Resistances
Routine had become the only refuge Narelle still recognized. In the weeks that followed that night, she threw herself into work as if plunging into a deep abyss, certain that only exhaustion would keep her from losing her mind.
The pack’s mansion, once so full of noise, seemed strangely silent. Each morning, she walked the corridors clutching folders and reports to her chest, as if those papers could shield her from her own choices.
It wasn’t hard to see that everyone around her felt the change. The omegas who managed the administrative wing whispered about the heavy atmosphere. Some blamed the confrontation with Kael. Others murmured that Rhaek’s fury would soon spill over into another war.
But he… Rhaek seemed to have made a silent pact with himself.
In the first days, she still feared he would appear at her door, radiating possession and promises. That he would grab her by the arm, demanding answers. Instead, Rhaek avoided her.
Not that he had stopped fulfilling his duties as alpha. But the way he moved betrayed a restraint that was almost painful. He walked the corridors accompanied by two or three betas, conferring about security matters, about the Vorn surveillance, about possible betrayals within their own clan.
When their eyes met — which happened more often than she liked to admit — he looked at her only for na instant, as if to make sure she was still there. And then he looked away.
On the third night she couldn’t sleep, Narelle left her room and wandered through the central wing, certain she would find some empty room where she could organize contracts. That was how she overheard two omegas talking quietly by the hall.
“He doesn’t sleep with anyone anymore,” one of them was saying, her voice steeped in curiosity. “Since he came back from the fight with Kael. He doesn’t call any of us to his chambers.”
“And he doesn’t lock himself up with his she-wolf either,” the other replied in a tone almost offended. “If he was going to act like a martyr, then why did he complain so much?”
Narelle held herself back in the dark corridor, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. Part of her wanted to step forward, to let them notice her presence and hush their speculations. But another part — the exhausted, bare part — wanted to listen.
“Maybe he’s just… tired,” the first omega ventured after a silence. “Or maybe he decided to let her choose.”
“Choose what?” the other retorted, her voice sharper. “Kael or him? And we’re just left here, not knowing if we even have a place in this pack anymore.”
Their footsteps receded. Narelle didn’t move for long minutes. Only when the pressure in her chest became unbearable did she return to the private office next to the library.
There, she spread folders across the desk, trying to convince herself the problem was only too much work. But inside, something twisted.
She remembered the feeling of Kael’s body over hers, the way he claimed her as if it were natural. And she also remembered Rhaek’s scent — a scent that had always undone her before she even realized it.
The cruelest part was that each of them represented something she was afraid to lose. Kael, with his audacity and promises of freedom, was the fire that consumed everything she dared to want. Rhaek, with his silence and contained pain, was the root that tied her to everything she pretended not to need.
And there was Luxor. Always Luxor.
She buried her face in her hands, too drained to pretend she had any answers.
The next morning, she arrived early at the meeting hall. She needed to discuss supply contracts with the border vendors. When she sat at the end of the table, Rhaek was already there.
He didn’t even look up. He leafed through documents, his brow furrowed. The silence settled heavy over them, as if everyone could feel that moment held something none of them dared to name.
“The Vorn clan has increased patrols on the northern routes,” he said at last, his voice low. “If we want to keep our agreements, we need to reinforce security.”
She nodded.
“The contracts with the carriers are expiring. We can renegotiate, but that will require new concessions.”
“I’ll handle it.” He glanced at her briefly before returning to the paper. “I don’t want you to have to deal with them.”
For a moment, she felt na urge to provoke him. To ask why he didn’t accuse her, didn’t confront her, didn’t claim what he had always said was his. But Rhaek simply closed the folder and stood.
“I have na inspection in the warehouses. If you need me, send word.”
She watched him leave, feeling that each step he took was a silent declaration. As if he were saying: You have space. But not forever.
For days, it repeated like that. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t seek her out. Didn’t pressure her. At night, the omegas whispered that Rhaek spent hours alone in the old training yard, as if he needed to remember who he was before her.
Narelle began to wonder if this was a truce — or the prelude to another war.
When she returned to her room one night, she found a package on the bed. It was a small polished wooden box, without any inscription. Inside lay the necklace she had worn their first winter together. A simple silver circle, a symbol of the bond they had promised to keep.
For long minutes, she stared at the object, feeling her throat tighten. Part of her wanted to throw it into the fire. Another part wanted to press it to her chest and cry over everything she pretended not to feel.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. She sat by the window, watching the shadows moving across the yard. When she finally spotted Rhaek walking alone, she felt a knot in her soul.
He was different. Not just in how he didn’t look for her, but in the way he looked at the world — as if he had lost something he didn’t know how to get back.
And maybe, Narelle thought, that was exactly what bound them: the bitter certainty that there was no more innocence between them.
Only the need to survive. And, deep down, a question neither of them dared to ask: how much love was left after so much war?
…
That night, Narelle wandered aimlessly through the corridors again. The library was in semi-darkness, only a single lamp lit beside a row of old volumes. When she pushed the door open, she found Rhaek standing by the shelves, running his finger along the spines of the books.
He looked up when he heard her. Neither of them spoke right away. The silence felt alive, electric.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Neither can you,” he answered, his voice low but laced with something that sparked between anger and desire.
She took a deep breath. “I thought… maybe I’d find some peace here.”
Rhaek let out a short laugh, humorless. “Peace isn’t what we find in each other, Narelle.”
His eyes lowered, slowly tracing the lines of her body, lingering at the curve of her hip. The way he looked at her always made her tremble. As if he remembered everything they’d already done and everything they still could.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“I want everything,” he murmured, not moving. “Your fear. Your courage. Your body. Your hate. Your longing.”
She felt heat rising up her neck. “And if I told you I still think of you… when I close my eyes?”
For na instant, he looked ready to come closer. But he didn’t. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Then we’re the same,” he said, hoarse. “But not tonig
ht.”
He turned and walked out, leaving her alone in a silence that burned more than any touch.