Chapter 51: Proof of Trust

Seraphine's POV

The rage flooding through the bond began to ebb.

Not all at once. More like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving wreckage in its wake. I could still feel it there, simmering under the surface, but the violent waves had stopped crashing into me.

I stayed on the floor, my ass throbbing where it had slammed against the wood. My throat ached from where his hand had pressed. Every breath I took felt sharp, like swallowing broken glass.

But I didn't move. Didn't dare.

Kaelen stood over me, the dagger still in his hand. His chest heaved with each breath. The gold in his eyes flickered, then slowly began to fade. Black bled back into his irises, swallowing the molten fury piece by piece.

His dual pupils returned. Dark. Sharp.

We stared at each other.

Neither of us spoke.

The silence was heavy. Thick. It pressed down on me like a physical weight, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.

But something had changed.

I could feel it in the bond. The suspicion was still there, coiled tight in the connection between us. But the raw, consuming rage had dulled. It had burned itself out, leaving behind something quieter. Something more controlled.

He believed me.

Not completely. Not yet. But enough.

Enough to stop choking me. Enough to pull back the wolf.

My mind latched onto that realization, turning it over and over like a coin in my palm.

Isolde. Whoever she was, whatever she'd done, she'd left scars. Deep ones. The kind that didn't heal. The kind that made a man like Kaelen flinch at the mere suggestion of betrayal.

She'd broken something in him.

And I'd almost paid the price for it.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought aside. Later. I could think about that later.

Right now, I needed to get off this goddamn floor.

I pressed my bandaged hand against the wood, trying to push myself up. Pain exploded through my palm the second I put weight on it. I hissed through my teeth, my arm shaking as I forced myself to move.

Kaelen didn't help.

He just stood there. Watching. His expression unreadable.

Bastard.

I gritted my teeth and pushed harder, ignoring the way my hand screamed in protest. My shoulder burned. My ribs ached. But I managed to get my legs under me, bracing myself against the floor until I could finally stand.

My knees wobbled. My vision swam. But I stayed upright.

I looked at him.

He looked back.

Neither of us moved.

Then he spoke.

"I hate betrayal more than anything." His voice was low, cold. Each word deliberate. "You don't run. You don't betray the pack. Ever."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept going.

"If you do, I'll make sure you regret every second you're still breathing despite the mark."

The threat hung in the air between us, sharp and final.

I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Wanted to throw the words back in his face and storm out of this room. But I couldn't.

Because he was right.

If I ran now, I'd be caught within a day.

Damien's wolves were out there. Searching. Hunting. And if they'd already found this place once, they'd find it again. Especially if I was alone.

And the humans. God, Old John's village. If they were still searching for whoever had stolen from them and set that fire, I wouldn't last five minutes on my own.

I needed Kaelen.

I hated it. Hated how much I needed him. But it was the truth.

And if I wanted any chance of finding Lyralei, I had to stay.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. "I won't run anymore."

His eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because you're my best chance of finding my sister." The words came out flat. Honest. "I can't do it alone. Not with Damien hunting me. Not with human hunters crawling all over these woods. You're the only one who can help me."

Silence.

The bond pulsed. Slow. Steady. He was weighing my words, searching for cracks.

"You promised to help me find her," I continued. "As an Alpha, you said you'd keep your word."

"I did." His voice was hard. "And I will."

"Then I need you to tell me the second you hear anything. The second you find even a hint of where she might be."

"Done."

The word was short. Final. Like a door slamming shut.

I waited for him to move. To step back. To let this conversation end.

He didn't.

Instead, his jaw tightened. His grip on the dagger shifted, knuckles white against the worn leather handle.

Then he asked the question I'd been dreading.

"How do you prove it?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Your word." His voice was flat. Empty. "How do you prove you won't run?"

My stomach dropped.

Shit.

He wasn't letting this go. Wasn't going to take my promise at face value and move on.

He wanted proof. Something real. Something he could hold onto.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. My brain scrambled for an answer.

What the hell was I supposed to say? Sign a contract? Swear on my dead parents' graves? Cut my palm and shake on it like some medieval oath?

Then it hit me.

The bond.

He could feel my emotions through it. Anger. Fear. Pain. All of it bled through the connection whether I wanted it to or not.

But there was one thing that would make it stronger. One thing that would tie us together so deeply he'd know, without a doubt, if I was lying.

A mark.

My stomach twisted at the thought. But I pushed the hesitation aside.

This was a transaction. Nothing more.

He wanted proof. I needed his help.

Fair trade.

I took a breath. Held it. Then slowly tilted my head to the left, exposing the side of my neck.

My hair slid over my shoulder, falling away to reveal pale skin. The faint imprint of his teeth was still there, barely visible under the dim light. A reminder of the first time he'd marked me.

"Mark me again."