Something was terribly wrong. He could feel it in the putrid thickness of the air that overwhelmed him, in how his heart was racing for no reason, and in the way his guts coiled around themselves—something was terribly wrong.
Callan’s eyes wandered around his surroundings for the hundredth time. The moon tonight was dim, so he wasn't able to detect much, and still, no one would have the liberty of taking him by surprise. Being an Alpha, his senses were much more heightened compared to other lower-ranked members of his park. He could smell and hear danger long before it arrived, but tonight was different, and despite how many times his eyes darted around, he knew his distress had nothing to do with anything physically nearby.
Soon enough, he found himself headed back into the manor, and without willing to, he was standing in front of the door that led to Sophia’s room. He stood noiselessly and watched it, the fire in his eyes enough to sear through the hardwood.
What was he doing?
But he knew well enough the answer to that question, he was yet again doing what he’d promised himself not to, not after that night, the night he’d come so close to kissing her, getting to finally know what having a taste of her would feel like. It burned more than anything else he’d ever felt, the fact that every part of him craved for her so much, and yet when she stood right in front of him, the only thing he could afford to do was watch her, and even that he couldn’t do freely. He had to settle for stealing glances at her, settling for standing by the window of his study every day at noon to watch her take a walk to the garden and having to stop himself every single day from going after her.
This was worse than any physical pain Callan had ever had to endure.
His wolf didn't make it any easier. It growled and craved for its mate, longing with deep intensity to be close to her, and Callan completely understood it.
He wanted to be with her and not just sitting across the room from her. He wanted—no, he needed—to have her in his arms. He needed to bury his face in her hair and take in a breath of the smell of her. He needed to run his hands through her skin, to know what it felt against his touch, and more than everything else, he needed her to be his for the rest of his life.
“Shit!” he cursed in a quiet voice. He needed all of this more than he needed his next fucking breath.
And here he was yet again. All he’d ever yearned for laid on the opposite side of this door, and like a coward, he could only stand and watch.
His heart thumped with one word resonating through him, pulsating as one with his heart: duty.
Callan had been born and raised just for this purpose. It was the one thing that had been drilled into him—he existed for the Black Tide Pack’s success, and he was to live and die for it.
It would create havoc in his pack if he broke the decades-old allegiance with Amelia’s original pack by refusing to make her his Luna. This decision wasn't open to being defied.
Then why did the Goddess with her complete knowledge of all of this decide to punish him in the most vicious of ways by bringing her into his life? Sophia in all of her elegance, beauty, and naivety. Why did the one woman he could never have had to be just the one he couldn't keep out of his mind during the day and even more so out of his dreams at night?
Callan chuckled humorlessly. He could almost swear he was being punished for something.
He exhaled one last time before turning to walk away as he was meant to when he heard footsteps approaching. He paused. It didn't take long for whoever it had been to materialize, taking a turn from the previous hallway into this. His teeth reflexively clenched hard, his jaw twitching when he saw it was Amelia, and alongside her was a girl. Callan suspected to be a servant and the man with them, a warrior.
“Alpha,” they greeted, bowing to him.
He kept his voice steady even though his insides were in turmoil. “What has happened?”
Amelia responded without a beat of hesitation, “Some servants have escaped the manor tonight for a tryst at the pack’s tavern.”
Callan immediately knew what was coming next.
Amelia glanced behind him, a look flashing in her eyes. “I’m guessing you know without me having to say it out loud where Sophia is right now.”
His patience with Amelia was on its thinnest thread.
Tryst? He almost laughed at her face, Sophia wasn't the sort of a woman to sneak out to a tavern, and worst of all, to meet someone. He was the woman’s mate, and he’d had to carry her, literally, out of the Dark Wood Pack. That was the sort of woman she was, one who found it hard to leave a space so familiar to her.
A tavern was the last place Sophia would be at.
Amelia’s eyes read his. “You don't believe me, do you?” she asked, taking a step closer to him, and this time she spoke in a lowered tone. “Well, why don't you come with us to the tavern then. Let’s see what your mate has been up to.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Silence lingered between them as they made their way to the tavern accompanied by the warrior and servant who Callan had learned was one of the girls who’d also sneaked out but had halfway through the night been overcome by guilt, so she’d come to Amelia and confess their crimes.
Claire, that was her name.
Callan had nothing to say to her, not when his mind had him in a tight grasp, dragging him into its darkness and trying to compel him to see things he’d much rather not. He was refusing to believe anything. It was untrue, but the dark world that was his mind thought otherwise, conjuring images he’d rather be blinded to envisioning.
“We’ll go through the back door,” Claire said quietly.
He could feel the fear in her eyes, the indifference in the warrior, and most of all, the excitement in Amelia, but still, he let the servant lead him to a building attached to the boisterous tavern.
The noise at the inn died down as soon as he stepped in. Instantly, the place became still with heavy unease at his presence. He could feel that too, but the only feeling important now was the way his body was reacting. It was almost too familiar, almost as though his mate was somewhere nearby.
What a laughable thought.
“Give me that!” Amelia said, snatching a lamp from one of the men who stood in the corner.
“Here,” Claire whispered, stopping in front of one of the doors in the hallway.
Amelia looked at him with hard eyes that he didn't recognize. “Ready?” she asked.
No, he wasn’t, and he didn't think he ever would be.
“Open it,” he said to the warrior, and Amelia took a step back to allow the warrior to pull at the knob of the door before stepping back to allow him to go in first.
His fists by his side clenched and unclenched, and without further hesitancy, Callan stepped into the room, Amelia right behind him with the bright lamp that immediately illuminated the dark room.
Callan’s eyes slowly trailed to the bed, two figures lay on it wholly naked, legs weaved around each other.
His vision clouded for a minute, rage blinding him.
She looked at ease while sleeping, her face relaxed, making her look even more ethereal than he’d ever thought her to be. Her long, dark hair strewn all over the pillow, her mouth opened slightly, and her lashes resting on her cheeks so beautifully, he momentarily forgot himself and longed to run his thumb through them.
Sophia.
Pain in its worst form ever slammed into Callan, lodging itself in his throat and strangling him from within. This was worse than death.