Chapter 105 Cheers!
~ Lyra's POV ~
Kael took me directly to the large bed, his hand firm yet careful at the small of my back as though I were something fragile he feared might shatter if he moved too quickly. He lowered me onto the mattress with unhurried precision, making sure I was settled before he straightened to his full height. The bed dipped beneath my weight and then steadied, the plush surface swallowing me in warmth and quiet luxury.
“Make yourself comfortable while I freshen up. I will join you shortly,” he said, his voice low and composed.
Even as he spoke, his fingers were already working at the buttons of his shirt. I could not help watching. My gaze locked onto his hands as they moved with practiced ease, each button slipping free with deliberate grace. His knuckles flexed, tendons shifting beneath bronzed skin, and I found myself tracing the path of his fingers as though they were performing for me alone. One button gave way, then another, and then another, until the fabric parted completely and revealed the expanse of his chest beneath.
I didn't realize how long I had been staring until the final button came undone. Awareness struck me all at once. Heat rushed up my neck and into my cheeks as I lifted my eyes from the trail of exposed skin back to his face. He was watching me. A slow, sheepish grin curved his lips, as though he had caught me in the act and found my fascination more amusing than inappropriate.
Embarrassment seized me instantly. I looked away, my pulse betraying me as it hammered against my ribs. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed far louder than it actually was.
I exhaled slowly and forced myself to look around the room instead of replaying the image of his hands in my mind. The bedroom was breathtaking. It was decorated in rich shades of brown and warm milk tones that blended seamlessly into one another, creating an atmosphere that felt both regal and inviting.
The room was slightly larger than the one I currently occupied, and every piece of furniture appeared majestic and exquisitely crafted. The bed alone looked as though it had been carved for royalty, its headboard tall and commanding, etched with intricate patterns that spoke of heritage and power.
It looked like the bedroom of a king. Then again, he was the Alpha, and I would not have expected anything less.
Portraits and paintings lined one side of the wall, each framed in polished wood that gleamed beneath the soft lighting. My curiosity tugged at me before I could resist it. My legs moved on their own accord, carrying me across the room until I stood before the collection. I studied each portrait carefully, searching for familiar features, for clues, for pieces of him hidden within the art.
One portrait stood out among all the others. It was a painting of a woman whose presence seemed to command attention even through canvas and pigment. From the striking resemblance in the curve of her jaw and the intensity in her eyes, I could guess she was Kael’s mother. She was stunning. Her curly brown hair cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves, and her eyes held a depth that felt almost alive. There was strength in her posture and warmth in her expression, and for a fleeting moment I wondered what it must have been like to be raised by someone so formidable.
I lingered there longer than I intended. The soothing sound of water striking tile from the bathroom wrapped around me in an odd sense of comfort.
After I had finished my quiet exploration, I returned to the bed and dropped onto it. My hand instinctively rose to the locket resting against my collarbone. I untied it carefully and opened it, drawing out the small photograph it held. The edges were slightly worn, but the image within remained clear.
I didn't feel as though I had looked at it enough.
I had always imagined what my birth parents looked like, especially my mother. I had constructed countless versions of her in my mind over the years, shaping her features from fragments of longing and curiosity. Although I never got to meet her physically, I was grateful that I now had something tangible to hold onto. Something real. Something that proved she had existed beyond the hollow ache of absence.
My fingers brushed lightly over the photograph, memorizing every detail as though I feared it might vanish if I blinked too long.
The sudden cessation of the shower pulled me from my thoughts. The sound of water faded, replaced by silence that felt charged with anticipation. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and Kael stepped back into the room clad in nothing but a towel wrapped securely around his waist.
Should I have looked away and granted him privacy while he dressed? Of course I should have. Any sensible woman would have done exactly that.
But I was not sensible in that moment.
