CHAPTER 3 — THE MAN WHO KNOWS TOO MUCH
1220 Words
“Tell me what I am.”
Aurelia’s voice trembled, but she didn’t look away from Draven.
He stood just out of reach, his expression impossible to read.
The dead assassin was gone. The hall had emptied. Still, Aurelia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was center stage for an audience she couldn’t see.
“The sleeping girl,” she said quietly. “What was he talking about?”
Draven didn’t answer.
She lost her patience. “You can’t keep doing this.”
His eyes narrowed a bit. “Doing what?”
“Deflecting every question. Acting like you somehow know everything about me, and I’m left with nothing about you.”
Something flickered across his face—a flash of pain?—but it vanished before she could be sure.
He turned toward the corridor. “Come with me.”
She stayed put. “Where?”
“Somewhere we can talk without an audience.”
Aurelia hesitated. Something inside her screamed not to go anywhere alone with a man she barely trusted. But if she stayed, she’d only get more stares and no answers. And she was tired of feeling so lost.
So she followed.
Draven led her down a quiet hallway, right to a study tucked away at the end of the palace. Dark wooden walls, a big desk, and a fire glowing in the corner. The warmth brushed her face when he shut the door behind them.
She crossed her arms. “Start talking.”
Draven leaned against the desk, watching the fire. “You’re asking questions you aren’t ready to hear the answers to.”
She met his gaze, unblinking. “That’s not for you to decide.”
He looked at her and, for once, just said it: “You’re right.”
She hadn’t expected that—his agreement knocked her off balance.
He straightened up. “The assassin came because of you.”
“I figured that much.”
“It wasn’t just because you’re my mate.”
Aurelia’s stomach twisted. “Then why?”
Draven went silent again.
She pressed him. “Draven.”
He stared at her. “You were never wolfless.”
The room went silent—so still she forgot to breathe. “What?”
He took a careful step closer. “Your wolf is still there.”
She shook her head. “No. The healers said when I was a child—”
“They were wrong.”
“That’s impossible. Everybody can’t have been wrong.”
“They can, when someone makes sure they never tell the truth.”
Aurelia’s whole body went cold. “Who?”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t know.”
She let out a sharp, hollow laugh. “You don’t know?”
“I know some things.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then tell me!”
Her voice echoed off the bookshelves.
Draven stood there, unmoving. Aurelia felt her eyes burn.
“You knew my name the second you saw me.”
Silence.
“You knew I was your mate.”
Still no answer.
“You knew someone wanted me dead.”
Nothing.
“And that assassin called me ‘the sleeping girl.’”
She stepped close enough to see the tension in his jaw.
“How much do you know about me, Draven?”
He hesitated, then dropped his eyes. “More than I should.”
Her heartbeat picked up. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer, eyes distant.
She shook her head. “This is insane.”
Aurelia spun for the door—she needed out. She needed air and space from all of it. But just as she reached for the handle, Draven’s voice stopped her.
“Aurelia.”
She paused. “What.”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t buy it. “You’re shaking.”
She glanced down. He was right—her hands trembled. She hated how easily he noticed.
Before she could say anything, he shrugged off his black coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Heat settled around her like a shield.
She bristled and tried to give it back. “I don’t need this.”
He shook his head. “Keep it.”
She shoved it at him. “Why?”
He looked at her, his face softening in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Because I remember you always used to get cold.”
She froze.
Her grip on the coat tightened. “What did you just say?”
His guard shot up, but it was too late.
She stepped closer. “You said you remember me.”
He didn’t correct her.
“From when?”
“A long time ago.”
“How long?”
He looked away. “Long enough.”
Aurelia searched his face. Strange—he didn’t look like he was lying, not one bit.
“You’ve met me before.” Not a question.
Draven kept quiet.
She moved even closer. “Where?”
Finally, he met her eyes. “You wouldn’t remember.”
Her throat tightened. “Why?”
His gaze darkened. “Someone made sure you couldn’t.”
She swallowed. “Who?”
He wouldn’t answer. Again. Always another locked door.
She yanked the coat off her shoulders. “Take it.”
He didn’t move. “Why?”
“I don’t want anything from you!”
She shoved it at his chest, but he just looked down at her hand. His eyes locked on the thin white scar across her palm.
He reached for her hand.
She pulled back. “What?”
He kept staring at the scar. “You still have it.”
She went very still. “What?”
“That scar.”
She looked down at it, her breath shaky. “How do you know about it?”
Draven’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I was there when you got it.”
Her heart kicked against her chest. “When?”
“You were six.”
She stared at him. Nobody else knew that—not even Elias. She glanced at her palm. It was an old mark, a memory that faded more with each year.
“How?”
Draven took a deep breath. “You fell out of a tree.”
Her lips parted. “I did. And I cried for half an hour.”
Suddenly, the memory hit her—a flash of sunlight, a tree, her younger self weeping, and a boy at her side, holding her hand.
Just as fast, it faded.
Aurelia stumbled, dizzy. Draven caught her by the waist, and for a breathless moment, they were pressed together. Her heart banged in her chest.
He looked straight into her eyes. They were close enough she could feel his breath.
And she didn’t move away.
There was something about him that made sense and no sense at all—a feeling she couldn’t put into words.
He let go first, gentle. Aurelia stepped back.
“What else do you know about me?”
He watched her for a long moment, then his tone softened. “You used to hate thunder.”
Aurelia stared, speechless. No one else knew that.
For a moment, panic washed over her.
If Draven wasn’t lying—then who on earth was Aurelia, before she forgot herself?
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