Chapter 19 Beneath the Surface
The heightened scents lingered: the sharp citrus of the maid’s cleaning polish drifting from the hallway, the rich aroma of coffee brewing somewhere downstairs, the faint trace of Alexander’s cologne that seemed to cling to my skin no matter how thoroughly I’d scrubbed. Every sound was layered, the distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the soft pad of footsteps on marble, even the rhythmic thump of my own heartbeat, louder than it had any right to be.
I pressed my palms to my temples, willing it all to quiet. It’s just anxiety, I repeated like a mantra. Alexander’s confession had rattled me more than I wanted to admit, and my subconscious was playing tricks. That was all.
A soft knock at the door made me jump.
“Miss Maddie?” came the maid’s gentle voice, Clara, I think her name was. “Breakfast is served in the morning room. Mr. Alexander is already there. Master Ben has requested a tray in his suite.”
Of course he is hungover and sulking, no doubt.
“Thank you, Clara. I’ll be down in a minute.”
I took one last steadying breath, smoothed my sweater, and stepped into the corridor. The mansion felt different this morning, larger, more alive. The portraits lining the walls seemed to watch me with new intensity, as though they knew secrets I was only beginning to glimpse.
The morning room was bathed in sunlight, tall windows overlooking the frost-touched gardens. A long mahogany table was set with silver-domed platters: eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, pastries still warm from the oven. Alexander sat at the head, newspaper folded beside his plate, a cup of black coffee steaming in his hand. He wore a charcoal V-neck sweater that stretched across his broad shoulders and dark trousers that did unforgivable things to my concentration. When he looked up, his eyes locked onto mine immediately, dark and searching.
“Good morning, Maddie,” he said, voice low and smooth, rising to pull out the chair beside him rather than at the far end.
“Good morning,” I managed, sliding into the seat. The subtle tug in my chest flared at his nearness, a gentle pull, like a tide drawing me toward shore. I ignored it, reaching for the coffee pot with hands that only trembled slightly.
He watched me pour, then serve myself fruit and a croissant I had no real appetite for. Silence stretched, not uncomfortable but charged, humming with everything unsaid.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked finally, the question layered with meaning only we understood.
I met his gaze, remembering the dream, the sensations that had lingered upon waking. “Eventually,” I said carefully. “I had… vivid dreams.”
A flicker of something, concern, hope, crossed his face. “Dreams of running?”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. “How did you know that?”
“The bond,” he said quietly. “As it strengthens, it can bleed through into sleep. Especially if your wolf is stirring.”
I set the fork down, appetite gone entirely. “Alexander, I felt… strange when I woke up. Sensitive to everything, sounds, smells. Even textures. And I was starving, but not for normal food.” My voice dropped. “It scared me. But it has to be in my head, right? Psychosomatic. You told me this wild story, and my brain is inventing symptoms to match.”
He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. The contact sent warmth flooding through me, soothing and electric at once. “It’s not in your head,” he said gently. “Your heritage is waking. Slowly, because you were raised human, but it’s there. The dreams, the senses, they’re the first signs.”
I pulled my hand away, not because I didn’t crave the touch but because I needed space to think. “I don’t want this,” I whispered. “I didn’t ask for any of it, the fake marriage, the mate bond, turning into… whatever you are.”
Pain flashed in his eyes, quickly masked. “I know. And I’m sorry the choice was taken from you. But denying it won’t make it stop.”
Before I could respond, footsteps echoed in the hall. Ben appeared in the doorway, looking rumpled and pale, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. He wore a wrinkled shirt and sweatpants, clearly having just rolled out of bed.
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” he drawled, dropping into a chair across from us and signaling Clara for coffee. “The happy family.”
Alexander’s expression hardened instantly, the warmth he’d shown me replaced by cool authority. “Feeling better, Ben?”
“Like death warmed over,” Ben muttered, rubbing his temples. “But I’ll live. Unlike some people’s reputations if certain board members keep whispering about unstable leadership.”
The threat hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Alexander didn’t rise to it, merely sipped his coffee. “The board meets next month. We’ll see what they have to say then.”
Ben’s gaze slid to me, narrowing. “And you, darling wife? Sleep well in your new home?”
The endearment grated, especially after everything. “Fine,” I said flatly.
He smirked. “You look flushed. Hope you’re not coming down with something.”
I felt Alexander tense beside me, a low vibration I swore I could almost hear, a growl held behind clenched teeth. The tug in my chest sharpened, protective and fierce.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, forcing a smile. “Just adjusting.”
Breakfast continued in strained silence, Ben nursing his hangover with black coffee while Alexander and I exchanged only the barest pleasantries. Every brush of his knee against mine under the table sent sparks up my leg. Every time his scent, pine and leather and something wild, drifted toward me, my pulse stuttered.
When the meal ended, Ben announced he had calls to make and disappeared back upstairs. The moment he was gone, Alexander turned to me.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, standing and offering his hand.
I hesitated, then took it. His fingers closed around mine, warm and steady, and he led me out of the morning room, down a corridor I hadn’t explored, to a set of glass doors opening onto a conserve.