Chapter 25 CHAPTER TWENTY
ALORA
"Arms up."
I obey Master Kane's command, lifting my arms as he circles me in the training room. It's been three days since the full moon, three days of living in the quarters beside Alpha Stone's chambers, and I still feel like I'm walking on broken glass.
"You're distracted," Master Kane observes, his cane tapping against the floor. "Where is your focus?"
On the door that connects my room to his. On the scent of pine and smoke that permeates everything I own now. On the sound of his voice through the walls at night when he takes calls with other Alphas.
"Here, Master Kane. My apologies."
"Apologies don't make a good slave." He stops in front of me. "Alpha Stone demands perfection from his personal attendants. You will learn to serve him flawlessly, or you will be reassigned."
The threat should comfort me. Being reassigned means distance, means less scrutiny. But my wolf whines at the thought of being sent away from him.
"Again," Master Kane orders. "Show me how you prepare his morning tea."
I move through the motions I've practiced a hundred times. The specific temperature he prefers. The exact amount of honey. The angle at which to present the cup.
"Better." Master Kane makes a note on his tablet. "You'll serve him breakfast in his chambers tomorrow. Six o'clock sharp."
My hands pause. "In his chambers, Master Kane?"
"He takes breakfast in his private dining room on pack business days. But tomorrow is a rest day." His eyes narrow. "Is there a problem?"
Yes. Being alone with him in his private space, serving him while he's likely half-dressed, trying to maintain my composure when his scent is overwhelming—
"No, Master Kane. No problem."
After training, I return to my quarters to find fresh linens already arranged on my bed. Sarah must have been here while I was gone. I sink onto the window seat, watching wolves train in the yard below.
Through the connecting door, I hear movement. His footsteps. The sound of drawers opening and closing. He's so close, just beyond that unlocked door, and my wolf is constantly aware of his presence.
It's exhausting.
I try to read, to distract myself, but every sound from his chambers pulls my attention. The shower running. Papers rustling on his desk. His deep voice when Marcus arrives to discuss pack business.
Their voices carry through the walls, and I can't help but overhear.
"The Northern Pack has been quiet," Marcus says. "No more incidents since the full moon."
"They're planning something." Alpha Stone's response is grim. "Keep the patrols doubled."
"About the new living arrangements..." Marcus hesitates. "The pack is talking."
"Let them talk."
"Alex, you moved a slave into the chambers beside yours. The personal quarters. Do you understand what that looks like?"
"I understand perfectly." There's an edge to Alpha Stone's voice. "Do you have a problem with my decisions, brother?"
"No. But others might. Victoria's banishment is still fresh in everyone's minds, and now this—"
"This is my business. Not theirs. Not yours."
Silence. Then Marcus sighs. "Just be careful. Whatever you're planning with her, make sure you know what you're doing."
After Marcus leaves, I stare at the wall separating us. What is he planning? Why keep me this close, where every moment I risk exposure?
I don't have answers. Only the constant awareness of him, like a storm I can feel building but can't escape.
The next morning, I wake at five-thirty, my stomach in knots. I dress carefully in the silk robe Master Kane selected—deep blue, far finer than anything a slave should wear. My hands shake as I prepare his breakfast tray in the kitchen, measuring tea leaves with excessive precision.
At exactly six o'clock, I knock on the connecting door, balancing the tray.
"Enter."
I push the door open and immediately regret it.
He's standing by the window, shirtless, wearing only black sleep pants that hang low on his hips. Morning sunlight catches the defined muscles of his back, the intricate pack tattoos that cover his shoulders and trail down his spine.
I force my eyes down, my cheeks burning. "Your breakfast, my Lord."
"Good morning to you too." There's amusement in his voice. "Set it on the table."
I move carefully, hyperaware of every step. This close, his scent is overwhelming—pine and smoke and pure male Alpha. My wolf purrs, wanting to press closer, to breathe him in.
I set the tray down with shaking hands and step back quickly. "Will there be anything else, my Lord?"
"Stay." He still hasn't turned around. "Pour the tea."
I obey, focusing on the task. The familiar routine helps steady my hands. But I can feel his gaze on me now, watching my every movement in the window's reflection.
"You survived your first full moon here," he says casually. "How do you feel?"
My hand jerks, nearly spilling the tea. "Fine, my Lord."
"You locked yourself in your bathroom all night." It's not a question. "That doesn't sound fine."
