Page 22

Andros

With a bit of luck I made it back to the council chamber with just enough control to pass for composed, but barely. Garrick caught my eye the second I walked in, his stare sharp and unreadable. He didn’t speak, thank the gods. He knew better.

I apologized to our guests for the sudden interruption.

Told them it was a patrol issue, something urgent on the eastern ridge.

Alek didn’t question it. Maera smiled politely.

I even offered a small reduction on trade tax as a gesture of goodwill.

A little generosity went a long way with packs like theirs.

They left content, and politically, things remained intact. But inside, I was unraveling.

Lexa.

She had embedded herself under my skin like a thorn. Every breath still carried her scent. The bond had gone quiet since that night, but it wasn’t peace. It was the silence before the break. I could feel it.

So I stayed away. For days, I didn’t see her.

I buried myself in war planning, in drills with the men, in long hours on the ramparts where the mountain wind bit hard enough to distract me.

I told myself it was necessary. I needed clarity, control.

I needed to remember who I was. The Alpha of Blood Night.

Not some tethered fool craving the touch of a woman who would rather die than belong.

And then she came. Not Lexa. Tanya.

She let herself in without knocking, of course.

Her footsteps echoed across the stone as she approached my desk, all soft smiles and calculated grace.

She was dressed for court, not conversation.

Pale lavender silk clung to her curves, her hair twisted up in a style that took too long to perfect for someone with no real business being here.

“Alpha,” she said sweetly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You are,” I replied without looking up. She didn’t flinch. She never did.

“I’ll be brief, then.” She walked closer, stopping just short of the desk. “I heard something this morning. From one of the maids.”

I kept my gaze on the papers in front of me.

“She said you marked her. The stray. Lexa.”

Her voice wrapped around the name like a curse. I looked up. Finally. Tanya’s smile was tight, brittle around the edges.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” she said. Her voice was calm, but I heard the strain beneath it. “Tell me you didn’t give her what you’ve never given anyone else.”

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossing over my chest as I stared at her, unblinking. And I said nothing. Because silence, in that moment, was louder than any answer. Tanya’s eyes narrowed. The smile she wore cracked, just slightly, and something colder glinted behind it.

“You’re not going to say anything?” she asked, voice lower now, more controlled. “After everything I’ve done for you. After all the years I’ve served this pack. Served you .”

The air between us had already shifted, thick and tense, vibrating with the kind of power that came just before violence. She stepped closer, too bold, too sure of her place in a room that no longer belonged to her.

“I honored you. I answered every time you called. I was obedient. Loyal. I’ve bled for your name, and I laid down for your pleasure. And now I’m replaced by a mutt who carves up her own body just to silence the wolf in her?” She sneered. “That’s who you mark?”

I rose from my chair. Slow. Deliberate. And when I looked at her, I let her see it. The Alpha. The fury. The thing she’d never tamed and never truly touched.

“Careful, Tanya.”

But she didn’t stop. The bitterness was already pouring from her like acid.

“Oh, don’t worry, Alpha,” she said with a vicious little smile. “I know exactly what Lexa’s been doing. This keep has walls, and those walls have ears. And when the rest of your pack finds out that their Alpha marked a wolf who uses dark magic to butcher her own nature—”

My power flared before I could think.

I was across the room in an instant, hand around her throat, not squeezing, but close. Close enough to make the blood drain from her face. Close enough to silence whatever venom she thought she could spit.

“If her name passes your lips again, Tanya,” I said, voice low and shaking with barely leashed violence, “I’ll drag you into the courtyard and break every bone in your body, one by one, until you scream so loud the gods cover their ears.”

Her eyes widened, mouth parting in disbelief. She had pushed too far, and now she saw it.

“I am not a man who forgets loyalty,” I continued, softer now. “But don’t mistake my patience for mercy. You are not Luna. You never were. And you will not start a war in my halls with your jealous mouth.”

I let go of her slowly, like I was releasing something rotted. She stumbled back, catching herself against the table. That venomous glint in her eyes dulled for a moment, and she shifted, softened her posture, adjusted her tone like a woman sliding into a new mask.

