Page 7 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow (Eternal Oath Saga #2)

Alex

Alice Kassel.

The name rings in my head like a blaring alarm. It’s loud, persistent, clawing at the edges of my thoughts. The second Katherine mentioned it during our phone call, there was no way I was going to meet her that evening. I needed a way out, and fast.

"I don’t think I feel so good," I told her, keeping my voice low and raspy, throwing in a half-hearted cough for good measure. Maybe it was convincing, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, I wasn’t about to stay on the call and find out.

Now, sitting alone with a glass of whiskey, I’m left to unravel the knots in my chest. I swirl the liquid in lazy circles. My other hand moves almost on autopilot, threading through my hair like it’ll somehow untangle the thoughts in my head.

How do they even know each other? Katherine isn’t a shifter—I would’ve smelled it on her if she was. It feels like some cruel joke, like the universe is twisting the knife just to watch me squirm. It’s bad enough that I have to wrestle with the fact that Katherine is my fated mate, an ordeal in itself that I can barely afford to dwell on in the middle of my mission.

But she knows Alice? They’re friends? She’s friends with the Queen of the American Wolf Kingdom?

Alice knows who I am. Really knows. Not the janitor, not the guy with the down turned eyes and the silent demeanor. The real me. And that’s a problem—a big one. I’ve worked too hard, come too far, to let it all fall apart now. Not when I’m this close to finishing what I started.

The thought sends a tight, burning knot of frustration through my chest. I tip the glass to my lips and take a slow, deliberate swallow. The whiskey burns going down, a sting I welcome. It’s settling, a distraction from the noise in my head.

The faint vibration of my phone on the table breaks through my thoughts, rattling against the wood with a dull buzz. It’s a jarring sound in the quiet, but I don’t move right away. I stare at the screen, watching the name light up in bold letters.

Jack.

My best friend. My confidant. Another person who knows me… really knows me. But unlike Alice Kassel, there’s no cause for alarm with Jack. He’s the only person I can trust to stand by me through this mission that’s consuming me.

“Jack,” I say, my voice a little rougher than usual. “What’s up?”

The phone is warm against my ear, and I lean back in my chair, letting my head tip against the cool wall behind me.

Jack chuckles softly, the sound low and genuine, like he’s holding back a louder laugh. It lingers just enough to get under my skin, and before I can ask him if he called me just to amuse himself, his voice cuts through.

“My prince,” he says, his tone still light with amusement, “you’re starting to sound very American.”

I pause, my brows knitting together for a second before I realize what he’s talking about. My tone. My accent. It hits me that I’d slipped into that polished, neutral drawl I’ve been perfecting for months now. It’s second nature at this point, a mask I wear every day, one I’ve had to work hard at crafting. Blending in has been essential—not just at Pinnacle Group but in every interaction.

It hasn’t been easy. There have been moments where Katherine’s curious gaze lingered on me just a beat too long, where someone at work raised a brow at the subtle, unplaceable cadence in my voice. It’s always been a tightrope walk. But if Jack’s teasing me about it now, it must mean I’m doing a better job than I thought.

I exhale softly, the tenseness leaving my shoulders. There’s something about hearing Jack’s voice that makes it easier to drop the act. Even my posture changes, straightening naturally, my shoulders lifting in the way they always do when I’m reminded of who I really am.

“Very funny,” I say dryly. “Jack. Do you have news, or are you just here to critique my speech?”

Jack’s tone changes in an instant, the humor draining away as something heavier takes its place. “I apologize, my prince,” he says, the formal edge returning, a quiet respect lacing his words. “But there’s been a development in the kingdom back here in Europe.”

The dip in his voice sends a jolt through me. My grip on the phone tightens instinctively, my pulse quickening.

“What development?” I ask, my voice steady.

“The Usurper,” Jack begins, I can hear the bitterness in his voice, it’s a bitterness that is deeply mirrored in my heart. "He’s seized control of all infrastructure run by the local pack communities. Issued a royal decree this morning. Everything… running water, railways, communication lines… it’s all under his thumb now."

Damn it.

My jaw tightens as Jack continues, the words cutting into me.

"He’s branded any resistance as treason. This morning, three leading pack families pledged their allegiance to him. They didn’t have a choice, my Prince. Their hands are tied, or their necks will be on the block."

I clench my fists so tightly that my nails dig into my palms, the faint sting grounding me. A pulse thrums in my head, my vision narrowing.

"Your uncle has his foot planted on everyone’s neck," Jack finishes, his voice filled with frustration.

Uncle Valerian. That swine.

