The Alpha's Daydream ✔️

Chapter 40

Right now, she knew he was in the basement, working out in the gym. Malachi had been there for over an hour, as he had yesterday, working out to heavy music. Hamilton assured her that he always took out his frustration in the gym, and she shouldn't worry about it. But that only made her more concerned, wondering what was eating at him so much. She knew they were having trouble narrowing their investigation about the killer, and he wouldn't rest easy until he'd stopped whoever was murdering his pack members. No one could rest until they were all safe again.

She took the muffins out and put the bread in the oven. Cleaning the shelf, she listened to the music that was reverberating through the house, the heavy bass throbbing in time with her motions. She could feel it, almost taste Malachi's angst in the choice of rhythm.

Deciding to go check on him, see if he wanted anything, she made her way along the hallway, down the curved flight of stairs, her footsteps muffled in the thick carpet. As she approached the gym, a room full of weights and other workout equipment, she could hear Malachi's heavy breathing, the curses he muttered between breaths, and the frustration rolling off his agitated body.

She stood by the door, troubled by the sight of her mate.

——♥️♥️——

He is shirtless, skin glistening with sweat as it seeps out like anger from his body, carrying toxins and pent-up emotions. I've never heard Malachi swear so much, but the way he snarls such dirty words, berating himself, has my heart breaking just a little.

What happened today to make him feel like this? Last night too, he was moody, less than anxious to come to bed and instead staying in his office until total exhaustion drove him to pass out beside me, on top of the covers. Anything weird that I'm seeing and sensing pales in significance when I think about what my mate is going through. I want to talk to him, understand his emotions, but he won't hear me out or open up.

I can't help but watch him now since he hasn't yet noticed me. Leaning against the doorframe, I memorise the finely sculpted curves of his muscled body. The strong sweep of his spine is wrapped with tendons and muscles that put the myth of Hercules to shame. I can imagine, with this much energy exuding from his core, Malachi taking down twenty rogues in a vicious battle.

Maybe that's what he wants to do, to fight his demons and everything that's troubling him. But he knows they aren't flesh and blood, same as mine, and we each silently suffer against what we can't see, we can't name.

Sometimes I feel the angst inside building up and aching to be released in a loud scream.
And this is Malachi's way of doing just that.

"I can't do this." He growls, a deep rumble that vibrates along the floor and reaches my feet, making me flinch. With a vicious snarl, he sends his fist flying into the punching bag, the blow fortified with so much strength it threatens to put a hole right through the bag.
"I'm not strong enough," he mumbles, but his words clearly reach my ears. "I can't keep fighting it." He punctuates the statement with a massive hit to the bag, as if his strong punch can counteract the weakness behind his words.

Even so, I have no idea what he means. He is strong, I can see it deep inside him. So maybe he can't. Despite what I've told him otherwise, he must still regard himself as not worthy yet to be Alpha. But why can't he keep fighting? Does he too feel the darkness crawling in the veins of this pack, and feel helpless to stand up to it? Or maybe he is referring to the disrespect towards him from the older wolves, and realises nothing he says or does is changing it?

"Why can't I fight it?!" He shouts and kicks the bag, following his outburst with a string of curses, making me shiver. The hurt tone in his voice sends an ache straight to my chest, a desire to comfort him.