Chapter 9: The First Crack in the Mask

“If you keep hiding behind that hunk of iron, Silas, how is your Luna supposed to kiss you properly?”

Elara tilted her chin up with a daring, teasing smirk, completely unaware of how badly her words had caught the mighty Alpha off guard. Silas froze in the middle of their spacious bedroom, his grey eyes fixed on her as though she had just challenged him to a battle.

For several seconds, neither of them moved. The candlelight flickered across the silver etchings on his heavy iron half-mask, making the metal look even colder against his skin.

“Repeat that.”

Elara raised an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. “Which part? The part about the mask, or the part about kissing you? I can repeat both if your hearing is getting worse.”

Silas's jaw tightened beneath the metal. A muscle twitched near his cheek, and the dark veins at his temple suddenly pulsed beneath his skin.

“You enjoy testing my patience, don't you?”

“Not particularly. I just find it interesting that you're willing to let me hold your hand, sleep beside you, and call you my mate, but one little kiss makes you look ready to declare war.”

His breathing became heavier as another wave of pain moved through his face. He turned away slightly, pressing his fingers against the side of his mask as though the metal could somehow hold the poison in place.

“Elara, stop playing around. You don't know what you're asking for.”

“I'm not playing around.”

“You saw the veins. You know what the poison has done to me, and you still think this is something you can laugh about?”

Her smile disappeared, but she didn't step back. Instead, she moved closer until she stood directly in front of him, looking up into his grey eyes.

“Silas, I'm not laughing at your pain. I'm trying to make you understand that you don't have to hide from me.”

He released a strained breath. “You say that now, but you haven't seen everything.”

“Then let me see it.”

“No.”

The answer came quickly, and his massive hands curled into fists at his sides. He looked towards the window, clearly struggling to control the emotions fighting inside him.

Elara watched him quietly for a moment. She remembered the way he had held her hand the previous night, the way his voice had softened when he spoke about his curse, and the fear he tried so hard to conceal whenever she came too close to his mask.

She wasn't going to let that fear decide everything between them.

“Look at me, Silas.”

He slowly turned his head.

“I am your Luna. If you're going to let me stand beside you, then you have to stop treating me like a stranger who might run away at the first unpleasant sight.”

“You don't know what you'll see.”

“Then let me decide whether I can handle it.”

His grey eyes searched hers, looking for even the smallest sign of hesitation. Elara gave him none, and that seemed to frighten him more than anything else.

“Once you see it, you cannot pretend you haven't.”

“I'm not asking to pretend.”

Before he could stop her, Elara lifted her hand towards his face. Her fingers moved slowly, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted to, but Silas remained still.

“Is this the part where I need permission from the terrifying Alpha of Obsidian Fang?”

“Elara.”

“I'm only asking because you look like you're about to bite my hand.”

His jaw flexed again, but he didn't stop her. She carefully released the other side, then slowly lifted the mask away from his face.

Half of Silas's face was strikingly handsome, with sharp features, a strong jaw, and a perfectly shaped nose. But the other half carried the ugly mark of the witch-blade poison, with black veins spreading from his temple down across his cheek.

The skin around the poisoned area looked darker, and the veins seemed to move beneath it whenever his body reacted to the pain. It was a frightening sight, one that explained why he had refused to let anyone see what was beneath the metal.

Silas immediately turned his face away.

“There. Now you've seen it.”

His voice had lost its usual strength, and his hands dropped slowly to his sides. He waited for the familiar reaction, the gasp, the sudden step backwards, or the frightened silence that always followed.

But Elara didn't move away.

She stood in front of him, holding the iron mask carefully in both hands. Her soft brown eyes travelled over his face, and the expression she wore wasn't horror or disgust.

It was tenderness.

“Silas.”

“Don't.”

She frowned. “Don't what?”

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you feel sorry for me.”

Elara shook her head. “I don't feel sorry for you. I'm angry that someone did this to you, and I'm even angrier that you've spent so long believing you have to hide it.”

A defensive growl rose in his chest, but it weakened when she reached towards his cheek. Her fingers stopped just before touching the blackened skin, giving him one last chance to move away.

“Does it hurt when someone touches it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then tell me if I hurt you.”

Her fingertips finally rested against his cheek, barely brushing the skin around the dark veins. Silas closed his eyes for a moment, his body tense as he waited for her to recoil.

Nothing happened.

Elara gently traced the edge of the poisoned area, her expression growing softer with every passing second. She could see the damage clearly now, but she could also see the man beneath it.

“You're still handsome, you know.”

Silas opened his eyes, looking at her as though he hadn't heard correctly. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not. You have an annoying personality, a terrible attitude, and a habit of giving orders, but your face isn't the problem.”

A faint crease appeared between his brows. “You have a strange way of complimenting someone.”

“I'm trying to be honest. You should appreciate it.”

He almost smiled, but the expression quickly disappeared when his eyes returned to the mask in her hands.

“You should put that back.”

Elara glanced at the metal before looking at him again. “Why?”

“Because I don't want anyone seeing me like this.”

“Then I won't show anyone without your permission.”

Silas studied her face, searching for the hidden condition behind her promise. When he found none, his shoulders lowered slightly.

Elara placed the mask on the nearby table before stepping closer. She rose onto her toes, bringing her face level with his, and pressed a long, lingering kiss against his forehead, just above the blackened veins.

Silas went completely still.

For one precious moment, the pain seemed distant, and his wolf stirred beneath the weight of the curse. A soft, helpless whimper echoed inside his mind, followed by an overwhelming feeling of devotion towards the woman standing in front of him.

Elara slowly pulled away, her soft brown eyes meeting his stunned grey ones.

“There... now the whole pack knows your secret, and I think you look far too handsome to hide behind scraps of metal anyway.”

Silas's fierce wolf whimpered with absolute, helpless devotion.