His name alone sends a fresh wave of anger surging through me. My heart pounds against my ribs, each beat a reminder of what’s been taken. This… this ruthless grab for power, is something my father would never have done. It goes against everything my family stood for. My father believed in balance, in partnership with the local packs. Control over those infrastructures was meant to empower them, to sustain livelihoods, to foster unity. But Valerian? He only sees power.

My hands tremble as I force myself to take a breath, the fury inside me threatening to boil over.

"My prince…" Jack's voice pulls me from the storm of rage churning inside me. "...your mission… are you any closer to getting everything you need?"

“Yes, Jack,” I answer, my voice steady, resolute. “Soon, I’ll have everything we need. It won’t be long now. They’re all going to pay.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line and I can imagine the look of relief on Jack’s face before he speaks again. “I hope so,” he says, his voice laced with dry humor. “At least then you won’t have to keep wearing that ridiculous janitor outfit.”

The comment pulls a faint smile out of me, almost against my will. The corners of my mouth twitch upward, but I quickly push it down, keeping my tone even. “This janitor job has been essential, Jack. It’s gotten me into places I’d never have been able to access otherwise.”

“Of course,” Jack replies smoothly, the sound of his grin practically audible. “The janitor job. And… your contract girlfriend.”

The mention of her lands heavier than I’d like. A knot tightens in my stomach, twisting in a way I don’t particularly care for. I run a hand through my hair as if that’ll loosen the tension. “The whole contractual relationship was… unexpected,” I say, keeping my voice measured, controlled. “But it’s been effective. Being close to her has allowed me to uncover more, faster than I ever could just posing as a janitor.”

“Unexpected, huh?” Jack’s voice takes on a teasing lilt that makes me want to groan. “And here I was thinking it was part of your plan… with all the late night dinners you’ve had with her.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You know why I’ve been doing that,” I say, irritation creeping into my voice despite my efforts to rein it in. “It was to get closer to her. To have access to the files.”

There’s this pause on the other end of the line. I can almost hear Jack processing my words, letting them sink in. Then he speaks, his tone cautious, like he’s trying to tread lightly but can’t quite mask the edge underneath.

“So… she’s just a means to an end then?”

I tighten my grip on the phone and force the reply out quickly, cleanly, like ripping off a Band Aid. “Precisely.” My voice is clipped, sharp, leaving no room for argument.

And yet… there’s that all too familiar faint twinge, an annoying rumbling growl from my wolf, that I immediately shove aside. I don’t have the time or the luxury to entertain that now.

“I just need to play along a little longer,” I say, the edge in my voice hardening into resolve. “Then Valerian will pay.” The name alone lights a fire in me, raw and all-consuming, and I feel it seeping into my tone.

There’s a beat before Jack responds, his voice softer now, almost subdued. “Yes, my Prince.”

I don’t respond. I just hang up, the click of the phone cutting through the quiet like a knife.

But the silence that follows isn’t much better. It’s heavy, pressing down on me as my own words echo in my head, over and over like a broken record. She’s just a means to an end.

If only it were that simple. Just compartmentalize, keep things clean, and push forward. But it’s not, the golden thread proves as much.

It’s there between us, undeniable, binding. And I know she sees it too. She might not understand it—not yet—but she feels it.

I see it in the look in her eyes when we make love. For a heartbeat, her guard slips, and she looks at me like she’s just seen something extraordinary. Something unexplainable. The golden thread, flickering in her eyes before the moment vanishes, and reality floods back in.

She’s more than a means to an end. That much is certain.

But I can’t let myself dwell on that. It’s dangerous territory, and I know better than to stray too close to it. If I start thinking about what she means to me—what she could mean to me—I risk losing focus. And I can’t afford that. Not now.

I have to think of her as a means to an end.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

No matter what I feel, no matter what the golden thread whispers in the quiet moments, I will not jeopardize my mission.

I grab the bottle of whiskey, pouring another glass with a steady hand, and throw it back in one sharp motion. The bitter burn spreads through my chest, snapping me out of my head just enough to remind me where I am—and what I have to do next.

My eyes flick to the watch on my wrist. The time stares back at me, a harsh reminder that I can’t sit here wallowing much longer. Work waits for no one, not even a man trying to dismantle his enemies from the inside out.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the couch, my joints stiff from sitting too long. I glance around the small, cramped apartment—the peeling paint on the walls, the sagging couch that looks like it’s seen better days, the lone bulb overhead casting everything in a dull yellow glow. It’s barely livable, but it’s perfect for what it needs to be: a disguise. A janitor doesn’t live in luxury.