"I was ill. I didn't want to disturb you."
He finally turns to face me, and I force myself to keep my eyes on the teacup. "And yet I was disturbed. I could hear you through the door. Struggling."
"I apologize for the noise, my Lord."
"I'm not asking for an apology." He moves closer, and I instinctively step back. He notices, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm asking if you're well."
"Yes, my Lord."
He studies me for a long moment, and I can feel him weighing whether to push further. Finally, he just gestures to the chair. "Sit with me while I eat."
"My Lord, that's not proper—"
"I don't recall asking your opinion on what's proper." He sits, indicating the chair across from him. "Sit."
I perch on the edge of the chair, hands folded in my lap, eyes down. Everything in me screams that this is wrong. Slaves don't sit with their masters. They serve and retreat.
"Tell me about your training with Master Kane," he says, taking a sip of tea. "Is he treating you well?"
"Yes, my Lord. He's an excellent teacher."
"And the other slaves? How are they adjusting to your new position?"
I hesitate. The truth is, the other slaves eye me with a mixture of envy and suspicion. I hear their whispers when they think I'm not listening. Why her? What makes her special? Is she warming the Alpha's bed?
"They're adjusting, my Lord."
"Another half-truth." He sets down his cup. "You're very good at those. Answering questions without really answering them."
My pulse quickens. "I don't understand, my Lord."
"Don't you?" He leans back, studying me with those piercing silver eyes. "You've been here three weeks now. Three weeks of perfect obedience, perfect posture, perfect lies." He tilts his head. "I wonder what the real Alora is like. The one you hide behind all that careful control."
"I'm a slave, my Lord. There's nothing to hide."
"We both know that's not true." But he doesn't push further. Instead, he returns to his breakfast. "You're dismissed. Report back at noon to prepare my study for meetings."
I flee before he can see how badly his words have shaken me.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of tasks. I clean his study, arrange his correspondence, lay out his formal clothes for the evening meetings. Every task brings me deeper into his private world—his handwriting on documents, the scent of his cologne, the little details that make him more real, more dangerous to my carefully constructed walls.
Sarah finds me that afternoon, organizing his bookshelf.
"How's it going?" she asks, helping me dust the higher shelves.
"He asked me to sit with him during breakfast." The words come out before I can stop them. "Just... sit there while he ate. Like I was—"
"Like you were a person?" Sarah suggests gently. "Alora, maybe he's just trying to be kind."
"Alphas aren't kind to slaves. They use them."
"Not all of them." She hands me another book. "My cousin serves in another pack. Their Alpha treats his personal slaves like pack members. Protects them, cares about their wellbeing." She pauses. "Maybe Alpha Stone is like that."
"Or maybe he's just trying to get close enough to discover what I'm hiding."
That evening, I return to my quarters exhausted. Every moment in his presence requires such careful control, such constant vigilance. I can't slip, can't let my guard down even for a second.
I'm preparing for bed when I hear it, a knock on the connecting door.
My heart stops.
"Alora?" His voice carries through the woods. "I need you for a moment."
I grab my robe, wrapping it over my nightgown, and open the door with trembling hands.
He's standing there in sleep pants and a loose shirt, looking far too casual, far too... human. Not the fearsome Alpha who commands the pack, but just a man at the end of a long day.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," he says, and I'm struck by the apology. Alphas don't apologize to slaves. "I need you to send a message to Marcus. My phone died, and I can't find my charger."
"Of course, my Lord. What would you like me to tell him?"
He dictates the message—something about patrol schedules—and I memorize every word. But as I turn to leave, his hand catches my wrist.
"Wait."
I freeze, my pulse racing at the contact.
"Are you settling in well? To the quarters?" He releases my wrist, as if realizing he shouldn't be touching me so casually. "If you need anything—different pillows, more blankets, anything—just ask."
"They're perfect, my Lord. Thank you."
He studies my face for a moment, and I can't read his expression. "Good. Goodnight, Alora."
"Goodnight, my Lord."
I retreat to my room, closing the door and leaning against it.
He apologized for disturbing me. Asked if I needed anything. Touched my wrist like... like it mattered.
I don't understand him. Don't understand why he treats me like something more than property, why he watches me with such intensity, why he keeps me so close.
But I know one thing with certainty: living in such constant proximity to him is breaking down my walls faster than any interrogation could.
And I don't know how much longer I can hold them up.