Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

SALEM

T he cab ride back to my apartment passed in comfortable silence while Fallon and I were both lost in our thoughts. When we arrived at my building, Fallon followed me up to my apartment. With arching hands, I fumbled for my keys. As the door swung open, my heart skipped a beat, and a rush of adrenaline flooded my veins at the sight that greeted us.

There, in the dimly lit interior of my apartment, stood Mateo, his silhouette cast in sharp relief against the muted glow of the lamplight. His presence sent a shiver down my spine, a primal instinct warning me of the danger that lurked beneath his outwardly calm demeanor.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I blurted out, my voice laden with surprise.

Fallon echoed my sentiment, her tone laced with suspicion as she stepped forward to stand beside me. ″This is a little creepy, Mateo, even for you,″ she scolded.

Mateo's lips curled into a sardonic smirk, his gaze flickering between us with amusement. "Relax, ladies. I'm just here to take care of the cat."

I narrowed my eyes at him, a wave of irritation rising within me at his cavalier attitude. "Take care of the cat?" I repeated. "Since when did you become the resident pet sitter?"

Mateo shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze never wavering from mine. "Since I realized your friend was doing a piss-poor job of it," he retorted, his tone bordering on insolence. "I figured I'd take over."

Fallon scoffed while I replied to the madman. "That's a load of crap, and you know it," I shot back, my voice sharp with reproach. "You had no right to come barging in here uninvited. How did you even know I had a cat?"

Mateo's smirk widened into a grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Okay, fine, your little friend was doing a good job, but Loki here was lonely. And never mind how I knew. I just know things."

I bristled at his flippant attitude, a surge of anger coursing through me at his blatant disregard for boundaries. "You need to leave," I said firmly, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Now."

To my surprise, Mateo's expression softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features as he regarded me with a hint of contrition. "No," he muttered. "I know I hurt you, Salem, but I'm not leaving."

Without a word, Mateo closed the distance between us, his footsteps echoing in the hushed silence as he approached. His gaze was fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He reached out and gently took hold of my chin, his touch firm yet strangely comforting as he tilted my head from side to side, his eyes searching mine for answers.

I swallowed hard, my eyes shifting between his gray ones as I struggled with what to say. His expression softened with empathy as he took the bag from my shoulder, the weight of it seeming to lift a burden from my weary shoulders. "You'll tell me who hurt you, little wolf," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "And then I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

With a gentle hand on my back, he guided me over to the couch, where Fallon sat waiting, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

Fallon nodded, her gaze flickering between Mateo and me. "I'm fine," she replied. "Just glad to be back."

I shot her a grateful smile, a silent acknowledgment of what she had done for me.

As Mateo settled onto the couch beside us, his expression darkening with anger, I knew it was time to reveal the truth. Taking a deep breath, I recounted the events that had led me to New Orleans, the sinister machinations of my father, and the deal he had struck with Atticus Boudreaux.

Mateo's fury was palpable, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he listened to my words. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. "I'll tear him limb from limb."

Fallon laid a hand on his arm, her touch a silent plea for restraint. "Mateo, we need to be smart about this," she said firmly, her eyes meeting his with unwavering strength. "Massimo will get what's coming to him. But we need to be strategic."

He nodded reluctantly, his anger tempered by her words of reason. "You're right," he conceded, his voice heavy with resignation. "But we are not letting him get away with this."

I squeezed his hand, a silent gesture of gratitude. "Alright, little wolf," he continued. "Why don't you go take a shower? I'll rustle up something for us to eat, and then I can take a look at those wounds you're trying so hard to hide."

His words caught me off guard, and I fought to conceal the surprise that flickered across my features. I had been careful to mask my discomfort, to hide the evidence of the ordeal I had endured in New Orleans. But Mateo had always been a perceptive fucker, attuned to even the slightest shifts in my mood or demeanor.

"Sure," I replied, forcing a casual tone despite the knot of tension that coiled in the pit of my stomach. "Sounds good."