“I’m only trying to help you see clearly,” she said, her voice quiet now, silk over glass.

“You’re not yourself, Andros. Maybe you should consider…

that she’s done something to n arrow your vision.

” Her eyes flicked to the floor, then back to me with false concern.

“She’s skilled, isn’t she? With dark magic.

Who’s to say the bond wasn’t twisted into something it shouldn’t be? ”

I watched her, silent for a beat, then took a slow step closer, not threatening this time, just enough to make sure she didn’t mistake me for a fool.

“She doesn’t wield dark magic,” I said, flatly. “She paid for it. A witch carved those runes into her back. Lexa doesn’t even know how to hold a blade properly, let alone cast a curse.”

Tanya’s lips parted like she might say more, but I raised a hand, and the words died in her throat.

“I’ve entertained enough of your jealousy for one lifetime,” I said, voice cold and final. “Don’t come here again. Not unless it’s a matter of pack urgency.”

I stepped around her, back to my desk, and poured myself a glass of wine, slow and deliberate.

“And one more thing,” I added without looking at her. “The next time you see me, or her, you will bow your head in submission and walk the other fucking way.”

Tanya said nothing. I didn’t need her to. The door opened behind her, and this time, she walked through it without another word. I listened to her footsteps fade down the hall, my jaw tight, the taste of fury still bitter in my mouth.

I worked until the late hours of the night, trying to avoid everyone. The fire in my study had long burned to embers. The ink on my fingers was dry, the maps and ledgers I’d pored over nothing but smudged lines and meaningless numbers.

The corridor was quiet, lit only by the soft orange flicker of wall sconces. The hour was late and I was bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix.

I stepped into the hall intending to make my way to the guest room at the far end. My chambers… our chambers… were still occupied by her. And tonight, I couldn’t trust myself to go near that door. Not when the memory of her still echoed in my mind with every breath I took.

But then I saw movement. A shape, small and silent, barely more than a shadow crouched near the stone staircase that led down to the lower halls.

He was huddled in the corner, tucked between the high banister and the wall, his little arms wrapped around his knees, curls messy, dressed in soft nightclothes too big for his frame.

I paused. Narrowed my eyes.

“Boy,” I said.

His head jerked up fast. Big brown eyes blinked up at me, wide and unsure, shimmering slightly in the low light.

“What are you doing up?”

Dain shifted, fingers twisting into the hem of his tunic. “The wind is… howling.”

The draft through the old citadel made a mournful sound sometimes, low and long, like wolves in the distance. To most of us, it was background noise. But to a four-year-old?

He looked away, then down at his feet, voice small. “I got scared.”

I said nothing for a moment, just watched him try to tuck his fear away behind pride. The kid had fire in him—I’d seen it in the training yard—but tonight, he was just a child.

“And where were you going?” I asked.

His fingers fidgeted more. “To find Lexi. But the guards don’t let me see her.”

I sighed. Ran a hand through my hair. “Come on.”

He looked up, confused.

“Let’s go,” I said, and held out a hand.

After only a second of hesitation, he stood and shuffled over. His small hand slipped into mine, warm and hesitant. We walked together down the corridor, his bare feet soft against the stone, my steps slow so he could keep up.

I led him to the guest room, the one I’d been using since marking his Lexi . He stopped at the threshold, eyes wide at the heavy bed, the furs, the massive fireplace.

“This your room?” he asked.

“For now.”

He stepped in like it was a sacred space. When I gestured toward the bed, he didn’t wait. He just climbed up and nestled into the blankets like he belonged there.

“Are you staying?” he asked, peeking out from under the thick furs.

I stared for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

He smiled. Smiled like I’d handed him the moon. The next twenty minutes were chaos.

“Why is your bed so big?”

“Where do you keep your swords?”

“Do alphas get more meat at dinner?”

“Have you ever killed a bear?”

“Can I have armor when I’m five?”

“Why don’t you have a wife?”

“Are you gonna marry Lexi?”

That one made me choke on air.

