Juan Pov.

The request came out more abruptly than intended. My attempt at mature discussion was bypassed by more primal instincts awakened by our growing connection.

While the command might seem insensitive given her just-expressed vulnerability, it actually represented a direct approach to her concerns. Practical experience rather than theoretical reassurance about the physical aspects of relationship that worried her.

"What?" Her shocked response suggested I'd moved too quickly. Her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and something that might have been anticipation beneath the evident anxiety.

The single word question contained volumes. Seeking clarification. Expressing disbelief. And possibly requesting time to process the unexpected suggestion.

Her arms crossed instinctively across her chest in a protective gesture. This reminded me again of her youth despite our mutual declarations.

"Please, let me check if you're really still virgin or not," I said slowly. I modified my approach to frame the request as verification rather than immediate intimacy.

Not wanting to freak her out with too direct an approach, I attempted to create context that might make the suggestion seem less abrupt or demanding.

"I need to understand where we're starting from," I added more gently. Though the explanation still carried assumptions and expectations that deserved more careful discussion than the moment allowed.

"Only what you're comfortable with," I clarified belatedly. I recognized the potential pressure my position and our history might create regardless of my intentions.

She hesitated visibly. Internal conflict played across her expressive features as she weighed desire against appropriate boundaries. Trust against legitimate caution.

Finally, she blew a deep breath away. She seemed to reach some internal resolution before beginning to remove her soaked clothing gradually and slowly.

Each movement was deliberate, careful. Her eyes frequently checked my expression as though gauging my reaction despite believing me unable to see her.

The trust implicit in her willingness to make herself vulnerable touched me deeply. It created responsibility I felt with profound weight despite my secret ability to observe her.

I noticed a few bruises on her back as her shirt came away. The discolored marks created immediate concern and protective anger.

As if it was something a long time ago and healed partially.

The partially healed state suggested incidents that had occurred before my awakening. This raised questions about experiences during her years at boarding school that she might not have shared fully.

I wanted to ask her about their origin. To understand what might have happened during our separation. But doing so would immediately reveal my ability to see. Knowledge I wasn't yet ready to share despite growing discomfort with the deception.

That's why I wanted to figure it out in my own way. Gathering information more subtly until I understood the complete picture of her experiences during our years apart.

I moved my hands over her back. Seemingly exploring through touch what I could actually see clearly. My fingers gently traced the areas where bruising marred her otherwise perfect skin.

Not daring to touch her breasts or her bottom, I maintained appropriate boundaries despite the intimate situation. I focused my attention on the concerning marks rather than inappropriate exploration.

I didn't want to make her angry at me or embarrassed.

The controlled contact demonstrated respect despite the potentially compromising circumstances. It prioritized her comfort and dignity over any other considerations.

"These marks on your back," I commented carefully. "They feel like bruises. What happened?"

The question was deliberately phrased to suggest tactile discovery rather than visual observation.

I pulled her naked body to my lap and pressed her body to mine. Creating closeness without overtly sexual contact. Intimacy balanced with restraint appropriate to her age and experience.

"Can we make it tonight?" I huskily asked her. The question was both genuine inquiry about her readiness and strategic shift away from the uncomfortable topic of unexplained bruises.

While the suggestion might seem premature given her youth and our complicated situation, it represented honesty about my growing feelings and desire for committed relationship rather than merely physical intimacy.

"Mmmm." Her noncommittal response suggested uncertainty rather than rejection. Her body language sent mixed signals. Neither pulling away nor enthusiastically agreeing.

The hesitation seemed less about desire and more about readiness. It suggested internal conflict between emotional connection and practical concerns about significant life transition.

"I don't know if I'm ready," she seemed to be saying without words. Her body remained close while her voice remained uncertain.

I licked the back of her ear in gentle exploration. Respecting her hesitation while maintaining the intimate connection between us.

"Sunny, can we make it tonight?" I repeated more directly. Seeking verbal confirmation rather than unclear response.

The repeated question acknowledged the significance of what I was suggesting. Not merely physical intimacy but formal commitment through traditional mating ceremony.

"Not just physically," I clarified. Sensing potential misunderstanding. "But the ceremony, the commitment. Becoming true mates in every sense."

The distinction was important. Focusing on permanent connection rather than merely physical exploration.

She moved her fingers to my neck with gentle affection. The touch communicated trust and connection that transcended our complicated circumstances.

"I'm yours. I was always yours," she answered with surprising certainty. The simple declaration resolved questions that had lingered between us for years.

The words carried absolute conviction. They suggested her feelings had remained consistent despite our separation and changed circumstances.

"From the moment we met, I think I knew," she added softly. "Even when I was too young to understand what it meant. Something in me recognized you immediately."

