Under The Sea

Chapter Fifty Two

Aaaah waking up beside my mate, loving every breath he takes, knowing he's alive and great, I love him, oh I do, my mate.

"Forest did you write this?"

I looked up groggily from the bed, through my hair I could barely see him across the room with messy hair and wrinkled clothes and a book in his hand. The expression on his face was unreadable, maybe because he was still just a blurry figure to me or because his expression was literally unreadable. I took the former.

My brain recognized the book he held almost immediately: yellow pages bound in worn brown leather, unlocked and completely vulnerable to snooping mates like my own. I started up quick ready to pounce on him for my journal, but alas I could barely move.

"Give that back!" I was trying to be firm with him, but I ended up sounding whiny. It was mine and he had no right to read it.

He looked at me with a condescending expression and then stalked over to me like he was some type of God ready to give out a punishment.

"And who gave you this journal?"

I glared at him. "You did." I grumbled. He smiled at me and then held it over me. I reached for it but he jerked it up, just out of my reach.

"Come on Forest, you can do better than that."

"I'm injured!"

"Excuses." He chastised.

"You still have no right to read that." I snorted and tried to sit up until he pushed me back down.

"But I'm your mate." I glared holes into his head.

"Being mates means nothing." I turned my nose up snobbishly.

He leaned down, "being mates is everything."

"Nope."

He gave me a pointed look. "Says the girl who would climb out of her hospital window, bloody and injured, and hike through the woods in the middle of the night just to find out what was troubling her mate. I mean seriously, it couldn't wait until the morning?"

"Posiedon damn you, I was trying to be dramatic." I said, quite exasperated with him.

"Were you? I think you just love me too much." His smirk belonged to a conniving snake, a horrible, burning sun on a humid day.

"You've got it wrong, now give that back."

He held it out of my reach. "Really? So if I jumped out that window right now and died, you wouldn't care?"

I froze. "Don't talk like that." I seethed.

He laughed. "Your poem is beautiful Forest. I love it." He kissed my very hot cheek and set the journal in my lap.

"You didn't read all of them, did you?"

He smiled, "am I the only thing on your mind these days?" He did, that insufferable little dog.

I glared, "help me to the bathtub." Now that my back was more close to being healed than it was to not being healed, the doctor let me stay at home, where Aran would watch over me. But the lifestyle didn't change, I either slept all day or read all day, or wrote all day in that journal Aran was so kind to get for me. Of course, I wasn't complaining about the lifestyle, I got to see my mate every minute and do the things I loved to do: sleep, read, and write. And be with my mate, of course.

He picked me up effortlessly and carried me too the bathing room where a steaming bath was already prepared. The mirrors were already fogged and the light tendrils of steam that curled in the air were mesmerizing.