I begrudgingly made my way to the bathroom. Mateo's concern was touching, but my heart was too fragile to let him bulldoze his way back in.

My skin had started to wrinkle from being in the shower for so long. The water cascaded over me in soothing waves, the steam rising to envelop me in a comforting embrace. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my bones, chasing away the lingering chill of fear that had settled within me. When I finally reached for the shampoo bottle, my wounds protested, and my fingers faltered. The simple act of washing my hair suddenly felt like an insurmountable task.

"Salem?"

The sound of Mateo's voice shattered the stillness of the bathroom, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I registered his presence behind me. I turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression concerned.

"What are you doing in here?" I demanded, my voice edged with frustration as I tried to conceal my vulnerability.

Mateo stepped forward, his gaze unwavering as he crossed the threshold into the bathroom. "I came to assess the full damage," he replied simply. "Plus, I thought you might need some help."

I bristled at his words, the instinct to push him away warring with the desperate need for his support. "I don't need your help," I snapped, my voice betraying the tremor of uncertainty that lingered within me.

But Mateo refused to be deterred, his eyes softening as he moved closer. "Yeah, well, I beg to differ," he retorted, his tone laced with quiet determination. "Now, turn around and let me help you with that."

Before I could protest, Mateo stepped fully clothed into the shower and reached for the shampoo bottle. His fingers deftly worked the liquid into a lather. "I called Lennox," he informed, his voice soft yet resolute. "He came and got Fallon to take her home."

I stood frozen in place as he began to massage the shampoo into my hair, his touch gentle as he worked out the knots and tangles.

"Seriously, Mateo," I protested weakly, my voice barely above a whisper as I struggled to maintain my composure. "I can do this myself."

But Mateo simply shook his head. "Shut up," he admonished, his tone soft yet firm. "You're strong, you're independent, and fuck are you stubborn. And I love that about you, so I don't expect you to ask for my help. But damn it, Salem, you will accept it when I give it."

The persevering pride that had always been my downfall rose to the surface. But as Mateo continued to wash my hair, I found myself slowly relenting, the tension seeping from my muscles as I surrendered to his ministrations.

"Fine," I conceded begrudgingly, my voice barely a whisper as I closed my eyes, allowing myself to lean into his touch. "But only because I know you won't give up until you get your way."

Mateo chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine as he continued to work the shampoo into my hair. "Damn right," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. "I'm not about to let you push me away, Salem. Not now, not ever."

As I stood beneath the warm spray of the shower, flanked by Mateo's outstretched arms, I felt gratitude wash over me. I didn't want to let him back in, but in that moment, I realized that I liked not having to face my demons alone.

When he had finished washing my hair, Mateo helped me out of the shower, his touch gentle and reassuring.

I winced as he carefully inspected my wounds, his fingers working to clean and dress each one with practiced ease. The pain was a dull ache that throbbed with every movement, but Mateo's presence was a soothing balm, his touch a welcomed respite.

"There," he murmured softly as he finished tending to my injuries. "All patched up."

I offered him a weak smile as I met his eyes. "Thanks," I whispered, reaching for the fluffy robe he held out for me.

Mateo nodded in response, his expression a mixture of concern and affection as he helped me slip into the soft fabric. "You're welcome, sweetheart," he replied, gently kissing the scar on my cheek and tucking me into bed.

I watched in silence as he moved around the room, his actions purposeful yet unhurried as he tidied up the remnants of our impromptu first-aid session. Peace settled over me in his company, a quiet relief in not being alone.

As he made to leave, I found myself reaching out to him, my hand grasping his arm in a silent plea for his continued presence. "Stay," I whispered.

Mateo hesitated, his expression unreadable as he considered my request. But then, with a soft sigh of relief, he relented, his hand coming to rest atop mine.

"You couldn't get rid of me if you tried," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper as he climbed into bed with me.