Chapter 8: An Odd Kindness

Chapter 8

An Odd Kindness

Morning light trickled through the curtains in thin, reluctant strips, as pale as alabaster and shy of contact with this place. I didn't sleep again following the footsteps last night. Every creak, every shadow, every susurrus of the wind on the glass had awoken me.

When the first light broke across the edge of the room, I was still huddled on the floor, holding a blanket around me, my body heavy but my mind restless.

Then came the sound.

A knock — hesitant, tentative, reluctant.

Not the kind of knock meant to command.

I was taken aback. No one ever knocked on my door gently. They either came in storming, or they didn't come at all.

I was stuck, staring at the door as silence fell. Then I heard something being set down — a faint clinking against the stone.

"Food," the voice stated.

My heart was shocked.

Ronan.

I didn't move, didn't even breathe for a few seconds. My body was rigid, as if the air itself would betray me.

He didn't open the door. Didn't even try to try and get in.

He just stood there.

"I thought you'd be starving," he murmured. "You didn't eat yesterday."

His tone was calm, though there was something beneath it — something I couldn't recognize.

I listened for the distant sound of footsteps receding, but there were none.

Slowly, I edged closer, until I could see the edge of the tray from the opening below the door. The aroma drifted to me first — warm bread, stew, and…

I blinked.

Apple slices.

I stared at them for an incredibly long time, attempting to comprehend what I was seeing. Apples. Red apples. My favorite.

But no one here cared.

No one was supposed to care.

I hadn't said it out loud since I was a child. When my mother would steal apples from the orchard and giggled as we hid behind the fence, pretending the Alpha's guards would never figure it out. Before all that came crashing down.

How would he even know?

I tried to shake it off. Pretend it was nothing. But the notion took root deep inside my chest.

Was someone telling him about me?

Or… had he been watching? Listening?

My throat tightened at the thought.

Outside, his shadow shifted slightly — a slow movement, as if he’d leaned back against the wall.

He wasn’t leaving.

For a while, there was silence again. Then, to my surprise, his voice came once more — softer this time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “My grandparents… they don’t forget easily. Or forgive easily.”

He paused.

"They think that strength is silence. That sentiment makes you weak. That's how they raised me."

I sat in silence, holding my hand over my mouth, not daring to breathe in case it was audible.

He continued, still quiet, still reserved — yet with a power in his words.

"I used to think that," he said. "That loyalty was obedience. That violence was discipline. But recently…" He stopped and I didn't know what to say to fill the silence.

My heart thudded.

This wasn't the sound of Ronan's voice. Not the Alpha I had known, not the hard man whose commands cooled the air.

This was. other. Human.

He breathed — a slow, exhausted sound that came through the door like a confession wrapped in a sigh.

"The pack is changing," he said quietly. "They're scared. They're nervous. My grandfather insists that I can hold them with fear, but that just makes them hate me more."

I clinched my hands around my knees, unsure if I was supposed to hear this. Unsure if he wanted me to.

He wasn't asking for advice. He wasn't even talking to me.

He was just talking into the silence — as if he had to say it out loud to somebody, even if that person would never answer.

"I don't know what you think of me," he said finally, his tone softer. "But I want you to understand I'm trying. Even if it doesn't seem like it."

A pain flashed in my chest.

I didn't want to have the pain — not for him. But there it was, curling around my ribs like an obstinate vine.

I leaned away from the door, tucking my legs in a hard hug, trying to shake off the warmth from his words.

"Trying doesn't erase what you've done," I whispered to myself.

And I believed it.

But there was another part of me — the one I hated the most — that wanted to open the door. Just a little bit. To see his face when he spoke like that.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

Instead, I listened to the quiet that followed.

Minutes passed. And then at last, the sound of his boots on the hallway floor was a subdued thud. One step, taken slow, and another.

He was walking away.

When the sound had finally completely gone, I turned to the tray again and studied it. The steam from the food had dropped away. The apples glowed pale in the light.

I reached out and touched one. Cold now, but still red. Still real.

Something about it felt wrong.

Why would he bring them himself? Why today? After last night?

Was it guilt? Or pity? Or something else entirely?

I took a small bite — hesitant, uncertain. The taste was sweet. Too sweet.

And yet, it brought back the sound of his voice, soft and steady outside my door.

“I’ll free you.”

"Trying doesn't erase what you've done," I grumbled to myself.

And even as I said it, the words no longer had the same weight they used to.

Because a cold, nagging thought had crossed my mind — one which I couldn't shake no matter how hard I tried.

What if he really meant it?

The thought terrified me more than anything else could.

Because if he meant it…

Then I would maybe at long last learn to trust him.

And if I did trust him — I'd be shattered all over again.

I pushed the tray from my hands, hunger gone.

Outside, the gentle sound sounded again in the hall — but not foot-steps this time.

It was a whisper. A brush.

As if someone else was there — listening for something.

Waiting for something.

My blood ran cold.

Maybe Ronan wasn't alone in learning too many of my secrets.