Chapter 57 UNWANTED
It’s been over a week since Kael’s rut ended, and I can finally say this without lying: I am fine.
I survived.
Barely.
For days afterward, I genuinely thought my body would never forgive me. Everything ached in a way that felt… personal. Like my muscles were offended. My hips especially. I remember lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, So this is it. This is how I die. Taken out by my own mate.
And yet, it's… painfully sweet. That’s the part that scares me.
I’d expected soreness and exhaustion, sure. What I hadn’t expected was the warmth that followed. The way Kael hovered like I was made of glass. The way my body didn’t feel broken, just rearranged, like it had learned something new and was still adjusting to it.
Sometimes I think I must be a masochist. Or deeply, deeply in love.
Right now, I’m being dragged across the training yard by my wrist.
“Kael,” I complain, half-laughing, half-stumbling to keep up. “You’re walking like you’ve got somewhere important to be.”
“I do,” he says cheerfully. “You’re about to learn archery.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“You agreed when you woke up this morning and didn’t hide under the blankets. So that means you're good enough for some exercise.”
That’s unfair. I’d only hidden half my body.
He stops near the archery range, where targets are set at varying distances. The scent of grass and oiled wood fills the air. A few guards are training further down, but Kael steers me to a quieter corner like this is something private.
He picks up a bow and turns it over in his hands. “Have you ever shot before?”
“I once threw a rock at something and missed,” I say. “Does that count?”
He laughs, bright and unrestrained. Gods, I love when I make him laugh like that. “We’ll start from the beginning.”
He positions me in front of the target, hands warm and firm on my shoulders. “Feet apart. Like this.”
He nudges my boots with his own until my stance is wider, more stable. Then he presses lightly at my lower back. “Straighten. Don’t lock your knees.”
I try. Emphasis on try.
“Relax,” he murmurs, and steps closer, close enough that his chest brushes my back. His presence is everywhere… heat, scent, solid reassurance. “The bow won’t listen if you’re tense.”
“That feels personal,” I mutter.
He chuckles and hands me the bow. “Grip it gently. Like you’re holding something that might bruise.”
I swallow and do as he says.
He places an arrow between my fingers, adjusts my grip, then reaches around me to guide my arms. His forearm presses against my ribs, his breath warm near my neck as he leans in.
“Draw slowly,” he says. “Feel the tension build. Don’t fight it.”
I pull the string back. My arms shake almost immediately.
“Oh,” I say. “I see the problem. This thing hates me.”
Kael laughs softly, his chin almost brushing my shoulder. “You’re doing fine. Keep pulling.”
His hand slides to my elbow, adjusting the angle. His other hand settles briefly at my hip to steady me, fingers firm and grounding.
I loose the arrow.
It veers wildly and hits the ground nowhere near the target.
I groan. “I told you. Failed rock-throwing was a warning sign.”
“You released too fast,” he says calmly. “Again.”
We do it again. And again. And again…
Each time, his corrections are gentle but precise. He stays close, guiding rather than commanding. At some point, I stop noticing how much my arms burn and start noticing how his body moves with mine.
On the fifth shot, the arrow hits the outer ring of the target.
I freeze. “Did you see that?”
“I did,” he says, pride warm in his voice. “Again.”
I draw the bow once more… and that’s when I feel something very solid pressing against my ass.
I go very still.
Kael breathes in sharply behind me.
“Oh,” I say slowly. “Is that…?”
He clears his throat loudly and steps back so fast he nearly trips over himself. “That’s—no. I mean. That’s just—”
I turn, grinning. “Your bow, or should I say arrow, is very excited.”
His face goes red. Actually red.
“Adam,” he says, flustered, trying and failing to look authoritative. “That’s inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate? Wow. Coming from a man who rearranged my guts and somehow gets hard from just being close to me?” I tease even more, enjoying his flustered face.
“Baby, please stop.”
I laugh, full and delighted. “You’re the one who insisted on pressing up against me.”
“I was instructing.”
“With enthusiasm.”
He rubs the back of his neck, ears pink. “You did well with the shot.”
“Mm,” I hum. “Positive reinforcement.”
Before he can recover, a group of soldiers approaches. They stop several feet away and bow deeply.
“Alpha,” one of them says. “May we have a moment?”
Kael straightens instantly, all warmth shifting into command. “Go ahead.”
I suddenly feel a different kind of pressure.
Bathroom pressure.
“Oh,” I say quietly. “Uh. I’ll—be right back.”
Kael nods absently, already listening to their report. I head toward our chambers, focused on not sprinting like a man possessed.
On the way, I slow when I hear voices around the corner.
“…can’t ignore it anymore.”
“He’s compromised.”
“Putting the pack at risk.”
I stop.
My heart starts beating faster.
“He’s proven he can’t lead objectively.”
“And the mate—”
“—is a liability.”
I don’t breathe. I don’t move.
“I say we act before it gets worse. That thing he's brought in doesn't belong here but he still went ahead to mark the boy.”
“Why wait any longer? We need to act soon and have him step down from his position. He can't lead us all into his inevitable downfall.”
Footsteps approach. I step back quickly and slip away, my pulse loud in my ears.
By the time Kael returns to our chambers, I’m sitting on the bed, knees pulled to my chest, pretending to be calm.
He smiles when he sees me. “How was your escape?”
I don’t smile back.
“Kael,” I say. “I heard something.”
His expression shifts slightly. “What kind of something?”
“Your pack. Some of them. They were talking about bringing you down. About you being incapable. About me.”
He exhales, slow and controlled. “Adam…”
“I’m serious,” I insist. “They were plotting against you. They want to bring you down from your position because of me.”
He shakes his head gently. “You must have misunderstood.”
My chest tightens. “I didn’t. Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m not calling you a liar,” he says, voice careful. “I just don’t believe my people would—”
“That’s the same thing,” I snap.
Silence stretches between us.
For a second, a sharp thought cuts through me, ugly and unwanted.
How can he be so gullible?
I hate myself for thinking it.
But he trusts so much he doesn't even leave a little space for doubt. What if they successfully put him down?