Chapter 254

Chapter 254
Kevin

I returned to the bedroom with clothes in hand to find Isabella already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, still looking exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes stood out like bruises, and her skin had a paleness that worried me. She forced a smile that sent a stabbing pain through my chest, like someone had slipped a knife between my ribs.

"How did you sleep?" I asked, my voice coming out gentler than I'd intended, betraying me again.

"Okay, I guess," she answered, her voice raspy as if she'd been screaming. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, wincing when they caught on a knot. "I probably would have slept until tomorrow if Michael hadn't woken me. I don't know what's wrong with me—I've never been this tired."

Michael remained lying in bed like he owned it, saying calmly, "It's perfectly normal considering everything you've been through recently."

I stepped closer to her, studying the dark circles under her eyes, the slight hollows in her cheeks. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch her face again. "Have you had a decent night's sleep at all these past weeks?"

She shook her head, teeth catching her lower lip. "Only that night you guys took me back to the apartment. The rest of the time..." She trailed off, but I could imagine. Nightmares, fear, never knowing what disturbing "gift" she might find when she woke.

"We'll make sure you get proper rest," I promised, my voice rough with suppressed anger at whoever had been tormenting her. I cleared my throat and added, "But first, you need to eat something."

"I'm not really hungry," she said quietly, her gaze dropping to her knees where her hands twisted nervously together.

I pulled back the blanket covering her, perhaps with more force than necessary, exposing her body clad only in underwear and a T-shirt. Her skin immediately pebbled with goosebumps, the fine hairs on her arms standing up. I could see her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric, and I forced myself to look away. "Come here," I commanded, my tone harsher than intended.

She slid off the bed obediently and stood before me, her movements slow and slightly unsteady. I held up the sweater, ready to help her into it, the fabric dangling from my large hands.

"Um... I can dress myself," she said awkwardly, a flush rising to her cheeks. "I'm tired, but not that helpless."

"I want to help," I insisted, standing my ground. It gave me more satisfaction than I was willing to admit, more meaning than any damn reason should. Strangely, helping her dress gave me more fulfillment than undressing her. It was a different kind of intimacy, representing a need to care for her beyond the physical.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching my face as if looking for some hidden motive, then submissively raised her arms, allowing me to pull the blue sweater over her head. I carefully avoided pulling her hair, guiding it through the neckhole with surprising gentleness. The sweater swallowed her whole, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. A surge of protective and possessive feelings swelled within me at the sight.

"Need to change your underwear?" I asked, gesturing to the shorts I'd brought, my voice gruff to hide my discomfort at asking such a personal question.

Her face instantly flamed red, and she stammered, "N-no thank you," then added, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, "These are still clean."

I nodded, crouching down to help her into the sweatpants. My hands steadied her as she balanced, one of her small hands resting on my shoulder. Her eyes remained on me the entire time, searching for the motive behind my actions. She wouldn't find an explanation there. I wasn't entirely sure myself why I needed to care for her this way, only that it satisfied some primal need within me, something that hadn't awakened until she appeared.

I remained kneeling as I helped her with her socks. Her feet were ice cold, a pale shade with a bluish tint that concerned me. I instinctively held them in my hands, gently massaging to increase circulation. She let out a small moan of satisfaction that went straight to my groin, and I felt her body relax slightly, some of the tension leaving her posture.

In that moment, as I knelt before her like a supplicant, I felt something growing between us. My gaze moved from her eyes to her lips, remembering how soft they had been against mine. I suddenly craved a kiss, one that would prove our connection was more than just physical, more than just satisfying primal urges.

But as I recognized what this "something more" might be, my brow furrowed and my jaw involuntarily tightened. I wasn't ready to acknowledge it, not even to myself. Not that word, the one that represented everything I'd avoided all my life.

"Come on, breakfast time," I said, my voice deliberately low and rough, rising to my feet with more force than necessary. The spell broken, reality reestablished, I reminded her and myself that I couldn't be her "gentle mate." Not completely, not always. That wasn't me.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of us sat around the dining table. I'd prepared salmon, her favorite, and the rich aroma filled the kitchen. But she barely touched the food on her plate, pushing small pieces around with her fork like a child avoiding vegetables. Richard, Michael, and I watched her closely, exchanging worried glances, making sure she consumed enough nutrients. I absolutely would not let her starve herself. Not under my fucking watch.

When she put her fork down after only a few bites, I spoke up, my tone brooking no argument: "Eat more."

"I'm not a child," she protested softly, a spark of her usual defiance flashing in her eyes. "I can decide how much I eat for myself."

Richard made a disbelieving sound, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Really?" he said, pointing his fork at her, his expression serious despite his casual tone. "Then why have you lost nearly twenty pounds in a few weeks? Darling, if you won't take proper care of yourself, we'll take over that task." His accent became more pronounced, as it always did when he was emotional.

At the mention of her weight, Isabella frowned, her shoulders hunching slightly. I knew it was a sensitive topic for many women, but her condition was genuinely unhealthy and needed to be addressed. Her bones had become too prominent, her energy depleted. This wasn't about appearance; it was about survival.

Isabella sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I get it... I just haven't had much of an appetite lately. Food has lost its appeal to me."

"We understand, dear," Michael said calmly, reaching out to touch her hand, "but not eating doesn't solve anything."

I wished she would fucking wake up. Her jeans didn't even fit anymore—I'd noticed she had to cinch them tight with a belt to keep them from falling down.

Isabella looked at her food and asked in a bargaining tone, "If I eat this piece," pointing to a chunk of salmon with her fork, "will you let me go back to sleep?" Her gaze shifted to me, clearly recognizing that the final decision rested with me, the most stubborn of her three mates.

"Of course," Michael immediately answered, always the first to compromise.

"Absolutely not," I countered instantly, my fist lightly hitting the table for emphasis. "A few bites of salmon isn't nearly enough. I won't watch you waste away."

Isabella raised an eyebrow at me, clearly annoyed, a flash of her old spirit returning. I shrugged, completely unmoved by her irritation. I'd rather have her hate me than watch her grow weaker from not eating. I could bear her anger, her resentment, anything except her suffering.

"Richard," she tried, turning to our other mate, giving him pleading eyes, attempting to leverage his obvious soft spot for her to her advantage.

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, looking between us with a conflicted expression. "Kevin's right, little wolf. You need more nourishment."

She huffed, stabbing the salmon with more force than necessary. "Fine. But I'm doing this under protest."

I watched her take a bite, satisfaction warming my chest like good whiskey. This was my role—ensuring she survived, even if she resented me for it. I was willing to be the villain as long as it kept her healthy and safe. Someone had to make the hard choices, be the bad guy. That had always been me.

As she ate, I caught Michael watching me with a thoughtful expression, his head slightly tilted as if trying to solve a puzzle.