The Matchmaker (by Sophie Smith) novel Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Two hours slip by in silence, and still, there is no sign of Nikolas.

Saphira finally decides to retrieve the untouched coffee cup from the table near the bedroom door. As she moves closer, a creeping anxiety coils in her chest. She quickens her pace, fingers wrapping around the cup before she immediately turns on her heel, practically rushing back to the kitchen.

If anyone had seen her, she’s certain they would have laughed. She probably looks ridiculous, darting around like this-over something so small.

But really, if Nikolas had decided to come out, it wasn’t as if she could run anywhere. No matter what, they were stuck here together-for the next nine days.

Saphira wouldn’t mind being stuck in this place if there was actually something to do. The television offers little entertainment-just a handful of channels, none particularly engaging. There are no games, no distractions, nothing to make the next nine days any easier.

She had come across a small collection of books earlier, though they were all about supernatural history. At first, she hadn’t given them much thought, but now, the idea seems more appealing. Maybe there’s something in them that could help her. understand herself better-her half-wolf nature, the part of her she still doesn’t fully grasp.

The more she considers it, the more it seems worth a try. At the very least, it’ll help pass the time.

She reaches toward the cabinet beside the sofa and picks up the first book within reach. Supernatural: The Basics.

It seems like a decent place to start.

Saphira grabs a few snacks from the kitchen before settling into the sofa, nestling into the cushions as she gets comfortable. Her gaze drifts instinctively toward the bedroom, curiosity stirring somewhere deep inside her. But she knows better than to act on it-whatever secrets Nikolas keeps; they aren’t hers

to uncover.

Shaking off the thought, she refocuses, flipping open the book in her hands. The first few pages delve into the different kinds of supernatural beings, detailing their origins and classifications.

Time passes quickly as she reads, the words absorbing her attention. By the time she closes the book, she realizes most of the information wasn’t new-but the deeper exploration of each specialty and power had been insightful. The text had covered almost everything, from abilities to clan hierarchies, mapping out an intricate structure within each species.

Everything, except those like her-those who are only half.

That missing piece lingers in her mind, leaving her with more questions than answers.

Saphira checks the time-almost seven in the evening. She hadn’t realized how long she had been reading, lost in the pages as the hours slipped by.

She stretches slightly, shifting her attention to something more pressing. Dinner.

Nikolas hasn’t emerged all day, not once. He must be hungry, she thinks. If he even eats at all.

She moves to the fridge, scanning its contents until her gaze lands on a pack of steak. It seems like a safe choice. Simple, quick, and hard to mess up.

The cooking doesn’t take long. If nothing else, her time in the pack had forced her to become skilled in the kitchen. After all, being hated meant being forced to do the tasks no one else wanted-including preparing meals for everyone else.

At least something useful had come from it.

Saphira plates two servings, placing Nikolas’s on the same table where she had left the coffee earlier that morning.

“I made some food,” she calls out through the bedroom door, keeping her tone neutral. “I wasn’t sure if you eat, but it’s on the table. Oh, and no-it isn’t drugged.”

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food ground her for a moment.

Whether Nikolas eats or not, she’s beyond caring at this point. If he wants to stay locked away in that room for the rest of their time here, then fine. It would make things easier-less tense. As long as he keeps his distance, she has no complaints.

Solitude has never bothered her, and right now, she welcomes it.

Saphira finishes her dinner, then moves to clean up, washing the dishes and putting everything away with practiced ease. As she dries her hands, her gaze drifts toward the bedroom. The plate she had left for Nikolas still sits on the table. Why am I not surprised?

She crosses the room to retrieve it, but as she reaches for the plate, she pauses. It’s empty.

Frowning slightly, she glances around, checking to see if maybe he had discarded it elsewhere-but there’s no sign of it being anywhere but where she had left it.

He must have eaten while I was washing up.

The realization settles in quietly, neither reassuring nor unsettling. At least it hadn’t gone to waste.

She takes the plate, quickly washing it and stowing it away with the rest. Another glance at the clock tells her it’s just gone nine in the evening.

An early night seems like a good idea.

That’s day one done.

Or perhaps more accurately-day one survived.

Saphira prepares the sofa for the night, shifting the cushions aside and pulling out the blanket. With her makeshift bed now set up, she heads to the bathroom to freshen up.

She follows the same routine as the night before-taking a quick shower, letting the warmth relax her muscles before slipping into a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Comfort over style, especially in a situation like this.

She washes her face, brushes her teeth, then gathers her hair into a messy bun, not bothering to make it neat. The day has been long enough, and all she wants now is sleep.

Satisfied, she steps out of the bathroom, making her way back to the sofa. Curling up beneath the blanket, she shifts until she finds a comfortable position, letting her body sink into the cushions.

Tomorrow would be another day. One down, nine to go.

As Saphira settles into the sofa, her mind drifts, inevitably returning to Connor.

He lingers in her thoughts, as he always does-the ever-present ghost in her dreams. She knows what’s coming the moment she closes her eyes. It’s always the same. The night he died. The memories never shift, never fade, replaying with merciless precision.

She exhales, pressing herself further into the cushions, as though she could anchor herself against the weight of it.

She would give anything to have her little brother back. To hear his voice, to laugh with him just once more.

But wishes don’t change reality.

And no matter how much she aches for him-he’s gone.

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