I move through my usual routine, the steps almost mechanical now. I rake my fingers through my hair, styling it just enough to look neat but not noticeable. The plainest clothes from my closet get pulled on—worn-out jeans and a faded button-up that looks like it came straight from a thrift store. I roll my shoulders, adjust my posture, slouching slightly to make myself less noticeable.

By the time I step out the door, the transformation is complete. The man I was a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by someone the world barely notices. Someone who doesn’t raise eyebrows or invite questions.

Just another guy heading to another day of work. And that’s exactly how I need it to stay.

The cab ride to the Pinnacle Group offices is as uneventful as ever. The city blurs past in a streak of muted lights and colors, the hum of the engine providing a kind of white noise that settles my thoughts. The driver doesn’t make conversation, and I don’t encourage it. Quiet is good. Quiet keeps me in my head, where I can think—or not think, if that’s what I need.

When we pull up to the building, I slide out, nodding a quick thanks before heading inside. The lobby is its usual sterile self—bright, clean, and polished to the point of being unnaturally flawless. I make my way straight to the janitors’ room, exchanging only a few polite greetings with the other employees I pass. That’s about as much interaction as I allow myself. I’ve learned that the less you talk, the less people notice you. No fuss, no attention.

The janitors’ room is small and dim, the faint smell of cleaning supplies hanging in the air. I change into my overalls without rush, a well-practiced routine that feels like clockwork by now.

Once I’m out on the floor, time does what it always does: slips through my fingers. Cleaning is mindless work. My hands scrub, mop, and wipe. It’s taken me a while to get used to this, cleaning wasn’t something I ever did in the palace. But I’m at a point now that I can do it without getting curious glances.

As evening bleeds into night, a quiet anticipation starts to build in my chest. It’s almost 9 p.m.—the time I’ve come to know as ours. Every night, I go to Katherine’s office at this hour. Every night, we sit and talk over dinner, a ritual that’s somehow carved out a small space in my life.

I’ve come to look forward to it in a way I didn’t expect. Listening to her talk, hearing the way her voice softens as she lets go of the day’s stress. She talks about her work, her thoughts, her frustrations, and I just listen. Sometimes she laughs, and it’s a sound I’ve started to carry with me long after the conversation ends. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my face even now, thinking about it.

But tonight might be different. It’s the first time I’ll see her since I pulled the “I’m sick” card. I’ll have to smooth that over, but it’s nothing a quick explanation can’t handle.

I finish my tasks, put the tools back in their place, and straighten my overalls. My hands brush down the fabric absentmindedly as I make my way to her office. When I reach the door, I knock, the sound firm but familiar. She always knows it’s me.

Only this time, there’s no answer.

I pause, frowning a little. That’s… odd. She always answers on the first knock.

I try again, knocking louder this time.

Still nothing.

An uneasy feeling creeps into my chest, slow but insistent. I don’t know why, but it’s there. I knock once more, my knuckles pressing harder against the wood. The silence on the other side is deafening now, the kind that makes your throat dry and your pulse quicken.

Finally, I turn the knob and step inside, my movements careful, like I’m expecting something to jump out at me.

What I see makes me stop just inside the door frame, a quiet sigh slipping from my lips. Relief, yes, but there’s something else mixed in—something softer.

Katherine is there, but her head is resting on her desk, her body still except for the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The room is silent, save for the faint sound of it, soft and rhythmic.

The poor thing is asleep. Exhausted.

I take a step closer, the tension in my chest easing as I take in the sight of her. Even like this, there’s something about her that pulls at me—her hair spilling over her shoulders, her face relaxed in a way that makes her seem almost fragile.

She works too hard. She always does.

For a moment, I stand there in her doorway, watching her as she sleeps. A part of me wants to wake her. Just to hear her voice, to see her look at me with that sharp but somehow soft gaze of hers. But I stop myself. She needs this. She’s clearly worn out, and waking her now would be selfish.

So I let her rest. She deserves that much, at least.

Quietly, I step back, clicking the door shut behind me as gently as I can. The sound barely registers, and I’m already walking down the hall toward the janitors' room, my mind spinning with thoughts that refuse to settle.

Katherine works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. She doesn’t just run the company; she carries it. Every decision, every plan, every challenge—it all falls squarely on her shoulders. Most people would crumble under that weight, but she doesn’t. Somehow, she keeps going, even with all the doubt she has to face.

It’s what she talks about the most when we have those late-night dinners: the constant pressure, the endless scrutiny. Every move she makes, every word she says, is analyzed, criticized, dissected—professionally and personally. And yet, she keeps fighting. Keeps winning.

But that’s not the part that twists in my gut.

