Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 267: I Like You

Chapter 267: I Like You

Eldur’s POV

The rain was relentless—angry, the way I liked it. The kind that smacked the concrete like it had something to prove. It bled through the sleeves of my jacket, soaked into the hem of my hoodie, and plastered my white hair to my forehead like a soggy crown. The storm wrapped around me like a second skin, and for once, I didn’t care.

Then I heard her.

Not her voice—no, that would’ve been too easy.

Her heartbeat.

Steady, but uncalibrated. Like a violin string too tight. I turned the corner, and there she was—sitting on the steps of my building like some drenched, wide-eyed ghost who didn’t know if she belonged to the world of the living or dead.

Nova.

Goddess help me.

Her hoodie clung to her like wet paper. She looked so small and yet—there she was. On my doorstep. After everything. After telling me to stay away. After pretending I didn’t exist outside her peripherals. After acting like Amara didn’t bother her at all.

I froze.

Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

Just stared.

Her big eyes blinked at me through the curtain of rain. Water trickled down her face like tears she hadn’t earned yet. She looked miserable. Beautiful. Out of place and exactly where I needed her to be.

"...Nova?" My voice barely made it past the thunder in my chest.

She jumped to her feet like someone had electrocuted her spine and immediately slipped on the slick step. I almost moved to catch her, but she steadied herself on the railing before I could look heroic. Damn it.

"I—uh—I didn’t mean to just show up," she blurted, voice fumbling out of her like coins from a broken vending machine. "I know it’s weird. You can tell me to go. I’ll go. I just..."

Just. Just. Just.

Humans and their justs.

"You’re soaked," I said, because what the hell else was I supposed to say?

She glanced down at herself like she hadn’t noticed the cold water making love to her spine all evening. "Yeah. I noticed." Her laugh was weak, and slightly adorable in a deeply frustrating way.

I narrowed my eyes. "Why are you here?"

The question hung between us like a blade. I saw the moment it stabbed her—how her shoulders curled in, how her throat bobbed. Still, she met my eyes.

"I just... I needed to see you."

I blinked, mouth suddenly dry.

"Why?" I asked again, quieter. Gentler. That wasn’t like me. I hated gentle.

Her lashes were spiked with rain, her cheeks flushed and wet. "Because I was wrong," she whispered. "Because I told you to leave me alone and I didn’t mean it. Because you smiled at her and I hated it, and I don’t know what that makes me."

Jealous, I wanted to say. It makes you jealous, Nova. Like I’d been every day you talked to any guy with two functioning hands and a pulse.

I took a step forward.

"And because every time I tried to forget you," she said shakily, "you showed up in my dreams like some annoying storm cloud with great cheekbones."

My brow twitched. I almost—almost—laughed. "Storm cloud?" I echoed. "With great cheekbones?"

She glared at me like I’d insulted her ancestors. "I’m trying to be sincere here, Daegon."

My mouth twitched again. Dammit. She made sincerity look funny.

I let out a breath, and it turned into a laugh—real and stunned and absolutely traitorous to my reputation.

She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"I’m sorry I pushed you away," she whispered. "I got scared. You were... intense. And different. And I liked you so much, it freaked me out."

Another step. Now I could see the tremble in her fingers.

I was always intense. Always different. No one had ever admitted they liked me for it.

I stood right in front of her. She didn’t flinch.

"I’m not good at this," she said, voice breaking like glass under bare feet.

"Neither am I." I paused, dragging my gaze down her face. "I hurt people. I push them away. But not you."

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

"I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to run," I went on, my voice suddenly thick. "I didn’t want to get close to you either. Because when people get close, they find out things. Things they can’t understand. Things that break them."

Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

I hesitated. I could feel the words clawing up my throat. I’m not human, Nova. I can open portals and light people on fire with my fingertips. But I swallowed them.

"Doesn’t matter," I muttered, dodging it like a coward. "Point is... I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be the kind of guy who says all the right things. But I never wanted to hurt you."

"You didn’t," she whispered. "I just... hurt myself."

My chest tightened.

Her face was soft, open, raw. My fingers ached to touch her.

"I missed you," she said so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t. Not when her voice echoed through my bones like a song I wasn’t ready for.

I raised my hand. It hovered, unsure—then I brushed a wet curl from her forehead. Her skin was icy under my fingers.

"You’re freezing."

"I was waiting."

I gave her a look. "That’s dumb."

"I know."

I exhaled through my nose—half a sigh, half a laugh. "Come inside."

She stepped forward. Close enough for me to smell the rain on her skin and the sweetness of her shampoo.

"Will you let me?" she asked.

I opened the door. "Only if you promise not to run away again. And don’t cry in my apartment. I hate crying humans."

A smirk twitched on her lips. "I’m not running. And I won’t cry."

"Yet."

She was about to step inside. Into my space. My world. I should’ve been ready.

But I wasn’t.

As Nova hovered just outside the threshold, eyes bright and unsure, I flicked my fingers behind my back—subtle, quick. A breath of magic slipped from my palm and pulsed through the apartment, unseen.

The room shifted. The air rippled like the surface of a pond.

Books rearranged themselves, the dark blanket folded neatly on the couch. The same hoodie she’d once borrowed and thrown haphazardly on the chair was now draped there again, like nothing had changed. Like she had never stormed out and shattered the silence that had once felt comforting.

