Chapter 4 The Weight of Watching
They don’t chain me.
That might be the cruelest part.
Instead, I’m escorted through winding corridors deeper into the compound, flanked by two wolves who don’t bother hiding their curiosity. Their gazes scrape over me like claws—not hungry exactly, but alert. Measuring.
Word travels fast in a pack.
By the time we reach the room I’m assigned, they already know.
Not what I am. Not yet.
But they know something happened in the Alpha’s hall. They know the air changed. They know Alaric Bloodhowl stood too close to a human woman under a blood moon and didn’t kill her for bleeding on his skin.
That alone is enough to make me dangerous.
The door opens onto a chamber that feels… deliberate.
Stone walls. Heavy furs layered across the floor and bed. A narrow window cut high into the wall, moonlight spilling in pale and watchful. No bars. No locks I can see from the inside.
A choice.
Or the illusion of one.
“You’ll stay here,” one of the guards says. “Food will be brought. Do not wander.”
“And if I do?” I ask lightly.
His lip curls, just a little. “You won’t get far.”
The door closes behind them with a final, echoing thud.
I stand there for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the pack beyond the walls—footsteps, low voices, the crackle of fire. Life going on as if my entire world hasn’t just tilted on its axis.
Slowly, I sink onto the edge of the bed.
The moment my weight settles, the bond surges.
Heat coils low in my belly, sharp and demanding, my pulse syncing to something distant and powerful. I press my palm to my chest, breathing through it.
“Stop,” I whisper, though I don’t know who I’m speaking to.
The bond doesn’t listen.
Images press at the edges of my mind—broad shoulders, amber eyes, the weight of a presence that fills rooms without trying. Alaric’s restraint burns just as hot as his dominance, and somehow I feel both.
That’s the most terrifying part.
He’s holding back.
I curl my fingers into the fur beneath me, grounding myself in texture and sensation. Think. You need to think.
I slip off my boots and retrieve the vial, holding it up to the moonlight.
Nightbane.
Even contained, it hums faintly with magic, dark and slick. Enough to weaken a king. Enough to fracture a pack.
Enough to kill us both now.
My stomach twists.
I tuck it back into its hiding place and pace the room, restless energy thrumming through me. Every few steps, the bond tugs—subtle but insistent—pulling my awareness in a direction I don’t want to acknowledge.
Toward him.
I stop at the window and look out.
The blood moon still hangs low, swollen and red, painting the forest in shades of violence and prophecy. Wolves move below, shadows gliding between trees, their senses sharp and attuned.
And somewhere among them is Alaric.
I feel him before I see him.
A sudden pressure blooms behind my eyes, a tightening in my chest. My breath catches as the bond snaps taut, like a line pulled too hard.
He’s close.
I turn just as a knock sounds at the door.
Once. Firm. Controlled.
My heart leaps into my throat.
I don’t answer.
The door opens anyway.
Alaric steps inside, filling the space instantly. He’s shed his coat, the dark shirt beneath clinging to muscle and heat. His hair is loose now, falling into his eyes, and for a heartbeat, he looks less like a king and more like something freshly dragged from the wild.
His gaze sweeps the room, sharp and assessing, before landing on me.
“You didn’t try to leave,” he notes.
“I was told not to wander.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Obedient.”
I bristle. “Practical.”
He closes the door behind him.
The click echoes too loudly.
The bond flares in response, a rush of awareness so intense my knees threaten to buckle. I grip the windowsill, steadying myself.
Alaric notices. Of course he does.
“Sit,” he says.
I glare at him. “You don’t get to—”
The bond pulses, a sharp reminder of its existence, and the words die in my throat.
My body betrays me, lowering onto the bed despite my protest.
His jaw tightens. “This is why proximity is a problem.”
“Then why are you here?” I snap.
He steps closer, stopping a careful distance away, as if testing an invisible boundary. “Because the bond is strongest tonight. If we don’t understand its limits now, it will get worse.”
“Comforting.”
“You feel it,” he says quietly. “The pull. The heat. The way your instincts are trying to align with mine.”
My face burns. “I don’t have instincts like yours.”
His gaze drops—brief, unashamed—then returns to my eyes. “You do now.”
The truth of it settles between us, heavy and unavoidable.
I cross my arms. “So what happens when the moon sets?”
“The bond will ease,” he says. “But it won’t disappear.”
“And you?” I ask. “What do you feel?”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer.
Then, softly, “Pressure. Restraint. The urge to claim what is marked.”
My breath stutters.
“I won’t force you,” he continues, voice rough. “Not while I still believe you’re innocent.”
The words strike harder than any accusation.
Still believe.
I swallow. “And if you stop believing?”
His eyes darken. “Then things become very dangerous for you.”
Silence stretches again, thick and intimate.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say, the lie tasting bitter even as I speak it.
Alaric studies me like he’s trying to peel me apart layer by layer. “You’re something,” he says finally. “I just haven’t decided what.”
He turns to leave, hand pausing on the door.
“Mira.”
The way he says my name pulls at something fragile inside me.
“Sleep,” he says. “Tomorrow, the pack will want answers.”
“And you?”
“I already do.”
The door closes behind him.
I sag back onto the bed, heart racing, the bond humming softly now—less urgent, but no less present.
Somewhere down the hall, I feel Alaric pause.
Even separated by stone and willpower, the bond stretches between us, taut and waiting.
And I know—with a certainty that makes my chest ache—
This is only the beginning.