Traded To The Lycan King by MG Wattsons novel Chapter 103

It’s been days now, and with every sunrise comes a stronger, more confident Colette. She wakes before the sun, barely eats and then she is off to play with the water. Not that I am bitter.

I get to hold her as she snores all night long, watching her perfect face, measuring every single breath, and adding it to my list of favorite things she does. But, I am lonely. It’s different to miss someone when they are gone. I missed her so much it caused physical pain when she was gone.

This is a stranger version of that. It’s watching her grow and loving every minute but longing for that reunion we missed out on. In books or a movie, the heron rescues the woman and they embrace, and then they get their happily ever after.

She has been both rescued and the rescuer and yet, our happily ever after is still yet to come. I want to memorize every part of her, erase the horrors she experienced with mind numbing pleasure.

But most importantly, I want a real fucking life with her. Colette deserves a life of simple pleasures. A walk to the beach, swimming with our children, laughing as I do something incredibly stupid as we know I will.

There is a knock at my door and I sigh, pushing away from the small weathered table in our little room. It is no surprise to see Melody on the other side, looking more healed than she has been, though she still seems sickly. Not that it should surprise me with her mate still maintaining a literal ocean between them.

“Have you spoken with her yet about your idea?” She asks, wringing her hands. I sigh and give her an annoyed frown before pushing past her into the hallway.

“No, Melody, I have not.” I tell her, padding down the hall toward the kitchen. My inability to sleep for fear of waking up to Colette not being there is taking a toll on me.

“Is that because you are afraid she will do something stupid?” She asks, chasing me down. For the past three days since telling her and Calvin my thought process on how to take down Giselle, she has been trying to convince me I should keep it from Colette.

“I don’t keep things from Colette.” I remind her, and she races around the counter, blocking the coffee pot from me.

“And yet it’s been days and you haven’t told her yet.” She says as if she has caught me in some terrible scheme. I scoff and roll my eyes.

“Melody, you are standing between me and the only shred of sanity I have. Move out of the way and then we can talk.” I growl.

Her eyes grow wide and she clears her throat, brushing her hands over her shirt as she grows red in the face. It is obvious she is embarrassed at how she is reacting, but truth be told, I understand it.

She only just got her daughter back after ten years. Melody isn’t aware of how strong and wonderful her daughter is. But I am, which is why when Colette is awake enough, or rather, less exhausted from training, I will tell her what’s on my mind.

She walks away, taking a seat at the table that overlooks the very waves our mates are hidden beneath. Melody does this a lot, staring off into the distance, her mind either lost or maybe it shuts off from time to time. Perhaps a learned trait from years of pain and torture.

After pouring my cup of coffee, I groan to myself and take my mug to the table. I take a seat across from her, moving it to face the window as well. If we are lucky, we may be able to catch a glimpse of them.

But ever since Colette learned she can hold her breath for an extended period of time and that in wolf form she can breathe underwater. We are lucky if we see them for a few minutes every couple of hours.

“He still hasn’t come to see you?” I ask, looking down at my steaming cup. She lets out a sad, dry laugh that is meant to mask her pain, the tears she would much rather shed.

“Why would he come see me?” Melody whispers, clearing her throat as she moves around in the chair.

“You are mates,” I say, sliding a curious look at her. She picks at the fabric of her fluffy pajama pants and shakes her head.

“I don’t know what we are,” she whispers into the air. “Parents, estranged lovers, broken…anything but mates, I guess.”

Her voice breaks and she sniffles as she looks away and yet again clears her throat. I reflect on her statement, weighing each word before realizing Colette and I have been two of those three things and yet, here we are stronger for it.