Chapter 24 24- Never Accidentally Touch His Hand
LEXI
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I wake to the sound of knocking. Not frantic. Not impatient. Just firm and steady. It HAS to be Blake. Oh no! I bolt upright, heart lurching as memory crashes back into me. Free time. Reading. Closing my eyes just for a second… I grab my phone and squint at the screen.
Seven–fifteen pm… Dinner! I scramble out of bed and hurry to the door, yanking it open a little breathlessly.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry.” I blurt out.
“I sat down to read and I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t mean to make you wait!” I rush to explain myself, worried that he might be upset. Blake looks… Totally calm. He takes me in with a slow glance, expression unreadable but relaxed, like this is well within his
expectations of the world.
“It’s fine.” He says evenly. He’s not being dismissive. Not irritated. It’s just a statement, and he means it. I frown anyway.
“It’s not fine. I kept you waiting.” I repeat. He tilts his head slightly, studying me.
“You needed sleep. That matters more. You should do what is best for you.” He responds. I blink. That… Wasn’t what I expected.
“Still, you must be hungry. We should go now.” I insist, already stepping aside.
“Sure.” He agrees easily. Then, pauses.
“But you might want to fix that first…” He adds, trailing off. Blake gestures vaguely toward my head. I lift a hand and immediately regret it. My fingers catch in my hair.
“Oh no.” I groan, rushing to the mirror. It’s bad. Really bad. A full–on tangled disaster. I grab my brush and try to force it through while half–turning to look for my shoes. The brush snags instantly.
“Ow!” I grumble, I try again, faster. Blake steps forward and takes the brush from my hand. Just… Takes it, slipping it from between my
fingers.
“You shouldn’t rush.” He says quietly. Before I can object, he’s already behind me. The first stroke is slow. Careful. He starts at the very ends, fingers curling around the length of my hair to keep it from pulling as the brush slides through. There’s no tugging, no impatience. Just steady pressure and smooth, deliberate movement. I suck In a breath without meaning to. It feels really nice. The kind of nice that makes my shoulders drop and my spine loosen, like my body recognises the sensation before my brain catches up. I hadn’t realised how tense I was until the brush moves again, slightly higher this time, working through the knots without hurting at all. Blake doesn’t rush. Each pass is unhurried, methodical, like he’s got all the time in the world, like this is exactly where he intends to be My eyelids flutter closed. It’s embarrassingly soothing. The soft scrape of the bristles, the warmth of his hand steadying my hair, the way he adjusts his grip without a word when he feels resistance. He’s close enough that I can feel him behind me I close my eyes and relax. My mum used to brush my hair like this when I was little. At some point I decided I didn’t need help anymore. That was clearly a mistake. By the time. Blake reaches the crown of my head, my breathing has evened out completely. The knots are gone, my scalp tingling faintly from the attention. When he finally sets the brush down, I almost make a sound of protest. Instead, he gathers my hair gently and draws it over
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Chapter 24 24- Never Accidentally Touch His Hand
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one shoulder, smoothing it once with his fingers. That small, unhurried touch lingers. Then something cool settles against the back of my
neck.
“Huh? What’s that?” I mumble as I reach up instinctively.
“For you.” Blake says simply. I step closer to the mirror and freeze. A necklace. Gold, warm–toned, delicate. And a perfect match to the
bracelet already on my wrist. Pink stones catch the light, identical in cut and colour. A set.
“Blake…” I say slowly, turning to look at him.
“You just gave me the bracelet. Why are you giving me this too?” I ask, almost suspiciously. He shrugs, entirely unbothered.
“They belong together.” He answers.
“That’s not an explanation.” I complain.
“It’s the only one that matters.” He says firmly. I groan softly.
“This is ridiculous.” I point out. He smiles, small and satisfied, like this outcome was never in doubt.
“You’re wearing it.” He says, not asking. He already knows I’m going to give in. They ARE a set after all. I sigh.
“I’ll wear it. But it still belongs to you.” I reluctantly agree.
“Of course.” He agrees easily, like that was never in question. The answer isn’t a lie. But it’s vague enough that he could be just agreeing with part of my statement, so I suspect that he isn’t REALLY agreeing with me.
“Ready, Precious?” The pet name slips out casually. I raise an eyebrow, but before I can comment my stomach growls loudly. Blake’s smile
widens.
“Come on.” He says, reaching for me. Instead of taking my hand, he guides it over his arm, positioning it the same way I did earlier today when I linked arms with him. The action is deliberate and familiar. And then, without waiting, he starts walking.
