Chapter 97: ruin it

Chapter 97: Chapter 97: ruin it

"Huh?"

Amelia stared at him, still trying to process the words.

Then, louder, almost disbelieving:

"Huh?!"

Dean’s voice tightened, a low edge of frustration cutting through the earlier sulk.

"How could you do that? I’m also your partner. You give all your attention to my brothers and nothing to me. It’s not fair."

He dropped his face back against his elbows, effectively hiding again. The ruined strands of his hair spilled forward, still reeking of chemicals.

Amelia made a strangled sound that was half laugh, half cough. She pressed the back of her hand firmly against her mouth, shoulders shaking as she fought to keep the laughter from spilling out completely.

Dean is jealous?

Woah.

She genuinely couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The youngest Ellington brother—cold, lethal, usually impossible to read—was sulking because she hadn’t fed him.

After a few more controlled coughs to pull herself together, she crouched down to his level, still pinching her nose shut against the chemical smell. Her free hand braced lightly against the floor for balance.

"A-hem. Are you... jealous?"

Dean’s muffled reply came immediately, voice rough against his arms.

"Isn’t it obvious?"

Amelia shook her head. "No. It’s not obvious at all. How am I supposed to just know that? I can’t read minds. And I never thought you were even capable of showing this kind of jealousy. Never."

Dean’s shoulders dropped further, the line of his back curving inward as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

"It’s over anyway. I stink. And I look worse than before."

Amelia hesitated.

She actually wanted to comfort him. That meant touching him.

Gosh. He better not bite my hand off.

She shifted closer on the balls of her feet and carefully rested one arm across his back. The fabric of his shirt was warm under her palm. She gave a few awkward, gentle pats, the motion uncertain but sincere.

"There, there..."

She sounded like she was coaxing a sulking child. In fairness, he was currently acting like one. Still, the fact that Dean Ellington was jealous over her was a rare treasure she fully intended to savor for the rest of her life.

Her voice softened further.

"You’re not unattractive at all. I just... didn’t think you would have agreed to let me feed you."

Dean just barely lifted his head to look at her, and suddenly they were way closer than either of them meant to be. His eyes—which were usually so cold and guarded—were wide open and raw.

"So you’re scared of me."

Amelia didn’t look away. The quiet intensity of his gaze made her pulse tick a little faster, but she kept her voice steady.

"Do you remember the first times we met? Did you honestly think I would want to get closer to someone after that?"

Dean went still.

He could remember that day clearly. The cold weight of the sword, the absolute certainty that he could have severed her head from her body and simply cleaned up the aftermath afterward. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t meant it. He had.

What he never could have expected was how soft he would eventually become toward her. How the same woman he had once been willing to kill now made him feel this restless, this exposed.

He muttered something low under his breath, the words nearly lost.

Amelia leaned in a fraction more, trying to ignore the stench that still clung to him. Her fingers remained lightly against his back.

"I can’t hear you."

Dean didn’t repeat it. Part of him already believed she wouldn’t take the words seriously even if he did. Apology alone felt too thin, too easy to dismiss.

Then another thought struck him.

Maybe words weren’t enough. Maybe an action would make her believe he truly wanted forgiveness.

He raised his head fully.

Amelia froze up for a second, totally caught off guard by the sudden move. Before she could pull back, he reached out and gently took her hand. His fingers were warm and his grip was steady but not pushy, like he was leaving the door wide open for her to walk away if she wanted to.

"I want to make up for it."

He stood in one smooth motion, still holding her hand for a second longer than necessary before releasing it. Amelia watched him warily as he crossed to the wall and pulled a long sword free from its decorative mount. The soft rasp of metal leaving its place made her heart sink the moment the blade cleared the wall.

Oh no. Please tell me he doesn’t want to torture me or something.

Dean returned to her and held the sword out, hilt first. When she only stared at it in confusion, he took her hand again—gentler this time—and firmly placed the weapon into her grasp. His fingers briefly guided hers around the hilt before letting go.

Amelia looked down at the sword, the weight of it unfamiliar and heavy in her hand, then back up at him.

"What’s happening?"

The question felt like it was directed as much at herself as at him.

Dean reached up, gathered a thick section of his ruined hair, and held it out toward her.

"You can use the sword to cut it off. However you like."

There was no trace of a joke in his voice or posture. He was completely serious.

Amelia’s mouth opened, then closed again as she struggled to form words. The sword felt even heavier now.

Dean continued quietly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"This way you get a form of revenge. You don’t know it yet, but my hair is something very precious to me. If you cut it, it will hurt. I know it doesn’t come close to the pain I once caused you... but we can start here and level it up along the way." A faint, almost self-mocking breath left him. "Then maybe one day you’ll be able to feed me too."

The room suddenly felt like it was closing in on all sides. The harsh chemical smell hanging in the air, the heavy weight of the sword in her hand, and the raw, quiet look in his eyes all piled on at once—leaving Amelia standing right there with her heart hammering a lot harder than she’d ever care to admit.