Mated To My Mate's Worst Enemy Chapter 472

ARIA

"You're going to document it," he said.

"I'm going to document it later," she said. "Right now I'm simply observing."

"Ivory," I said.

She looked at me.

"The runes," I said, and held out my hands.

The corridor light caught them clearly — the markings on both hands, running from the wrists toward the fingers, the new settled visibility of something that had always been structural.

Ivory looked at my hands.

Then she looked at my hair.

Then she looked at my hands again.

Her expression went through several stages in rapid succession — the clinical assessment engaging immediately, the healer's mind cataloguing what she was seeing and cross-referencing against four years of research and finding things that matched and things that exceeded the match and things that were entirely new and needed documentation.

Then she pressed both of her own hands over her mouth.

Jordan looked at her. "Is she—"

"She's not crying," Nina said. "She's containing something."

"What's she containing," Jordan said.

"The specific feeling," Nina said, "of someone who spent four years tracking a bloodline and has found it at full expression and is trying not to make it about herself when it is very specifically also about her."

Ivory took her hands away from her mouth.

"I need paper," she said.

"We're in a corridor," Jordan said.

"Someone find me paper," she said.

"Ivory—"

"The runes are the activation markers," she said, with the focused urgency of someone whose professional excitement had overridden their ability to modulate it. "The full expression of the bloodline's visible record — I've read about them, the documentation from the old packs described them but I've never seen them on a living person. I've been looking for them since I understood what the bloodline was." She looked at me. "You have all of them. Both hands. The bond mark is here—" she pointed without touching, "—and the link mark here, and this one—" she leaned forward slightly, "—this one is the blood-bending mark. It's documented in Aryada's original research as something that would only appear in someone who'd fully accessed—"

"Ivory," I said.

"—the deep register of the bloodline, which theoretically required—"

"Ivory."

She stopped.

She looked at me.

"Later," I said. "You can document all of it later. When you've slept more and the wrist has healed and we've had the conversations we said we were going to have."

She looked at me for a moment.

"The conversations," she said.

"The ones you said you were going to have," I said. "The full version. All of it."

She was quiet for a moment. The healer's urgency dialing back, the other thing — the one that had been cracking, she'd said, the things under sustained pressure finding their edges — coming forward instead.

"Yes," she said. "Those conversations."

"When you're ready," I said.

"I'm ready now," she said, and the words had the quality of something she'd decided. "Not for the full version. For the beginning of it." She looked at me with the expression that had no category — the one that dissolved all the clinical and the controlled and the managed versions into something underneath all of them. "I'm sorry, Aria. For the parts of this that were mine to be sorry for. And there are parts that are mine. I know that."

The corridor was quiet.

"I know," I said.

"I'm going to say more than that," she said. "When we have the time and the space and I'm not on painkillers that are making the longer sentences harder to construct." A pause.

"But the beginning of it is: I'm sorry. And you were right. And you are going to be a remarkable Luna. You already are."

The runes on my hands caught the corridor light.

Silver, in my head, was warm and still.

The bond thread ran from my center outward, warmer than it had been an hour ago, warmer than it had been yesterday, the specific warmth of something finding its way toward what it was supposed to be.

"Book club," Ivory said.

"No," everyone said.

"I'm just saying," Ivory said. "As a bonding exercise. Post-combat processing. There's literature—"

"No," Kael said.

"The themes are not exclusively—"

"Ivory," Nina said. "No."

Ivory sighed. "Fine," she said. "But when you're all struggling with your feelings I will be in the library and the invitation remains open."

Somehow, Sona's voice had reached a register that was not quite raised but was absolutely authoritative, and Morrison's responses had taken on the quality of someone who'd found themselves in an argument they hadn't anticipated and was recalibrating.

"We should probably—" Jordan started.

"Let them sort it out," Kael said. "Sona has it."

"She does," Nina agreed.

"We," Ivory said, "should go eat something. I haven't had a proper meal since yesterday morning and I am running on Margo's compound and spite, and the spite is beginning to carry more of the load than is clinically advisable."

Jordan opened his mouth.

"Don't," Ivory said. "Whatever you were going to say about the spite being my primary fuel source on a normal day, don't. It's funnier when I'm at full capacity."

"I wasn't going to say that," Jordan said, with the complete unconvincing quality of someone who was absolutely going to say that.

We went to find food.

All six of us, through the main building's corridors and out into the pack grounds where the morning was continuing in its slightly-quieter-than-usual way, and the pack was doing its morning things, and people called to us when we went through, and the runes on my hands caught the sunlight.

Silver walked with me. Not separately — through me, the way she'd always been there, the way she'd been there for eight months behind a wall that was now cracked open, warm and present and here.

*Good morning,* she said.

*Good morning,* I said.

The pack grounds were warm around us. The elder council was sorting itself out in the room we'd left. The bond thread was warmer than yesterday. Ivory was talking about food with the energy of someone who'd decided that food was the next important thing and was applying full capacity to the subject.

A/n: I wanna be in the room where it happens, the room where it happens- by Aaron burr. This is my favourite song in Hamilton and was the inspiration behind this scene.

Guys I have exams this week, I'm certain of Friday own, but not yet sure about thursday, I am literally tired of this month and want it to be over but I'll be updating. There are a lot of things to cover, and since I am using a particular POV, I often have to decide which better than to hear it from, I didn't want to choose Kael, cause Kael thoughts are nowhere ready to be seen, and I didn't want to make it ivory POV, cause it's Aria arc, and she needs her spotlight. And you guys having your secret discussion in comments, involve me.

I like to hear critics as usual, and I want to thank everyone who checked out my books and hikikimori books.

And those who said they needed the titles, I'll list it out here.

1) His Tamed Wife, The Wild Heiress

2) The secret billionaire heiress strikes back

3) Reborn; Marrying The Cruel Disabled CEO{ will update massively this week}

4) Not His Luna Anymore{ new updates have been dropped today}

5)My contracted Husband, the heartless CEO has Amnesia?!

And so much more.

And to my reader that got to the latest update in both books and demanded that one be updated. I got your back. Read and enjoy, and I'll keep refreshing every second for comments.