Chapter 9 Three Nights
Sleep comes in fragments.
I drift, surface, drift again—caught between dreams and memory, the bond threading through it all like a low hum I can’t silence. Every time I close my eyes, I feel the echo of Alaric’s presence, not touching but close enough to feel the weight of him.
Three nights.
The words circle endlessly.
By morning, my nerves feel stretched thin, my patience brittle. I dress quickly and leave my room before the compound fully wakes, hoping movement will quiet my thoughts.
It doesn’t.
The guards posted along the corridor track me with careful eyes. Their scents are sharp—alert, restless. The pack feels wound tight, as if everyone is bracing for something inevitable.
When I reach the infirmary, Selene is already there.
She glances up from a table strewn with herbs and bandages, her gaze sharpening when she sees me. “You’re early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She hums softly, not unkind. “Neither could half the pack.”
I busy myself with organizing supplies, keeping my movements efficient. “Is it always like this before a blood moon?”
Selene’s hands still for just a moment. “No.”
That single word lands heavier than a lecture.
“What’s different?” I ask.
She studies me for a long beat, then says, “The Alpha is… unsettled.”
My chest tightens. “Because of the borders?”
“That.” Her eyes flick to me. “And you.”
I don’t respond.
Selene sighs quietly. “You should know—there are wolves who think the bond chose you for a reason. And others who think you forced it.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know,” she cuts in. “But belief isn’t built on truth. It’s built on fear.”
The bond stirs uneasily, as if agreeing.
A commotion ripples through the infirmary—raised voices, hurried footsteps. Selene straightens immediately.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Scouts,” she says. “They’re back early.”
The tension spikes.
I don’t see Alaric enter, but I feel him the moment he does. The bond snaps taut, my breath hitching as his presence fills the room.
He moves with purpose, eyes sharp, voice low as he speaks with the scouts. I catch fragments—movement… wards… witches—and my stomach drops.
Witches near the eastern ridge.
The coven is getting impatient.
Alaric turns, his gaze finding me instantly across the room. The look he gives me is unreadable, but the bond carries a pulse of something like warning.
He dismisses the scouts and strides toward me, stopping close enough that I can hear the tension in his breathing.
“We need to talk,” he says.
Selene watches us carefully as Alaric gestures toward a side corridor. I follow without question, my pulse racing.
Once we’re alone, Alaric turns on me fully.
“You didn’t tell me witches were moving near my borders,” he says.
“I told you I was alone.”
“And I told you I don’t believe in coincidences.”
The bond thrums, uncomfortable and tight. I force myself to hold his gaze.
“I don’t control what others do,” I say. “If witches are moving, it’s not because of me.”
His eyes search my face, sharp and relentless. “You expect me to believe that your arrival, the bond, and sudden border pressure are unrelated?”
“No,” I admit quietly. “I expect you to believe that I’m not your enemy.”
Silence stretches between us.
Alaric exhales slowly, frustration rolling off him in waves. “The council is pushing for action. They want answers. They want to secure the pack before the blood moon.”
“And you?”
He hesitates—just long enough for the bond to catch it.
“I want control,” he says finally. “Over the situation. Over myself.”
The honesty in his voice unsettles me more than anger would.
“What happens if you lose it?” I ask softly.
His gaze darkens. “Then someone bleeds.”
The bond flares, sharp and hot, and I suck in a breath as a mirror of his tension coils through me.
Alaric notices immediately.
His jaw tightens. “You feel that.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” His voice lowers. “Then you’ll understand why I’m telling you this.”
He steps closer, the space between us charged and dangerous.
“If you’re hiding something that could endanger my pack,” he says quietly, “now is the time to speak.”
The poison vial feels like it’s burning through my boot.
My heart pounds so hard it feels audible.
I could tell him.
I could end this before it destroys us both.
Instead, I say the one thing I know will keep me here a little longer.
“I don’t want anyone hurt.”
The bond pulses—uncertain, conflicted.
Alaric studies me for a long moment, then nods once, sharp and decisive.
“Then stay close,” he says. “Where I can see you.”
My stomach flips. “You’re assigning me to you?”
“I’m containing a variable,” he replies coolly. “And keeping you alive.”
Alive.
For now.
He turns to leave, pausing only long enough to add, “Three nights, Mira. After the blood moon, this ends—one way or another.”
He walks away, leaving me standing in the corridor, heart racing.
Three nights.
Three nights until the coven forces my hand.
Three nights until Alaric decides whether I’m a threat… or something far worse.
And for the first time since I crossed into pack territory, I realize the truth I’ve been avoiding.
I’m not afraid of failing my mission.
I’m afraid of succeeding.