Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 218: _ Mi Cielo

Chapter 218: _ Mi Cielo

"Do you ever get scared?"

"All the time."

"Especially when it comes to you."

"Me?"

He nodded against my neck. "You make me feel things I thought were locked up a long time ago. And that’s... terrifying."

I didn’t know what to say. My heart was doing the most annoying soft drumroll against my ribs, and my brain had left the building entirely.

So I said the first stupid thing that came to mind.

"Do you think bats are afraid of the dark?"

There was a pause. Then: "What?"

"Sorry. Panic question. I didn’t know how to respond so my brain short-circuited and offered that instead."

He laughed so hard his whole body shook behind me. "Oh, my God. You’re ridiculous."

"You hate that."

"No, no. I love it," he admitted, tucking me closer like I was the punchline he’d been searching for.

We lay there in silence for a while, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my stomach beneath the shirt, and I felt more at peace than I had in months. Maybe ever.

"You should sleep," he murmured.

"I don’t want to waste this."

He nuzzled behind my ear. "We’ve got forever."

My chest did a somersault, then a triple spin, then a backflip. "That’s a long time."

"Hope so," he said.

And just like that, I closed my eyes. Not because I was tired. But because for the first time in ages, I was safe enough to do so.

*****

The sunlight was sneaky.

It crept through the gap in the curtains like it had something to prove, spilling warm gold across the bed and trailing soft lines up the sheets until it found my face. I scrunched my nose, groaned, and buried my face deeper into the pillow...

Only to remember the pillow was actually a very muscly, very warm, and very breathing man.

I froze.

I was practically pasted to him like a koala in a dryer. Legs tangled, arms wrapped, and my face somewhere between his neck and shoulder.

And my hand—oh God, my hand was on his bare chest again. Right over his heart like some clingy romantic fool from a cheesy drama.

I tried to move it. It didn’t move.

He’d trapped me in his sleep. His arm had curled so tightly around my waist that it was now a medically questionable restraint. And his leg—oh, his leg was slung across mine like we were in a romantic wrestling match.

Well. I guess I wasn’t going anywhere.

Not that I minded.

His hair was a mess of soft waves across the pillow. His lashes were dark against his cheeks, and his mouth—oh Lord, his mouth was parted just a bit.

He looked less like the rebellious Beta people whispered about and more like a sweet, exhausted lion who needed one more nap.

I should’ve looked away. Given him privacy. But instead, I watched. And I mean watched too intently.

The way his chest rose and fell. The way his hand twitched every now and then like he was dreaming of something active—fighting, maybe, or chasing squirrels. I memorized the tiny scar at the base of his neck, the one I hadn’t noticed last night in the steam and chaos.

I wondered what had caused it. A fight? A fall? Something worse?

He looked... peaceful. And younger, somehow. Like someone who hadn’t had to carry the weight of a rebellious life, of expectations, and of secrets.

God, he was beautiful. And I’d seen all of him.

Heat flared up my neck so fast it practically steamed. What was I supposed to do now? Cuddle him? Wake him? Write a poem?

I brushed a stray hair from his forehead. He sighed in response. It was a deep contented noise that made my insides twist.

This man.

This man who had seen me scarred, vulnerable, shaking—and treated me like I was sacred. Who had washed me with reverence, made me laugh mid-trauma, and whispered kindness into the darkest cracks of my mind.

I didn’t know what this was yet. But I knew what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t a game. And it sure as hell wasn’t just physical.

I stayed like that for a while, just watching and feeling. Letting the calm settle over me like a second blanket. And then, because I was annoying in my own little way, I poked his cheek gently.

He didn’t move.

I poked again. Still nothing.

"Axel," I whispered.

There was no reaction. So I leaned in, barely an inch from his ear, and said, "You snore like a dying horse."

His eyes flew open.

"Excuse me?!"

I squealed and tried to roll away, but he caught me mid-escape and dragged me right back against him, grinning like a madman.

