Chapter 46 Aftermath, In His Arms
Malia’s POV
I open my eyes slowly, wrapped in warmth that smells like pine, cedar smoke, and a faint hint of salt from sweat.
Aiden’s arm feels weighty around my waist, his fingers spread out possessively across my tummy under the hem of his gray henley that I have yet to take off. The shirt is rumpled now, riding up my thighs, but I don't mind. His breath constantly fans the nape of my neck—heavy, rhythmic, and happy.
And just for one incredible heartbeat, I forget everything else.
No rumors, no hierarchy and no three-way bond that’s tugging me in several different directions. Just that — the steady beat of his heart against my spine, the quiet security of being held, as if I’m meant to be right here.
Then memory returns in soft heated sparks: his mouth on my neck, my name in his throat as though it were a prayer, and the way he looked at me the moment I fell apart beneath his hands.
We didn't go all the way.
We stopped, so very, very barely right on the brink of crossing that last line. But the closeness of waking up tangled in his sheets, scented with his smell, clad in his clothes, is bigger than anything physical could have been. I nudge him a little and his arm instinctively tightens around me, holding me close even in sleep.
His chest rumbles with a low hum.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice rasping with sleep.
I smile against the pillow. “You’re already awake.”
“Been up for a while.” His lips graze the shell of my ear. “Watching you sleep is my favorite new thing.”
Heat is rising up my neck. I try to turn, but he doesn’t let me go far—just enough so I’m facing him now, with our noses almost touching.
The pale morning light that streams through the blinds makes his eyes soft. No gold flare, no alpha edge. Just Aiden—silent, vulnerable, gorgeous.
“Good morning,” he says and places the lightest of kisses on my forehead.
“Morning,” I reply under my breath.
For a long moment we simply gaze at one another.
No rush and no need for words. His thumb makes slow circles on my hip beneath the shirt. My fingers touch the scar on his left collarbone—the one he obtained from a dominance challenge or something he told me about once.
“Are you okay?" he quietly asks.
I nod. “More than okay.”
He exhales like he has been holding the breath for hours.
“I wasn’t sure… after last night. If you’d regret it. If you’d wake up and want to run.”
I say ”I’m still here.”
“Yeah.” His mouth curves, small and real. “You are.”
I bow my head, suddenly shy. The quietness lingers, pleasantly animated with feelings. He must sense the change because he raises my chin with one finger.
“Hey. Talk to me.”
I bite my lip. “I just… I wasn’t expecting last night to be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Safe,” I concede. “And… so, so, so, so much. In the very best sense of the word.”
He’s waiting.
I exhale. “I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never let anybody get that close to me before. Not like that."
His eyes shift fractionally. Slow, tentative recognition washes over his features.
“You’re a virgin,” he says. No question, just quiet awe.
My cheeks heat up. I nodded once, barely.
Aiden doesn’t laugh. Not a tease. Doesn’t have that look like he’s just won?
He just looks at me as though I’ve offered him something delicate and invaluable.
“Fuck,” he laughs breathlessly. “Malia…”
“I know it’s stupid—”
“It’s not stupid.” He sounds fierce and tender all at once. “It’s… it’s worth something. To me. That you trusted me with that much of you.”
“I didn’t plan it,” I mumble. “It’s just… it’s nothing. I wanted it to be you.”
His face breaks open—something raw and reverent shows up in those blue eyes.
“I don’t deserve that,” he roughs out.
“I think you do.”
He draws me near, bringing my head beneath his chin so that I can hear his heart racing.
“I’m going to be so careful with you,” he says, purring in my hair. “Every step of the way. Every single time. Until You're ready for everything. And even then... only when you say yes.”
I close my eyes, allowing his words to settle deep.
“Thank you.”
We lie there for what seems like ever. Speaking in whispers, about nothing of consequence—his woeful coffee-brewing talents, my disdain for early-morning runs in the park, the way the scent of moonflower still clings to my skin.
Of everything important—how the connection feels different this morning, stronger, like a thread pulled tighter between us.
How he’s scared of me being taken from him by the politics of Mooncrest. I’m scared of losing them all, but I didn't say it out loud.
For once, the future seems just beyond the horizon. It’s just us, only this bed. Just morning light and silent promises.
Until the knock.
Three tap on the door. Before we can move—before Aiden can even growl a warning—the door swings open.
Rowan is in the threshold.
He’s holding one moonflower in one hand, along with the stem wrapped in a moist paper towel as always. His hair is still wet from a shower. He’s got that soft gray hoodie I’m obsessed with, and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows.
He freezes.
His eyes shift from me—curled up in Aiden’s sheets, wearing Aiden’s shirt, hair all over the place, lips still swollen from last night, to Aiden, naked from the waist up, arm still resting on me, looking waay too content for this time of day. The flower falls to the ground.
Something breaking is visible behind Rowan’s eyes. Not anger, not rage.
Just… quiet devastation.
“I see,” he says.
The words are so soft they can barely be heard.
He doesn’t shout, doesn’t slam the door, doesn’t ask for an explanation.
He just turns. And walks away.
The door closes behind him with the quietest click, the sound reverberates louder than any slam ever did.
Aiden curses beneath his breath and I begins to sit up, but he grabs my wrist.
“Don’t.”
“Aiden—”
“Let him go.” His voice cracks. “He needs… space.”
Aiden glances down at me and I’m left wondering whether to run after his brother or stay with him.
The room is all of a sudden ice cold.
The perfect morning shatters.
I tuck the blanket up around my shoulders, suddenly knowing how vulnerable I am — not because I’m half-dressed, but because Rowan saw me like this.
In Aiden’s bed and in Aiden’s clothes.
Stamped by Aiden’s mouth and hands and scent.
And Rowan, the one who’s been leaving moonflowers every morning, who’s been patient, gentle, steady saw it all.
And said nothing but “I see.”
I lay the heels of my hands on my eyes.
Aiden pulls me into his arms without another word.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my hair.
I don’t know who he’s apologizing to.
Himself or Rowan or me. Maybe all three of us.
The moonflower sits deserted on the wooden floor, petals already beginning to wilt. And somewhere down the hall, I know Rowan is walking away with the same silence that’s always defined him.
But this time, the silence is more like goodbye.