The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 231

Visitors-3

She looked at herself in the small mirror above the sink. Her hair was still wrapped in the towel, dripping water down her neck. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were wild.

*Pull yourself together,* she commanded herself. *He’s just a man. Just a man. Just your fated mate. Just the headmaster. Just the most intimidating person you’ve ever met.*

She grabbed the hairdryer.

The noise was a blessing-loud and mechanical and blessedly ordinary. It drowned out the chaos in her head, gave her hands something to do, gave her a few precious moments to compose herself.

She dried her hair as quickly as she could, not bothering with style, just aiming for not dripping wet Then she ran a comb through the damp strands, pinched her cheeks to bring some color back, and took a deep breath.

*You can do this, she told herself. *You survived the academy application. You survived Marik’s combat class. You can survive a conversation with your fated mate.*

She opened the bathroom door.

Attia stood frozen in the middle of her small room.

The hairdryer had stopped moments ago, and now silence pressed in around him-thick and heavy and filled with her presence even though she wasn’t in the room. He looked around, trying to distract himself, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.

The room was small. Humble. Nothing like the lavish quarters he was accustomed to. But it was hers, and everything in it spoke of her.

A small corkboard hung above the desk, covered with photographs. He stepped closer without meaning to, his eyes scanning the images. A younger Lori with her arms around a woman who must be her mother -same red hair, same warm smile. A group of students at what looked like a welcome party, all of them. laughing. A candid shot of Iva mid-laugh, her head thrown back, her eyes bright.

Family. Friends. Memories.

r

His gaze drifted to the desk itself. Medical textbooks stacked in a neat pile, their spines cracked from use. A notebook filled with notes in careful handwriting. A highlighter, its cap missing. A small potted plant near the window.

And there, half-hidden beneath a stack of papers, a gossip magazine.

Attia’s lips twitched.

He couldn’t help it. The image of this serious medical student, this girl who spent her nights studying and her days caring for others, sneaking glances at celebrity gossip-it was unexpectedly endearing.

He smiled.

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Visitors 3-

A small smile. Genuine. The first one that had come easily in longer than he could remember.

Then he made the mistake of inhaling.

Her scent flooded his senses.

Claim

It was everywhere-on the bed, the pillows, the air itself. Something floral, something warm, something uniquely her. It wrapped around him like a living thing, sinking into his lungs, his blood, his bones.

His wolf surged.

“Mate,” Athos growled, pushing against the walls of Attia’s control. “Ours. Claim. Now.”

Attia’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw tightened. His breathing turned shallow.

“No,” he commanded. “Control. We came here to talk. Not to scare her. Not to overwhelm her.”

“She is ours.”

“She is a person. Not a possession. We will not frighten her.”

The battle raged inside him-decades of discipline warring against primal instinct. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to unclench his fists, to remember why he was here.

He had to be calm.

For her.

The bathroom door opened.

Attia turned.

Lori emerged, her hair half-dried and combed, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She was dressed into a simple sweater and leggings-nothing fancy, nothing provocative-but the sight of her hit him like a physical blow.

She was short.

So much shorter than him. Her head would barely reach his chest. Her frame was small compared to his bulk, but she wasn’t skinny-she had curves in all the right places, soft and feminine and utterly distracting.

His throat went dry.

He couldn’t look away.

Lori’s cheeks flushed under his gaze. She gestured toward the small seating area-a worn armchair and the edge of her bed.

“Please,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Take a seat.”

Attia nodded, not trusting his voice.

He lowered himself into the armchair. It creaked under his weight, clearly not designed for someone of his size. His knees were almost level with his chest.

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Visitors 3

Lori sat on the edge of the bed across from him.

Claim

She looked at his massive frame-the way the simple sweater stretched across his broad shoulders, the way his large hands rested on his thighs, the way his presence seemed to suck all the air from the room.

The silence stretched between them.

Neither of them spoke.

Attia could hear his own heartbeat. Could hear hers, too-faster than his, fluttering like a bird trapped in a

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