Walking into the cafeteria for dinner, I feel… Weirdly special. It catches me off guard, that thought. I’m not dressed dramatically differently than I was this morning, and I’m not doing anything particularly bold. But something about the way the room reacts to us makes it impossible not to notice. Maybe it’s the diamonds. The bracelet catches the light every time I move, the stones flashing softly against my wrist. The necklace rests cool and solid against my collarbone. Or maybe it’s the fact that I came in late, with Blake escorting me like a princess, his arm steady under my hand like this was exactly where I belonged. Heads turn Conversations taller. A few people fall quiet entirely. Some of it is fear, I can feel that much easily enough People edging back, glancing away too quickly, pretending very hard not to stare. But it’s not just fear. There’s something else mixed in there, something grudging and unavoidable. Awe. They hate him, or they’re scared of him, or both. But none of that stops them from being affected by him. Blake has a presence that fills space whether he wants it to or not, and walking beside him makes it impossible for me to fade into the background. I could let it bother me. I could shrink, second–guess myself, let the weight of their attention make me uncomfortable. Instead, I straighten slightly and keep walking. I don’t let go of Blake’s arm until we reach the food line. When I finally do, it’s more because we have to than because I want to. He takes my plate without asking this time, smooth and automatic, already balancing it alongside his own. I don’t argue. Earlier, I might have felt
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Chapter 24 24- Never Accidentally Touch His Hand
awkward about it. Now it just feels… Expected. Like he’s decided this is how things are done, and if it makes him happy and isn’t any kind of inconvenience to me, then why wouldn’t I just go along with it all. He’s so sure of himself. And maybe that’s what’s different. This morning, Blake felt careful. Controlled. Like he was measuring every step and every word. Now he’s still controlled, maybe even more so, but he isn’t hesitant anymore. He moves with purpose, with the quiet certainty of someone who knows exactly what he wants and sees no reason to apologise for it. It’s not aggressive. Not showy. It’s just… Confident. I get the sense that this is closer to who he actually is. Not shy, not unsure, just selective. He holds himself back around people not because he’s nervous of them, but because it suits him to do so. And tonight? Tonight, he isn’t holding back at all.
Blake and I eat dinner in relative peace, if peace can really be called that when half the room is pretending not to stare at us. We ignore the whispers and sidelong glances, focusing instead on each other and the steady rhythm we seem to have fallen into without really trying. Our game of questions continues. Only now, Blake’s questions are getting… Oddly specific. He asks if I prefer waking up early or staying up late. Whether I enjoy long, steady hikes or short bursts of sprinting. If I get restless when I sit still too long. If rain makes me sleepy or alert. If I like heat more than cold. If silence bothers me. I have no idea what most of it means, or how any of it is supposed to help him figure out what kind of shifter I am. But the way he asks, focused, intent, like each answer slots neatly into some mental framework, well it makes it feel important. So I answer honestly, even when my responses feel boring or vague. By the time we finish eating, my brain feels pleasantly full. Tired, but not unpleasantly so. We walk back toward the dorms at an unhurried pace, the Academy grounds quieter now in the evening light. The air is cooler, the pathways lit softly, and for once I don’t feel rushed or on edge. Just…. Content. Comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable. Blake might be rubbing off on me a bit. When we reach my door, I hesitate, my hand still resting lightly on his arm.
“Want to come watch another movie?” I ask. Part of me already knows the answer, but I ask anyway. I’m not quite ready for the night to
end.
“Yes.” Blake says easily. I smile and start to unlock my door
“But I won’t.” He finishes, not missing a beat. I blink and frown up at him.
“Why not?” I ask, baffled.
“Because, you were tired enough to fall asleep before dinner. If you don’t rest, you’ll feel awful tomorrow.” He replies, voice firm and unyielding. I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. Annoyingly, he’s right. I huff a quiet breath, still a little disappointed, when Blake suddenly leans in. It’s smooth and deliberate, no hesitation at all. Before I can process what he’s doing, his lips press gently to the top of my head. Not rushed. Not tentative. Just a gentle pressure on my head. I freeze. Every thought in my head short–circuits at once. When he pulls back, he’s smirking, small and satisfied, like he knows exactly what that did to me.
“Sleep well.” He says softly. And then he turns, utterly unbothered, and walks into his room. The door closes behind him with a solid click. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the space where he was, my heart beating just a little too fast for no good reason at all.
What the hell was that?!
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