“No,” I said. Too fast. Too sharp. He blinked like I’d scared him, so I softened my tone. “Go to sleep.”

He yawned, finally, and curled closer into the pillows. His voice was already slowing, sleepy.

“I’m glad she found me,” he mumbled. “Lexi. I was cold when my mama died. Cold and hungry. And scared all the time.” His small fingers twisted in the fur blanket.

“She picked me up and said she’d keep me safe. She lied a little. I still get scared. But not when she’s close.”

I stared at the boy, something bitter and quiet swelling in my chest.

“And now?” I asked, softer than I meant to.

Dain yawned again, his voice barely a whisper. “Now she’s gone... but you smell like her. So… I think that means you’re safe too.”

And then, just like that, he was asleep. Peaceful. Trusting. I stayed there, still as stone, watching the rise and fall of his small chest beneath the furs.

The beast inside me—the one that only knew how to take, to conquer, to command—quieted. For the first time in longer than I could remember, it didn’t want to fight.

Because in the middle of this cold, endless war, in the silence of my fortress full of blood and shadows…She had found something worth protecting. And somehow, without even meaning to, she’d given it to me too.

I’d faced battlefields soaked in blood. Fought Alphas twice my size. Slept through storms that shook the earth.

But none of that compared to trying to sleep in the same bed as a four-year-old who kicked like he was possessed by a pack of rabid boars.

Dain thrashed in his sleep like he was chasing ghosts. I’d wake to a heel digging into my ribs or a tiny fist punching my jaw mid-dream. At one point, I ended up dangling half off the bed while he snored peacefully in the dead center like he owned it.

By morning, I felt like I’d been in a brawl. My muscles ached, my back cracked with every step I took, and there were faint bruises on my side that no warrior should ever have to admit came from a child.

Dain? He was radiant.

Skipping through the halls, hair wild, smile wide, mouth moving a mile a minute about wolves and swords and the dream he had about riding a giant hawk into battle.

The moment we stepped into the great hall for breakfast, I regretted everything. Garrick was already seated at the long table, chewing on a hunk of bread, his eyes lighting up like a wolf who’d scented weakness.

“Well, well,” he said, mouth full. “Our mighty Alpha. Tamer of beasts, breaker of Crescent Moon… babysitter of a four-year-old.”

I dropped into the chair beside Garrick with a grunt, dragging a hand down my face. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Let me guess—little warlord steal your side of the bed? Or were you demoted to floor duty by midnight?”

“He kicks like he’s training for war,” I muttered.

Garrick snorted. “Like mother, like son.”

Before I could throw something at him, Maelin—the kitchen maid who'd been around longer than most of the guards—breezed in with two steaming plates balanced on her arms and that familiar mischievous glint in her eye.

“Well, well,” she said, setting the plates down with a practiced flourish, one in front of me, the other in front of Dain, who was already climbing onto the bench across from me like he owned the place. “The mighty Alpha returns from battle… defeated by a pair of tiny feet.”

Garrick barked a laugh. “Told you, he’s losing his edge.”

Maelin winked at him, then looked back at me, feigning innocence. “Sleep well, my lord? I hear humans don’t bite their Alphas to claim them. They just stare at them with those big, trusting eyes instead.”

I gave her a flat look.

She nodded down the table—toward Dain, who was beaming at me through a mouthful of bread and humming some half-forgotten tune.

And then I felt it. That strange pull again. Not magic. Not a bond. But something just as binding. Maybe more.

Not blood. But permanent .

Garrick leaned forward, elbow on the table as he tore into a hunk of meat. “Better get the Alpha something stronger to drink,” he said to Maelin with a smirk. “Boy’s got him wrapped tighter than a winter cloak.”

Maelin laughed. “Careful, Garrick. At this rate, we’ll be calling him the next Alpha.”

I said nothing. Just stared at Dain, who was now chewing with exaggerated slowness, clearly enjoying the attention, still humming, eyes shining like dawn.

I’d faced rebellion. Bloodshed. Betrayal. But this?

This was something else entirely. And somehow, it had made itself at home at my table.