Chapter 22 What duty can’t fix
DARIAN
Today has been hell.
My body aches with every step I take, the hallway seeming longer than usual as I make my way toward my chambers. My mind’s still stuck back at the southern borders, at the blood, the mess, the screams.
The rogues came harder this time.
Stronger. More organized.
And while we won, barely, it doesn’t sit right with me. They’re not just testing boundaries anymore. There’s something down there they’re not letting go of.
But what?
I push open the door to my chambers, mentally planning to rip off my shirt and sink into a hot shower for an hour. I step in, only to freeze mid-step.
What the hell?
Candlelight flickers across the room in soft golden hues. Rose petals scatter across the floor and the edge of the bed, like some desperate attempt at romance. And in the center of it all, is Adira, dressed in what barely qualifies as a nightgown. Thin silk. Red. Intentional.
She smiles as if she’s been waiting for me all day.
“Welcome home, my Alpha,” she purrs, voice like syrup.
I don’t move.
I don't return the smile.
I don’t feel anything.
Not lust. Not desire. Not even annoyance.
Just...tired.
“You like what you see?” she asks, standing and slowly walking toward me, hips swaying like this is a scene from a movie she’s watched too many times.
I rub a hand over my face and take a breath. “What is this?”
She pouts. “A surprise. I thought you’d appreciate something...softer. After everything you’ve been through today.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“You didn’t have to.” She places a hand on my chest. “I care, Darian. About you. About us.”
There it is again.
Us.
As if that word has ever meant anything between us.
I step back. “Don’t.”
Her smile falters. “Don’t what?”
“Touch me.”
Her brows draw together. “I’m your mate-to-be.”
“No,” I say sharply. “You’re my father’s arrangement. You’re a treaty dressed up in lace.”
Her eyes flash, but I don’t care. I’m too tired to care.
She takes a breath, schooling her expression. “I understand. You’re stressed. But maybe-”
“I don’t want this,” I cut in. “Any of it. You. This room. This nightgown. Whatever fantasy you’re building in your head, burn it.”
Her mouth parts slightly, shock creeping in. “I’m trying, Darian. I’m trying to make this easier for you.”
“Then leave,” I say, voice flat. “That would make it easier.”
She smiles, seductive, confident as she struts slowly towards me. “I thought you could use a little distraction.”
I don’t move. “Adira.”
Her smile wavers slightly at the flatness of my voice. “Don’t be so tense. I know you’ve had a rough day. Let me help you relax.”
She walks toward me, slowly, deliberately. Her hand rises, brushing lightly against my chest, and then lower, dragging down the front of my shirt. Her fingers trail over my ribs, then around to my waist, her palm pressing flat as she steps even closer, until there’s barely any space between us.
I stiffen.
The moment her skin touches mine, it’s like being branded.
Not in the way that ignites want, no. It burns. Not fire-hot, but a sharp, stinging discomfort, like tiny needles dancing under my skin, crawling, itching, pulling me away from her instead of closer.
My wolf recoils.
My body tenses.
She leans in, her lips brushing my neck, but I don’t hear the words she’s whispering, I can’t, not over the growing rage twisting inside me at how wrong it feels.
I step back.
I grab Adira’s wrist, not harshly, but firm enough to stop her. “Don’t.”
She blinks, startled. “What?”
“What part of ‘don’t touch me’ do you not get?”
She stares at me like I just slapped her.
Her expression shifts from confusion to hurt, and then quickly to anger. “I’m trying here, Darian. I’m trying to be what you need.”
“I don’t need you.”
“You haven’t even given me a chance-”
“I didn’t ask for this in the first place,” I say. “You being here. This arrangement. None of it was my choice.”
“It’s duty,” she hisses. “Just like it was mine.”
I look away. She’s right, but I don’t have it in me to pretend like this means something.
“I don’t care about duty tonight,” I mutter. “I just want to be alone.”
She steps closer again, slower this time, like she thinks my words were a test. She places a palm on my chest again, softer now.
“Darian,” she says, voice lower, more vulnerable. “Let me be here for you. Let me show you that this could work. Please.”
I reach up and push her hand away.
Harder than I meant to.
She stumbles back a step, eyes wide, and that’s when I see it, the crack in her pride. She definitely had looks and a body any man would drool at, but I wasn’t just any man and I could care less.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says quietly. “Push me like I’m worthless.”
I clench my jaw. Guilt stings, but not enough to stop me.
“I don’t want you here,” I say, voice even. “You need to go.”
She stands frozen. Then, voice trembling, “Is there someone else?”
I don’t respond.
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “There is.”
“No,” I finally say, flatly. “There’s just not you.”
Her face crumples, but she holds herself together. Her back straightens. Her shoulders lift.
Without another word, she turns and walks out of my room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
I stare at the closed door for a second too long. Then I breathe out, slow, dragging a hand down my face.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be. None of this.
And yet, it’s all spiraling into something I can’t control.
The mark. Iris.
The guilt.
I sit on the edge of the bed and press my hands against my forehead.
And I feel her everywhere. Her scent clings to the back of my mind like a haunting. Her voice echoes in the quiet moments.
I should let her go.
But I can’t.
And that terrifies me more than anything.