My traitorous eyes refused to obey. They remained fixed on him, drinking in the sight before me. Droplets of water clung to his skin and traced slow paths down the planes of his chest and abdomen. His hair was damp, slightly darker than before, and a single bead of water slid from his temple down along the sharp line of his jaw. The towel hung low on his hips, secured in a way that felt both casual and dangerously precarious.
And the worst part was not even my staring. It was my mind.
The moment my gaze settled on the towel, my imagination betrayed me in the most shameless way. My thoughts, painting images I had no business entertaining. I found myself wondering about the heat beneath that fabric, about the strength and solidity hidden just out of sight. My breath hitched despite my best efforts to remain composed, and I silently cursed the vividness of my own imagination.
Kael had no idea about the war raging inside my head. He seemed entirely unbothered by my scrutiny. Instead of moving to get dressed and spare me the torment of temptation, he walked toward the small bar situated at the corner of the room. With effortless confidence, he reached for a bottle of wine and retrieved two glasses.
He came straight to the bed and lowered himself beside me, close enough that the mattress dipped and my body tilted subtly toward his warmth. The nearness of him was distracting in a way I could not openly admit. He placed the bottle and the two glasses carefully on the side stool, before turning his attention fully to me.
“Can I see that?” he asked softly, gesturing with his chin and extending his hand toward the photograph still resting in my fingers.
“Sure.” I handed it to him. “Is that your mother?” I asked, my gaze drifting back to the portrait on the wall as though it had been silently observing us all along.
“Yep, that is her,” he answered without looking up from the photograph, his voice certain and absent of hesitation, as if he had known exactly what I was referring to even before I spoke.
“She is beautiful,” I said quietly.
At that, he finally lifted his eyes to mine. There was something almost boyish in the way they twinkled with pride, a softness beneath the strength he wore so effortlessly.
“Of course she is. Where did you think I got this face from?” he replied, circling his face with a flourish of his fingers, his expression exaggerated in mock arrogance.
I rolled my eyes at him, unable to stop the faint smile that tugged at my lips. His chuckle filled the room, deep and warm, easing something in my chest.
“I initially thought you looked like your father, but I was wrong. You have some of his features, yes, but you could easily pass for your mother’s twin,” he said after studying the photograph more closely, his tone shifting into something more thoughtful.
I had noticed that resemblance too. It had startled me the first time I truly saw it.
“I had wanted to ask something,” I began, drawing in a quiet breath. “Why did you tell Kaitlyn to wear my clothes? Did he say something about my scent that prompted you to do that?” The question had lingered in my mind since the incident, gnawing at me.
“He didn't say anything about your scent,” he replied calmly. “Anybody’s scent can be mastered, so I needed a way to confirm whether he was lying or telling the truth, especially knowing you had no scent before you arrived here. If he had not provided such a strong explanation for why he knew what you smelled like, I would not have believed him.”
He returned the photograph to me gently, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment before I slipped it back into the locket and secured it around my neck.
He reached for the wine bottle, uncorked it with ease, and poured the deep red liquid into both glasses. The soft glug of wine filling crystal seemed louder in the quiet room. He handed one glass to me, his fingers steady.
“What are we celebrating?” I asked as I accepted it, the cool stem pressing against my palm.
“Our first fight,” he said with a wide grin that transformed his face entirely. “And my vindication. You need to trust me a little more going forward.”
My mood shifted instantly, the warmth in my chest cooling. “I’m sorry. I didn't know.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. There was no way you could have known, and your reaction is valid, so don't apologize.” His voice softened, losing its teasing edge. “I am just glad we are past that stage. It was pure torture,” he added lightly, as though the memory carried no real weight. “Cheers.”
He lifted his glass toward mine, and I tapped it gently against his.
“Cheers.”
He tilted his head back and gulped the entire contents in one smooth motion, his throat working as he swallowed. I drank mine slowly, savoring the burn as it slid down, allowing the warmth to spread through me.
When he was finished, he did not reach for the bottle again. Instead, he turned fully toward me and watched. His gaze was no longer playful or amused. It was intense and focused, heavy with something I now recognized clearly to be desire.