Chapter 333: _ Hers
I heard the bathroom door creak open just as I placed the glass of horchata on María José’s nightstand. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.
The scent hit me first. Her warm jasmine soap with the faintest trace of vanilla body lotion she liked to rub across her shoulders. I took a deep nasal intake as a small cloud of steam followed her out.
She stepped into the room barefoot and humming, towel knotted loosely around her chest, the hem teasing the curve of her thighs. Water trickled down her calves, kissed her ankles. Her swollen belly that was beautiful and round, jutted out gently from the folds of terry cloth, like a crown she didn’t know she wore.
And gods — she didn’t see me yet, which was a good thing, because that meant I could stare all I wanted. These days, I have to hide my desires to avoid appearing suspicious.
She moved toward the dresser, half-distracted. Her damp curls were sticking to the side of her neck as she hummed a lullaby I didn’t recognize. Her fingers reached lazily for a hairbrush, and in the slant of sunlight across the room, her skin shimmered.
It was golden. Oh, her pregnancy seemed to have dampened her senses. The María José before her pregnancy had matured to this extent had the sharpest of senses I had ever seen.
Well, these were points for me, and boy, did I milk the opportunity? What do you think?
I stared, possessed by the sharp ache that always lived beneath my ribs these days. Watching her felt like punishment and reward all at once. She trusted me. She thought I was her friend. The guard who once sheltered her.
She thought I was Mateo. And maybe I was. Or maybe Mateo was already rotting deep in that bloody wheelchair, actually living the hell I used to. Except, he was paralyzed for real.
But Ignacio — Ignacio was wide awake.
Her fingers slid through her curls. Her eyes were down and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the bath. I wanted to memorize everything. The way her shoulder blades moved when she reached behind herself. The delicate flutter of her eyelashes when she blinked into the mirror. The soft, round curve of...
Her eyes found me.
She gasped, stumbling back a step, hand gripping the edge of the dresser like she’d just seen a ghost. Or a predator.
"¡Luis! Dios mío, I didn’t see you!" she breathed, pulling her towel tighter.
I smiled, wide and innocent. "Sorry, sorry. I knocked. Carmen and Lila said I could wait. I brought your horchata."
Her cheeks flushed deeper. "You should’ve said something," she muttered, adjusting the knot between her breasts.
I looked away... or at least pretended to. "I didn’t want to scare you. You were singing."
"You heard that?" she groaned, then chuckled, clearly embarrassed.
I joined her laugh, even though my stomach was tight and coiled with everything I couldn’t say. Every time she looked at me, I saw our twisted, glorious, and unstoppable future together.
"You sounded happy," I said. "That’s rare these days."
She exhaled, brushing a stray curl off her forehead. "I’m trying. The baby deserves peace, not stress."
The baby. My baby.
I watched her reach for the glass I brought her, curiosity blooming in her expression.
"Horchata?" she asked, sniffing it with a little smile.
"Mm-hmm. Special blend. A bit of maca root. Helps with energy and nausea. Traditional. My abuela used to swear by it."
Also... it held a few drops of that dark, syrupy potion the Devil himself had passed to me three nights ago.
It would strengthen the baby. Not harm it. Never that. This child would grow into power. It’s mine... Ours. I wasn’t about to let María José carry a weakling born of love and trust. The Devil promised greatness. All I had to do was give her the drink.
She took a sip. I swear I saw the sky shift through the curtains. It was a whiff, but I caught it.
"This is good," she said, voice mellow. "Really good."
I watched her throat move as she swallowed again. "Told you. Abuela was never wrong."
She sat on the bed with a sigh, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. Her fingers moved in small, idle circles. I imagined her doing that with my child. Cradling my legacy.
"You’re staring again," she said with a smirk.
"Can you blame me?" I leaned on the bedpost, tilting my head. "You’re glowing."
"Oh, stop. Six months in, and I look like a bloated tomato." She laughed.
"You look like the sun decided to take human form and carry my child," I almost said.
Instead, I just smiled. "You’re beautiful."
Her eyes softened. "Thanks, Mateo. You’ve been so... solid. I don’t know what I’d do without you."
There it was. Mateo. I still hated hearing the name spoken with warmth. It was mine now, but it would never be mine the way Luis could have been hers. I took a breath. Masked the bitterness.
"I’d do anything for you, María. You know that." I met her gaze.
We sat like that for a while. She sipped the horchata. We talked about the hearing, about the whispering silence in the Pack Council now that she’d exposed them. She hadn’t even needed a guilty verdict — the truth had done enough.
She didn’t notice how I locked the door. Or how I spelled the hallway so that no one would even think to interrupt for the next three hours.
I didn’t plan to hurt her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just needed a closer. I needed to feel what Axel had. To rewrite the part of our story that hadn’t gone the way I wanted. After all, I had desires too. She was mine too.
She was still laughing about Carmen calling the Elders "crusty old meat pies" when I moved closely beside her on the bed. Too close.
Her laughter faded.
"Mateo?" she asked. "What are you—?"
I kissed her just once. It was just a press of lips that burned hotter than fire, scorching my skin, setting something wild loose inside my gut.
She gasped, pulling away. "Mateo, what the hell are you doing?"
And there it was. The crack.
I froze, smiled, then blinked like I was confused. Then shook my head slowly, playing the fool.
"I—I thought... sorry. I thought we were having a moment."
"There’s no moment," she said sharply, rising to her feet. "You’re my friend."
I stood too. "I’m not your friend, María José. I’m more."
It hurt me that I’ll have to wipe her memories of this moment later, but I’d do it over and over again: keep telling her who I truly was before having her in bed. Every time I made love to her, I wanted her to know it was me—her big bad Daddy Luis, not Axel."
She stared at me, horrified. "W-what... what do you mean you’re not my friend, Mateo?" She shook her head. "You’re confused."
I stepped forward, and she stepped back. The tension between us was electrical. And gods help me, I smiled. Because this tension — this chaos... it meant she saw me. The real me. Finally.
"I’m never confused when it comes to you, María José."