public.”
"We're alone," I breathe as I point out.
“Barely." He chuckles harshly, and rests his forehead against mine. “I want our first time to be somewhere other than a meadow, too.”
“You deserve better.”
The thought that’s running through his mind, the fact that he’s thinking about our first time, is making my heart pound even more.
I say in a hush, "Okay."
He rolls away from me, instead of pulling me against his side, us both looking up at the stars and watching our breaths slowly slow. “You’re dangerous,” he says, after a moment.
“Me?”
“You make me lose control. Forget about everything but how much I want you.” He kisses my temple. “It’s terrifying, perfect and all encompassing.”
That could be an understatement. I snuggle closer, lying my head on his chest and hearing his heart race. Lead.
“I feel the same way,” I confess. “About you. All this.” All of it.”
His arm tightens around me.
For another hour we lie there, whispering, stealing kisses, living in a world where nothing else matters. Now consider this in your mind: where bloodlines and bonds grow faint.
Where it’s only Aiden and Malia, and two people are falling impossibly, dangerously, completely in love.
His hand is resting on my thigh, his thumb idly caressing it as we drive back to campus.
“We’re going to have to face reality at some point,” I murmur.
“I know.” He looked at me. “But not today. Today was ours. Faultless and inviolable."
When we arrive at the campus, the sun is going down in the sky filled with orange and pink. He links his fingers with mine as he leads me to the suite.
He presses one more kiss to my lips at my door—slow, deep, and full of promise.
"Go to sleep," he mutters. "Tomorrow we take care of all that. But tonight, just keep this in mind. Remember us.”
“Always,” I tell him.
Even as I shut the door, I’m still grinning, still holding the impression of his handprints on my skin.
It was a perfect day for us.
Aiden is perfect.
Now I'll take whatever complications tomorrow has in store for me. Because this, what we have, is worth fighting for.