Page 10 of Beneath Scales and Shadows
Three masked nobles—young lords from their fine attire—intercepted her path. Their scents marked them as alphas, though lacking the potent quality of the mysterious scent that had unsettled her moments before.
“Well, what have we here?” The tallest one placed an empty goblet on her tray, his fingers deliberately brushing against hers. “You smell too delicious to be merely serving wine, little one.”
Sora lowered her gaze. “You’re mistaken, my lord. Please enjoy the Selection.”
She attempted to step around them, but a second noble blocked her path. “I caught your scent from across the room.” His voice slurred slightly with wine. “Someone as sweet as you should be serving us… privately… instead of working on the floor.”
The third moved behind her, effectively boxing her between them. “Remove your mask,” he demanded. “Let us see the face that carries such an intoxicating scent.”
“I cannot, my lord.” Panic threaded through her voice. “Servants must remain masked at all times.”
The first noble leaned closer, his breath hot on her cheek. “We won’t tell if you won’t.” His hand moved to the edge of her mask. “Just a peek.”
Sora clutched the tray before her like a shield as the goblet fell with a clink onto the floor, unnoticed and drowned out by the loud music and conversation. “Please, my lords—”
“The lady clearly isn’t interested in your company.” The voice came from behind them—deep, resonant, carrying an undercurrent of leashed power that made the hair on Sora’s arms stand on end.
The scent hit her then—that same intoxicating blend of midnight and fire, now wrapping around her like a protective cloak. Where moments before she had fled from it, now she found herself leaning toward it, her body recognizing safety where her mind perceived danger.
The three nobles turned, affronted expressions quickly shifting to something closer to wariness. Through the gap between them, Sora glimpsed a tall figure in formal attire, his face hidden behind an elaborate black mask etched with ancient gold. The design caught the light like scales, a large ruby set at its center, with black horns curving from the top. The mask covered more of his face than was customary, leaving only his jaw and mouth visible, as his long rich crimson hair flowed behind him that would make models in a hair care commercial weep with jealousy.
Who is this mysterious masked Fabio, and why do I suddenly feel like the heroine on one of my great-grandma’s old clinch romance covers?
“This doesn’t concern you,” the tallest noble said, though his voice had lost its earlier arrogance.
“I disagree.” The newcomer stepped closer. “When three lords corner an unescorted serving girl, it becomes the concern of anyone with a shred of decency.”
The stranger’s scent enveloped her completely now, somehow calming the fire beneath her skin even as it intensified her awareness of him. The contradictory sensations left her dizzy, rooted to the spot.
“She’s just a kitchen maid,” the wine-slurred noble protested, his words revealing they hadn’t recognized her true nature—only her beauty and alluring scent. “We were merely seeking entertainment—”
“Then I suggest you find it elsewhere.” The stranger’s voice deepened, the pleasant court accent slipping to reveal something wilder beneath. “It’s clear she isn’t interested.”
“And what if we don’t?”
“The lady is under my protection now.” A hand came to rest on Sora’s shoulder, warm and strong through the thin fabric of her serving dress. The contact sent a jolt through her body—not pain but a buzzing sensation that raced across her skin like lightning seeking ground. She gasped softly, the tray trembling in her hands. “I will deal with the three of you myself if I have to. It’d be child’s play—but we wouldn’t want any unnecessary interruptions, now would we?”
The three nobles stared at the stranger’s hand on her shoulder, then at his face, something in his expression making them step back in unison.
“My apologies,” the tallest muttered, his earlier bravado evaporating. “We meant no disrespect to your... claim.”
“Leave us.” The words carried such authority that the nobles turned without another word, disappearing into the crowd as though they’d never been there at all.
Sora remained frozen, the buzzing sensation from his touch spreading through her body like wildfire, both soothing and intensifying the heat that had plagued her all day. The tray slipped from her nerveless fingers, but before it could crash to the floor, his other hand caught it with inhuman speed and grace.
“Careful,” he murmured, setting the tray on a nearby table without removing his hand from her shoulder. “Are you well?”
His touch should have frightened her. Everything Lyra had warned about her condition, about alphas and their effect on emerging omegas, told her to flee if she wanted to survive on this planet. Yet something deeper, more visceral, kept her rooted in place—a recognition that transcended her conscious mind.
“I... yes,” she managed, though her voice emerged thin and breathless.
She felt him step closer, his chest nearly touching her back, his scent wrapping around her like a protective shroud. The fear that had been her constant companion since awakening in this world receded, replaced by a strange sense of security—as though she had been running all her life and finally found shelter.
“Turn around,” he requested, his voice gentler now but no less compelling.
Slowly, afraid of what she might see, Sora turned to face him. His mask was unlike the others at the ball—but nothing could disguise the crimson eyes that stared down at her, holding impossible recognition.
Heat coursed beneath her skin as their gazes locked, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like waking up.