She didn’t notice. Humans were good like that—blissfully unaware of the power crackling beneath their noses.

But I noticed everything.

When she stepped inside, the soft click of the door behind her felt like a lock sliding into place inside my ribs. She glanced around, then turned to me with a ghost of a smile.

"It looks exactly the same," she said.

Because I made it so. Because she mattered.

"You expected balloons and confetti?" I teased.

"No," she said with a small laugh. "But maybe, like... one less book about war on the coffee table?"

I looked at the offending title. The History of Magical Warfare. Oops.

I shrugged. "I like war."

She raised a brow. "That’s... not a reassuring sentence, Daegon."

"Too bad. Come on." I gestured toward the couch, pretending I didn’t notice the way she rubbed her arms.

She was still soaked from the rain. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks, her sweater heavy with water. Every protective instinct I didn’t know I had stirred in my chest.

Without thinking, I vanished for a second—literally. A small portal whisked me to my room and back before she could blink. I handed her a bundle of warm clothes: one of my sweatshirts—deep navy, soft as hell—and flannel pajama pants that had definitely never been worn by me. I didn’t do flannel.

"Here," I said, pretending it was no big deal. "Dry off before you catch a human disease."

She stared at the clothes, then at me. "Are these yours?"

"No," I deadpanned. "I stole them from Santa."

She rolled her eyes but accepted them. "Thanks... I guess I’ll just use your bathroom?"

"Unless you plan to change in the hallway, sure."

She blushed, muttered something under her breath that sounded like "jerk," and disappeared down the hall.

I let out a breath the moment she was out of sight.

I needed to get her something warm. Food. Something simple, fast. Something human.

With a flick of my fingers, I conjured a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich—perfectly golden, crust slightly crispy. Nova would never know it wasn’t made with a mortal pan and some desperate prayer to Gordon Ramsay. I even added a tiny sprig of parsley on the side because I had flair, damn it.

When she returned, she looked... safe. Warm. My sweatshirt swallowed her whole, sleeves dangling past her fingers, and it made my chest ache. It looked better on her than it ever did on me.

"You have... soup?" she asked, blinking as she caught sight of the tray.

"I’m not completely useless."

She smiled—small and real. "Thanks."

We settled on the couch. She tucked one leg under her, sipping the soup quietly, making soft noises of approval with every bite. I pretended not to watch her like a starved man.

When the food was done, I handed her the remote. She blinked.

"You’re letting me choose?" she asked, as if I’d offered her a throne.

"I’m feeling generous."

She picked a movie—some romantic drama with way too many emotional violins—and I groaned inwardly. But I didn’t object. I’d sit through anything if it meant sitting beside her.

For a while, we were just quiet. Rain tapped at the window. The movie played. My hand rested on my thigh, unmoving. Her shoulder hovered inches from mine, and it might as well have been miles.

Then, slowly... she moved.

Tentatively, shyly, like a kitten testing the warmth of the sun, she leaned against me. Her head found my shoulder. Her fingers curled into the hem of the sweatshirt.

I didn’t move.

Hell, I didn’t even breathe.

Because for the first time in a month, something inside me unclenched. I didn’t need words. I didn’t need spells or portals or centuries of magic to tell me this—this—was what peace felt like.

And then, just when I thought my heart had done enough betrayal for one night, she spoke.

"Eldur?" she said quietly, her voice barely above the sound of rain.

I looked down, careful. "Yeah?"

"I think I like you," she whispered, words tumbling out like they were afraid to exist for too long. "No. I know I like you. Even when you’re grumpy. Even when you act like a total ass. Even when you pretend you don’t care, but you do, and you try so hard not to show it."

I blinked.

My breath caught in my throat like I’d swallowed a comet.

She liked me?

"You’re not just saying that because I made you soup?" I asked stupidly.

She swatted my arm, half-laughing, half-hiding her face against my shoulder. "No, idiot."

And just like that, the walls inside me cracked. Not the big ones—I still had secrets she couldn’t know. But this one... the one between honesty and self-sabotage... it broke.

I reached out, cupping her cheek gently, tilting her face up toward mine. Her eyes widened. Her breath hitched.

"You really like me?" I asked, searching her gaze like it held all the answers to the universe.

She nodded. "I really do."

And in that moment, something simple but terrifying happened:

I believed her.

So I kissed her.

Soft at first. Careful. Testing.

Her lips were warm, sweet, slightly chapped from the cold, and they moved against mine like they’d been waiting—like we both had.

The kiss deepened, slow and full of unsaid things. I felt her fingers curl into the front of my sweatshirt, holding on like she didn’t want to let go.

Neither did I.

When we finally pulled apart, her eyes were glassy, dazed. Beautiful.

"I... guess that means you like me too?" she whispered.

I smiled—just a little. "Took you long enough to figure it out."

She snorted softly. "You’re insufferable."

"You’re warm."

"Your couch is lumpy."

"You’re stealing my hoodie."

"You gave it to me."

"Same thing."

We stayed there, in our ridiculous tangle of limbs and warmth and tension finally broken, and for what felt like a long, long time...

I didn’t feel like a monster trying to fit into a human world.

I just felt like a boy, on a couch, holding the girl who made storms feel like spring rain.

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