"Dying horse? That’s what I get for cuddling you all night?"

I was laughing too hard to respond. "I take it back! You snore like a majestic dragon!"

"Better," he said smugly, pinning me with his arms. "Now say I’m the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life."

"Axel..."

"Say it or I’ll flex again."

Oh, Dios, no. When he did that last night, my vagina watered up and dripped, and I didn’t know why. What I knew was that I wouldn’t leave here if he did that again until he gave my body with it wanted.

What my body wanted... That, I had not the slightest clue.

I gasped. "You wouldn’t."

He raised a brow. "Try me."

"Fine! You’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life! Happy?!"

He smirked. "Ecstatic."

I rolled my eyes and slapped his chest lightly. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are. In my shirt. In my bed. Admiring me like I’m Michelangelo’s David."

"Oh my God, please shut up."

"Make me."

And because I was a fool, I kissed him. It was quick and light and Just enough to make his eyes go wide and his arms tighten.

"You’re dangerous, María José," he murmured.

"Only to idiots who flex in the shower."

He laughed again, full and loud, and I thought:

This... This is what healing could look like.

Two idiots in love, wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm.

.

.

He didn’t let go.

Even after the laughter faded and my cheeks were sore from smiling, Axel held me like I was a treasure he’d almost lost. One arm snug around my waist, the other playing with a loose strand of my hair, twirling it with the kind of care that made my stupid heart stutter like a faulty car engine.

He looked down at me like I held the universe on my face.

"You’re staring," I whispered.

"You’re pretty," he whispered back, then grinned. "Even when you drool on my chest."

He still says I’m pretty despite this ugly scar. I didn’t know what to believe. Him or reality.

I gasped at his drooling accusation, swatting him with the nearest pillow. "I did not!"

He caught the pillow in the air and raised a brow. "I didn’t say you did. But you just confirmed it."

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me."

He always said that in an indirect invitation to intimacy, I figured.

I rolled my eyes so hard that they practically did a full somersault. But my body betrayed me by leaning into him like he was gravity and I was a lonely piece of space debris ready to crash into orbit.

Again.

"Just cuddle me," I grumbled, tucking myself tighter into the warmth of his body.

He hummed in a low and delicious way... like a song only I got to hear. "You don’t have to ask twice."

And he did. He tucked me in like I was a favorite blanket he never wanted to wash. His big hand slid under the hem of his shirt... which, okay, technically was now my shirt—and rested right on my waist.

His thumb was drawing soft and lazy circles that made my skin feel like it had grown extra nerves just to feel him better. My thigh was still tangled with his, and now he angled his body so that we fit even closer; like puzzle pieces someone finally clicked together.

My chest rose and fell against his. I could feel his breath, steady and slow. But underneath that was something else. A low thrum. It was like anticipation. His heart beat just a little faster.

So did mine. Then he shifted again, this time with intent.

He pressed his lips to my forehead first, lingering like the moment deserved reverence. Then to my temple. Then to my cheek. Each kiss was soft and slow and worshipful. He kissed me like I was some long-lost prayer.

And then he found it; his mark on my neck.

He inhaled against it like it was his favorite scent, then let out a groan that made my legs twitch.

"You still smell like mine," he muttered, kissing it again.

I felt it deep—deeper than bone or blood. Something stirred in the pit of me. Something that wasn’t there before.

I tried to push it away, to ignore the heat crawling up my spine, but his mouth was hot and possessive on my neck, and the way he held me—Dios, the way he held me, it was like I belonged to him.

He kissed the mark again, and this time I whimpered.

"Axel..."

"Say it again."

"W-what?"

"My name. Say it."

His tongue flicked against the mark, and I felt it. Not just on my skin but in some strange echo inside my mind like someone struck a bell in a hollow cave and the sound traveled through every inch of me.

"Axel," I gasped, my voice now high and strained.

He groaned. "That’s it, mi cielo."

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