Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Kenton

I feel it before I see it.

It hits me in the hallway outside Boone’s office, a sudden wave of pressure that makes my chest seize and my knees nearly betray me.

It's not pain.

It's emotion.

Fear and anger and something sharper that burns like sky lightning, all of it slamming through my body as if it belongs to me.

I grip the wall hard enough that the wood creaks, breath catching in my throat. My wolf surges, confused, snarling, trying to identify the threat.

There's no visible threat.

There's only the sensation of her.

Amaris.

The realization lands like a blow. I can smell her faintly down the hall, but not close enough for this to be ordinary instinct. Maxon’s scent tangles with hers, and that combination makes my temper flare, but the flare is immediately swallowed by something else.

Her fear.

Her fear is in my ribs.

I exhale hard, forcing air back into my lungs.

Boone appears at the end of the corridor, gaze locking on me instantly. He moves quickly, not panicked, but alert.

“Alpha,” he says, voice low. “What?”

I force myself to stand straighter. “Nothing,” I lie.

Boone’s eyes narrow. “You nearly went down.”

I grit my teeth. “I didn’t.”

Boone steps closer, and his scent shifts into command, that war-leader steadiness that doesn't tolerate nonsense. “Tell me.”

I swallow, jaw tight. “I felt her,” I say, and the admission tastes like losing.

Boone’s expression goes still. “Felt her how?”

I stare at the floor for a beat because looking Boone in the eye while saying this feels humiliating. “Like it was my own,” I say finally. “Like her fear hit my chest.”

Boone’s gaze sharpens. “When.”

“Just now,” I answer. “It came out of nowhere.”

Boone exhales slowly, then glances toward the corridor that leads deeper into the lodge, toward the room where Amaris has been spending more time with Maxon.

Boone’s voice turns quiet. “They completed,” he says, not asking.

My chest tightens again, this time with something uglier. “Yes,” I manage.

Boone’s jaw flexes. “And you’re still reacting.”

The statement isn't pity. It’s a fact, and facts are worse because you can’t punch them.

I force my voice into control. “What does that mean?”

Boone watches me for a long beat. “It means you’re tied to something whether you like it or not,” he says carefully. “And it means you don't get to be reckless. If you can feel her, then she can hit you with mood hard enough to drop you.”

That thought makes my spine tighten. Not because I fear being dropped. Because if her fear can drop me, then her pain might break me.

I hate the implication. I hate that I want her safe so badly it makes my throat tight.

Boone’s gaze stays steady. “You need to be ready,” he says.

“For what,” I snap, frustration rising.

Boone’s voice stays blunt. “For the fact that this isn’t just desire. This is bigger. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t like not knowing, but I know this. If you make her feel hunted inside this pack, you will be part of the threat.”

The words land hard.

I swallow, throat tight. “I’m not trying to threaten her,” I say.

Boone’s eyebrows lift. “You have tried,” he counters. “You’re trying less now. Keep trying less.”

I run a hand over my face, anger and shame tangling. “I can’t stop feeling what I feel,” I say, lower. “But I can stop acting like it gives me rights.”

Boone nods once, approval flickering. “Exactly.”

The corridor goes quiet again. The pressure in my chest eases, but it leaves behind a lingering thread, a reminder that the sensation wasn’t imaginary.

It was her.

Boone’s gaze flicks toward the door at the end of the hall. “Don't go to her right now,” he says.

My wolf snarls at the command, but Boone is right. If I go to her while I’m still raw from being dropped to my knees by her fear, I'll walk into her space with need on my face, and need looks too much like demand.

“I wasn’t going to,” I lie.

Boone gives me a look that calls me an idiot without words.

I exhale, slowly. “Fine,” I admit. “I won’t.”

Boone’s expression softens by a fraction, not kindness, but practicality. “Get control,” he says. “If you can feel her, then you need to learn how to hold yourself steady when it hits. You can't lead a pack if you fold every time she’s scared.”

I nod once, jaw tight. “I understand.”

Boone turns to leave, then pauses. “This isn't about you,” he adds, voice low. “Remember that.”

I watch him walk away, and the sentence repeats in my head like a warning.

\[This isn't about you.\]

Then the bondless thread in my ribs tugs again, faint but unmistakable, like an echo of her presence far down the hall.

My wolf lifts its head inside me, listening.

And for the first time, the fear in my chest isn't jealousy.

It's dread.

Because if I can feel her fear across distance, then something else might be making her afraid.

And if something else can reach her inside my territory, then my pack is already failing.