much as I

Cahill

I grab her arms to keep her from falling, then make the stupid mistake of looking into her eyes.

Those drowsy, half-asleep eyes widen, and she stares at me uneasily.

My eyes are still fixated on her uncomfortable gaze, with my mouth curving upward as my gaze lowers to the top of her heart-shaped lips that seem to be quivering, accompanied by tiny beads of sweat.

Her mouth appears to be like that of a child's, soft looking and sad as if giving into tears, that I can feel my breath deepening. Genova's mouth isn't like this. It was always in a side smirk or a full-blown smile. But was devoid of innocence, sold her out as a woman who's had enough experience with men and knew her way about. 

Mathilda's throat that is so pale is reddening like a freshly plucked out tomato from the garden, giving out that she's getting flushed because she's in my arms like this. 

She appears to be so lightweighted that I doubt she even eats properly. I can lift her up with just a hand. Her skin is so soft and her bones too delicate. Can she even go on a pack run and not break a bone? I'll bet her wolf is neglected from getting its regular exercise and will be too fragile when she lets it out. 

Her wolf needs to be trained in order to gain weight and be normal like other wolves.

And those damn hazel eyes of hers are filling up with fear, tenderness, warmth, and as well darkening her pupils with something that cannot be fathomed by words.

Bewildered at the fact that I have stared at her for too long, and my hands are still bounded around her tiny waist, I settle her properly on the floor and then put some necessary distance between us because something which I cannot decipher is slowly creeping inside of me and lending an extending hand to poke on the beast within me.

"I'm sorry for my clumsiness," she apologizes, avoiding my eyes and taking a step backward and unknowingly bumping into a seat, earning a silent chuckle from me.

But then I suddenly get a grip of myself, I'm not supposed to find anything comical right now.

"You're weak," I mutter with distaste, "so fragile that I can break you with two of my fingers." I continue, staring at her feet that are clad in black flats, putting on display the ivory skin on her feet that is clouded in veins. "How come you're like this when you have three physically fit brothers?"

"They didn't want to stress me because I have to deal with school and shuffle between work to foot my tuition fee and other expenses," 

"I suppose you're the spoilt-rotten brat in the family," I quip, making sure it makes her feel more bad than normal because she's too fragile and it's getting me irritated and slightly bored. No one, not even her now ex-mate could make her fit, I doubt she can even defend herself from getting attacked. "Never mind, you'll be taken care of now," I say, brushing these thoughts of her aside.

"I don't want…" Mathilda pauses, swallowing hard with her eyes getting heavy with sadness, "it feels anxious and excruciating like a constant toothache that you want to be in charge of my life," she blurts out, then her jaw stiffens as if she regrets letting those words slip out.

"So you want to go against me?" I don't intend to sound like an enraged giant, but my words seem to sound like an unexpected whip on the back because Mathilda immediately shiver-jolts like she stepped on something she isn't supposed to.

"I'm sorry, no. I didn't mean it like that," she imploringly stutters, curling her fingers into a small fist.

And I stare at her small frame for a while, uplifting a brow as I enjoy her uneasiness because she's looking anywhere but me right now. Her lips are thinned together, and she manages to bite on the top without her teeth visible. Definitely the act of a child.

I am wondering what is going on in her little mind. She must dislike me for putting a change in her life, by accepting to marry her. And as well reasons known to her.

There's a tense awkwardness radiating in the atmosphere, mostly emerging from the girl in front of me.

"You were heading to the toilet," I say, with intentions of being less uptight because she seems to be frightened of me like I could eat her.

"Yes, to take a piss. Sorry for the bother, Alpha Cahill," she summons the courage to look at me.

"Call me Cahill, I am now…" I pause for a split second because addressing myself as the husband of this girl who I am way older than, feels absurd. But on the other hand, her calling me Alpha Cahill makes her seem like one of my servants.

"I am your husband, Mathilda," I breathe these words out, avoiding the burst of several emotions wounding up in my chest.

And Mathilda nods vigorously, then heads to the toilet without uttering any word.

For a moment, I wonder if I should just let her go to be with her shitty mate because it's obvious she's hurting too. Let her go so I can wallow in my own exasperation and hurt. I can picture her getting all elated and full of thanks. 

But never. Her family came up with the suggestion, precisely her mother. Because they know how cruel I can be. And I cannot bear the shame of having my fiancee run away with her nitwit, fuckwad of a lover. So yeah, the youngest Brewer sibling will stay married to me.

Returning to my seat, I message my forehead and then let out a breath as I stare at the damaged tab in front of me, something which happened because I let my emotions get the best of me.

For a minute, it kind of feels like a huge relief that I had my attention on something else rather than Genova.