I couldn't forget what I had seen! Those bruises on Sunny's back wouldn't leave my thoughts. They made me think of terrible questions that hurt my heart like knives.

What kind of monster would hurt such a sweet girl? She was still only 16 years old for god's sake!

The thought made my blood boil. Getting my sight back almost felt like a curse because I kept seeing those images in my mind.

"Who would do this to her?" I whispered to myself. I was pacing around my small room while she cleaned up the bathroom.

My first thought was to confront everyone, starting with her father.

"Could Alpha Nathan be responsible?" I wondered. Then I immediately dismissed the thought.

"No, that's impossible. I've seen how he looks at her. That man loves his daughter more than life itself."

I'd seen their interactions many times before my accident. The tender way he protected her. The pride in his eyes when she did even small things.

"There's no way he could hurt her," I told myself. But I was still angry at whoever was responsible.

Her mother? Emily! Maybe, why not? The thought hit me suddenly and left me breathless.

She was a vampire after all! And not just any vampire, but one who had struggled with bloodlust and control.

"Could Emily have lost control around her own daughter?" I questioned silently. I remembered hearing about Emily's "prison" beneath Nathan's castle.

If her thirst for blood was so dangerous that she needed special containment, maybe there had been incidents before that arrangement.

"But would Nathan allow Emily anywhere near Sunny if she was such a threat?" I asked myself. I wasn't sure about the family dynamics that had developed during my ten years of unconsciousness.

"Alpha Isabella mentioned Emily had been training to control her urges for years," I remembered. I tried to put together a timeline that might explain Sunny's injuries.

Jennifer walked by my door just then. She paused when she noticed my troubled expression.

"Everything okay, Juan?" she asked with worried eyes.

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking, Jen. Tell me - how often does Sunny see her mother?"

My sister's expression changed slightly. "Not often from what I understand. Emily's condition makes close contact... complicated."

Her careful words confirmed my suspicions that Emily remained a potential danger. But it revealed little about past interactions with Sunny.

But to find out, I had to go from the start and read the letters! My mother had mentioned them casually. But now they seemed very important - they might contain clues about Sunny's experiences during our separation.

"Those letters could reveal everything," I thought with growing certainty.

"Ten years of monthly letters... surely she would have mentioned anything significant happening in her life."

The prospect of reading her private thoughts felt both intrusive and necessary. A violation I could only justify through genuine concern for her wellbeing.

My mother told me that Sunny used to send me letters every month without fail. Even when doctors suggested I might never wake.

"Such dedication," I whispered to myself. I was touched by her unwavering faith when everyone else's hope had faded.

"There must be a trail of evidence in those pages. Hints about her treatment. Her experiences at that boarding school. Perhaps even direct mentions of abuse."

I decided to find those letters immediately. Though guilt nagged at me for investigating behind Sunny's back.

"I should just ask her directly," the honorable part of me argued.

Before the protective side countered, "She's clearly traumatized and might not be ready to discuss it. The letters could prepare me to help her when she's finally ready to talk."

I left Sunny in the room cleaning, after the teasing shower. My mind still reeled from the intimacy we'd shared. Despite maintaining appropriate boundaries given her age and vulnerability.

"Did I really just ask her to give herself to me tonight?" I wondered with a mixture of desire and shame.

"What kind of man asks a sixteen-year-old girl who's clearly been traumatized?"

I criticized myself. Though I knew my feelings for her went beyond mere physical attraction.

Really? I asked her to give me herself at night. But I would never do it.

The thought of actually following through on that suggestion made me uncomfortable. Despite our apparent destiny as mates.

She deserved better than rushed intimacy with a man who had just regained consciousness after a decade.

At least I had to wait to tell her the truth first about my restored vision. I couldn't begin our relationship with such significant deception between us.

"Relationships built on lies crumble eventually," my father had taught me years ago. That wisdom seemed particularly relevant now.

I didn't want to deceive her. The weight of my continued pretense grew heavier with each passing hour. Especially seeing how carefully she tended to my supposed blindness.

I knew that she would be happy to hear that my sight was back. Her joy at my improvement had been evident with each small recovery milestone.

But still, I cannot start my life with her built on lies that could undermine the trust between us.

"I'll tell her tonight," I promised myself firmly. "After I've read the letters and understand what happened to her, I'll confess everything and hope she forgives me."

"Sunny, I'm going to my mom. I need to talk to her," I said suddenly. I broke the comfortable silence between us.

She had been humming softly while organizing my clothes. A domestic scene that felt strangely natural despite our unusual circumstances.

I stood up with deliberate care. I maintained my blind persona through cautious movements.