It’s the danger she’s in. The people around her who don’t just want her to fail—they want her gone. People like Frank, her snake of a cousin, or Lawrence. They’d do anything to take her down, and she knows it.

I reach the door to the janitors’ room, my hand resting on the cold metal handle. My shift is over and there’s nothing left for me to do here tonight. I could go back to the apartment, sit on that worn-out couch, pour myself another drink, and let the night pass.

But something pulls at me. A weight in my chest, a voice in my head that tells me I can’t just leave. Not tonight. Not after seeing her like that, head down on her desk, completely vulnerable. Not with everything I know about the people circling her like vultures.

I let go of the handle and take a step back, exhaling slowly. I’m staying. There might be no danger to her—or there might be. Honestly, I don’t know. What I do know is I can’t bring myself to leave. I’ll stay a little longer. Just in case.

My thoughts churn as I walk, an undercurrent of unease weaving through them. I won’t always be here to protect her. That’s the reality, isn’t it? When this mission is over, when I leave this place for good, Katherine will be here alone, facing everything and everyone without me. The thought sends a hollow ache straight through me. If I hadn’t been there the day Frank laced her coffee—if I wasn’t in her office in that exact moment—what would’ve happened? I don’t even want to imagine it.

I hope she’ll be okay when I’m gone.

Reaching the lobby outside her office floor, I slow my steps, my eyes scanning the space. It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your ears strain for sounds that might not even be there. I walk the perimeter slowly, deliberately, keeping myself as unobtrusive as possible. My gaze flicks occasionally toward Katherine’s office door, always keeping it within view. If Frank—or anyone else—tries anything, I’ll be here.

The faint click of heels against the floor cuts through the silence.

My pulse picks up, not quite racing, but steady and sharp. Something changes in the air around me, like a pressure I can’t quite define. The clicks get louder, closer, each one carrying an odd weight.

And then, rounding the corner with a calm, deliberate stride, is Alice Kassel.

What the hell is she doing here?

The lobby, once merely quiet, now feels utterly still. Just the two of us, her heels marking time as she walks, her presence filling the empty space. I duck my head instinctively, keeping my face down as I move to pass her quickly, my steps fast but controlled.

We cross paths. She’s heading toward Katherine’s office, and I’m moving toward the far hallway, thinking—hoping—I’ve dodged this one.

But then she calls out, her voice crisp and clear.

“Alex Valkov.”

I stop dead, my body tensing as if on instinct. A second passes, maybe two. I can feel her gaze boring into me from behind. Slowly, I turn to face her.

“What are you doing here, your majesty?” I say, the accent I usually fake falling away completely. There’s no point now.

Alice steps forward, her eyes scanning me with a sharp precision. “I’m here for one more night out with my friend before I head back to the kingdom.”

“She’s resting,” I reply, my voice clipped.

She tilts her head slightly, her gaze unyielding. “I just got off the phone with her. She’s getting ready.”

I nod, saying nothing, but Alice takes another step closer.

“And you,” she continues, her voice low but steady. “What are you doing here… your highness?”

The air between us tightens, the tension palpable. Her eyes lock onto mine, unwavering, challenging. I don’t flinch.

“Getting justice,” I answer, my voice firm, unshaken.

For a moment, her expression doesn’t change. But then she blinks, and I know she understands. She knows exactly what’s been taken from me. But I’m not about to read her through exactly how I plan to get it back.

I turn halfway, ready to leave, but her hand snaps out, gripping my arm. Her touch is firm, and when I look into her eyes again, I see something fierce, something dangerous.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Alex,” she says, her tone low and cutting. Her voice drops further, a warning laced in every word. “But if whatever it is you’re doing hurts her—if you hurt my friend—I will hurt you.”

Her words land hard, and I know she means them. This isn’t an empty threat. It’s a promise.

For a fleeting moment, I feel a strange sense of relief. At least, even when I’m gone, Katherine will have someone like Alice watching over her. And Alice Kassel is not someone to be trifled with.

I lean in slightly, my voice steady as I reply. “I mean her no harm. And I give you my word—no harm will come to her.”

There’s a beat of silence. Her eyes search mine, and it’s like an unspoken agreement passes between us. Finally, she lets go of my arm, her grip loosening as she steps back.

I nod once, acknowledging her. “Your majesty,” I say quietly before turning and walking down the hall.

The tension lingers in the air as I head toward the janitors’ room, my thoughts swirling once again. I can leave now—head back to my apartment.

But Alice’s sudden appearance brings one thing into sharp focus: I need to finish this mission. And I need to finish it soon.