Page 7 of The Silent Mate

A plain, almost empty room greeted me. One king-sized bed rested on the far wall, a gray quilt draped over the mattress with sparse pillows decorating the headboard. Two nightstandsbracketed the bed’s sides, and a single wardrobe stood tall by the windows. The walls didn’t contain a single decoration.

The drapes were open, allowing sunlight to stream into the otherwise dark, plain space.

“Is this… your bedroom?” I wondered, chewing on my bottom lip. I wrapped my arms around my waist, fingers clenched around the fabric of my blouse.

Another small dip of his chin, further confirming my theory that Malik could not speak.

“It– It’s so empty,” I whispered, daring another step into the room.

It looked nothing like my bedroom back home. In fact, it looked like no one had stepped foot in it in months. The more that my eyes wandered, the more I realized that the room held no trace of Malik—no trace oflife—anywhere.

I inhaled deep and found stale traces of tobacco and mint. It smelt like he hadn’t slept in this room in weeks, if not longer. Did that mean he slept elsewhere? Perhaps he owned multiple rooms in this castle-like home? Or, maybe he slept in someoneelse’sroom instead?

My stomach twisted at the idea of this man—thisstranger—with another. The taste of iron coated my tongue, and I realized too late that I’d gnawed through the external skin on my lip.

Goddess, please don’t let my mate’s heart belong to another woman,I silently prayed.

The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, and when I looked up, I found Malik watching me intently. His eyes, one pale and sightless and the other intense gray, narrowed, as if faced with a puzzle he couldn’t begin to solve. His lips pulled into a thin line, the scarred portion puckering in the slightest.

I forced myself to hold his authoritative gaze, refusing to shy away from the power emanating off of himorthe sight of his disfigurement.

I swallowed my nerves and, desperate to fill the silence, decided to properly introduce myself. We’d met under unideal circumstances, after all. “My name is Aria. Aria Knox.”

Disconcertingly, his expression didn’t shift. He continued to watch me carefully, like a specimen under a microscope. Was he displeased?

My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my white blouse, and I suddenly wished that I’d worn something nicer. A dress, maybe. Or, at least my favorite bra that made my modest breasts appear a size larger than they were.

Even more, I wished that I didn’t care what this man thought of me. I’d never concerned myself with the opinion of any man, other than Dad, before.

This is no ordinary man,I reminded myself. Our souls were linked. We shared an instinctual, primitive bond that I could already feel in the very fiber of my being, drawing me to him. I couldn’t fathom how it could somehow grow stronger and more profound once we took the final step.

Ifwe took the final step. I couldn’t read his scrutinizing glare. What if he didn’t want me? Did I evenwanthim to want me?

When it became evident that Malik had no intention of replying, verbally or otherwise, heat crept up my neck. My fingers curled into fists at my side as frustration threatened to rear its ugly head. How in the hells did he expect us to communicate?

“Can you speak?” I asked, adrenaline loosening my lips, no longer willing to beat around the bush.

A little line creased between his stern brow, and his eyes hardened. For a moment, I feared I’d offended him. My question, admittedly, lacked tact…

But, slowly, Malik stepped closer, a predator on the prowl. My heart accelerated, and I had to tilt my chin up to hold hisgaze as he came to a stop mere paces in front of me. The delicious combination of his scent washed over me, and I fought the urge to close the distance between our bodies, if only to wrap myself in the essence of him.

One of his hands lifted from his side, and, for a moment, I hoped he would bridge the distance between our bodies to touch me.

Instead, he brought it to his own neck and rubbed at a spot just beneath his Adam's apple. I narrowed my eyes, daring a step closer, and Malik tipped his head back.

A soft gasp slipped past my lips when I saw it.

Where his full, short beard faded into stubble, an angry scar stretched horizontally across his neck. The line was jagged, as if a dull, serrated knife had been used to saw away at flesh and bone and tendon.

Or, not aknifeat all. A jagged claw could’ve inflicted that sort of damage. More than likely the same claw that ruined the right side of his face.

Malik’s answer was clear.No, he couldn’t speak.

A shudder trickled down my spine. How could anyone, even someone blessed with the enhanced healing of a shifter, survive that?

“Oh.” I swallowed, goosebumps skimming up and down my arms. “How did that happen?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

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