Chapter 16

sixteen

KITANIA

Tommas’ lips curved into a genuine smile, dimples flashing. “Can’t sleep either?” he asked, closing his book and setting it aside. “Come join me. There’s plenty of room.”

His invitation, casual and warm, broke through my paralysis. I hesitated, torn between the urge to flee and an unexpected desire for company.

“I... I don’t want to disturb you,” I whispered, fidgeting with the blanket around my shoulders.

“I promise, you’re not disturbing me at all,” Tommas reassured me, patting the space beside him. “You’d be doing me a favor, actually. D always says I should never be left to my own devices. Besides, I’d love the company.” Seeing the indecision on my face, he smirked and added one last convincing argument. “I’ve got snacks.”

Biting my lip to hold back a smile at how adorably earnest he was being, I took a step and then another, and before I knew it, I was joining him in the nest. I swallowed hard as I settled carefully onto the plush pillows, hyper-aware of leaving some distance between us, despite the cozy space. The city sprawled below, a glittering maze of lights.

“What’s got you up so late?” Tommas asked softly.

I stared out at the cityscape, unable to meet his gaze. Did I tell him the truth?

“I had a nightmare,” I admitted quietly. “I... I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep right away.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and I could hear his genuine sincerity. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, still not looking at him. “What about you?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“I’m a bit of an insomniac.” He shrugged.

Biting my lip, I dared a glance in his direction. “What are you reading?”

Tommas grinned, easily letting me steer the conversation to safer waters. He didn’t push, instead holding up the book with its gleaming cover.

“It’s a fantasy novel,” he explained, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. “About dragon riders at a war academy. It’s really fuckin’ good.”

I found myself smiling at his puppy-like enthusiasm, and despite myself, I felt a spark of interest. “Really? I... I love fantasy books,” I admitted shyly.

Tommas’ face lit up, his smile widening. “Yeah? What’s your favorite?”

I hesitated, my mind racing through the books I’d managed to read between classes at the OMA. “I don’t get to read as much as I’d like, but I really enjoyed the Mistborn series,” I said softly. “The magic system was so unique.”

“Oh shit, that’s a great one!” Tommas exclaimed, his green eyes twinkling as brightly as the city lights. “Sanderson’s a genius.”

His enthusiasm was infectious, and I relaxed a bit. “Does… does your book have a love story in it?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. Romance books would forever be my favorite.

Tommas’ cheeks reddened slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. It does. A pretty steamy one, actually.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at his embarrassment, a real, genuine smile spreading across my face. It felt foreign, but good.

“I’ve always loved reading,” Tommas said wistfully. “Ever since I was a kid. My mom... she used to read to me every night.”

My heart clenched at the tenderness in his voice. “That sounds really nice,” I murmured.

He nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “When I got older, we’d spend hours in bookstores and libraries together. We’d leave with stacks of books almost as tall as I was.” He chuckled softly. “Pretty sure the librarians hated us.”

I leaned in, drawn by this glimpse of vulnerability. “Your mom sounds wonderful.” I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what it would’ve been like to have grown up with such an amazing mother. Or any family at all.

A shadow passed over Tommas’ face, and I immediately regretted my words. The pain of grief was recognizable and dolefully familiar. “She was,” he breathed, and my heart squeezed, understanding his sadness, lamenting his loss alongside him. “She... she died a few years ago.”

“Oh, Tommas, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm before catching myself.

He gave me a sad smile. “It’s okay. It’s... it’s nice to remember her, you know? To keep her memory alive.”

I nodded, my throat tight with unexpected emotion. “Yeah,” I managed. “I understand that.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of shared grief hanging between us. I wanted to comfort him, but was unsure how.

“I don’t remember much of my parents,” I offered, giving him a small piece of myself in return.

Tommas turned to me, his green eyes softening with concern. “No?” he asked gently.

I shook my head, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. “They died when I was six. Car accident.” The words felt hollow, rehearsed. I’d said them countless times over the years to so many people who didn’t really care.

But Tommas? Tommas looked like he cared. Unspoken understanding hung between us.

He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before taking my hand in his. His fingers were warm and strong as they interlaced with mine. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Kit,” he murmured, using a new nickname for me.

I loved it instantly.

While ‘Butterfly’ was light and flirtatious, there was weight and sincerity behind the shortened version of my name.

The tenderness in his voice made my chest ache. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “After that, it was just... foster homes. One after another.”

“You never had a permanent place?” Tommas asked, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. The gentle touch sent tingles up my arm.

I shook my head again. “Not really. There was one home I stayed in for about two years when I was ten. That’s the longest I was ever in one place, until…” I trailed off, memories of the OMA flashing through my mind.

“Until you designated?” Tommas guessed with more compassion than I’d have given him credit for.

I adored his playful spirit, but this serious, vulnerable side of him was captivating. Getting a peek behind the curtain and having the opportunity to see the genuine pieces of himself he usually kept hidden from others was a gift. I had a feeling only a few people got to know him like this. That he opened up to me made me feel indescribably special.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “As soon as I turned eighteen and designated as an Omega, I was handed over to the OMA. I was there for almost four years.”

Until someone kidnapped me … but I couldn’t get that part out past my suddenly tight throat.

I swallowed, leaving that chapter of my past out for the time being, not ready to face it or the nightmare still haunting the edges of my thoughts.

“Over sixteen years where I never really belonged anywhere.”

Tommas surprised me by reaching for my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Well, now you belong here, Butterfly,” he promised arduously. “With us.”

I looked up at him, my heart pounding. The candor in his eyes made me want to believe him so badly it hurt. But a lifetime of disappointment and broken promises had taught me to be wary.

“I…” I started, not sure what to say.

Tommas seemed to sense my hesitation. He tugged gently on my hand, nodding towards the pillows beside him. “Come here.” The command was soft, warm, and inviting.

I bit my lip, torn between my instinct to pull away and the desperate longing for human contact. The need for comfort won out. I scooted closer, letting Tommas guide me until I was curled up against his side.

I tensed for a moment before settling into him, my body unsure how to react to being so close to a half-naked man. But the warmth of his skin and the steady rise and fall of his chest gradually calmed my frayed nerves.

Tommas reached for his book, flipping back to the first page. “Want me to read to you?” His question rumbled through me, and I loved that I could feel his words.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I relaxed further as he dove into the pages, his rich baritone washing over me, painting vivid images of dragons and brave riders. The story was captivating, but it was Tommas’ presence that truly soothed me and chased away the remnants of my nightmares.

My eyelids grew heavy as exhaustion crept in. I snuggled deeper into his side, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. His scent enveloped me—that subtle blend of lime, wild mint, and a hint of coconut rum.

“Tommas?” I murmured, fighting to keep my eyes open.

He paused his reading. “You can call me Tommy, if you want.”

My lips curled upward, recognizing it was a nickname he reserved for the people he considered close friends and family. A pleasant flutter went through my stomach.

“Okay. Tommy?”

He hummed approvingly, and I heard the smile in his voice. “Yes, Butterfly?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my words slurring slightly with fatigue.

I felt his chest rumble with a soft chuckle. “You don’t have to thank me.” He turned and placed a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m happy to be your pillow anytime you need one.”

I smiled against his skin. “You know what I meant.”

He sobered. “I do. And you don’t have to thank me for that either.”

The best kind of warmth spread throughout my entire body. As I drifted off, I realized that for the first time in years; I felt truly safe.

I held onto that feeling, wanting to savor it, wanting it to last.

Maybe, just maybe, Tommy was right, and I had finally found the place I belonged.