Chapter 21
Sylas
He’d given her an hour.
One hour in the infirmary suite, surrounded by walls that didn’t belong to him. One hour with the other human females, doing whatever it was social creatures did when they needed to remember they weren’t alone.
Strategic. That’s what he’d told himself when he’d authorized it. Humans stabilized when they had contact with their own kind. Their vital signs steadied. Their cortisol levels dropped. Their capacity to function improved when isolation didn’t gnaw at the edges of their sanity.
Sylas stood at the junction where three corridors met, his posture suggesting he’d been passing through on his way to something more important.
The Lux Sabers flanking the infirmary entrance acknowledged him with subtle dips of their heads but said nothing.
They knew better than to question why their Alpha King had chosen this precise moment to appear in this precise location.
Through the bond, he tracked her. Felt her heartbeat as clearly as his own. The rhythm of her breathing. The emotional resonance that told him more than words ever could.
She was calm.
Too calm. Not the fragile stillness of someone holding themselves together by force of will. This was something different. Steadier. Rooted in a way she hadn’t been when he’d left her that morning.
Something had changed.
The door opened.
Elsa emerged between the guards, her Lux Sabers, and there it was—something in her eyes he hadn’t put there.
She walked with her head high, spine straight, shoulders set in a way that had nothing to do with defiance.
This wasn’t the stubborn resistance he’d grown accustomed to—that fierce refusal to break no matter how hard he pressed.
This was confidence. Purpose. The quiet certainty of someone who’d found something to hold onto that wasn’t him.
Connection. That’s what it looked like. A life that didn’t orbit him.
Sylas’s chest tightened with something that wasn’t quite rage.
He could handle her hatred. Had weathered it from the beginning, let it scrape against his fur like the winter storms that battered the fortress walls.
He could handle her fear—that primal terror that made her pulse spike whenever he moved too fast, too sudden, too predatory.
Fear and hatred, he knew how to navigate.
Knew how to use them, shape them, redirect them into something that served his purposes.
But this—
This was her having someone else to lean on.
“Sylas.” Her voice carried no surprise at finding him there. She’d felt his approach through the bond, probably. Knew he was waiting. “I didn’t expect you to escort me personally.”
“The corridors can be dangerous after dark.” The words came out rougher than intended. “I wanted to ensure your safety.”
Her eyes held his. Clear. Steady. Seeing right through the excuse to the obsession underneath.
“Of course you did.”
She didn’t push. Didn’t challenge. Simply fell into step beside him as they walked toward his chambers, the Lux Sabers trailing at a respectful distance.
That calm acceptance was worse than any argument.
He guided her through the volcanic corridors, hyperaware of every movement she made.
The way her fingers brushed the stone walls as they walked.
The slight turn of her head when something caught her attention.
The steady pulse of her presence through the bond—warm and alive and carrying traces of emotions that had nothing to do with him.
Contentment. That’s what he felt from her. The quiet satisfaction of someone who’d accomplished something meaningful.
His claws flexed against his palms.
“The other females,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “They were...adequate company?”
“Mia and Ari.” She glanced up at him, something guarded in her expression. “They were helpful. It was good to talk to someone who understands what this is like.”
What this is like. Being human in a fortress full of predators. Being claimed by a monster who couldn’t let her go. Being surrounded by creatures who saw her as leverage or threat or opportunity—never simply as a person.
He should be grateful she had allies who could provide that understanding. He should be pleased that his strategy was working, that she was stabilizing, that she would function better with social bonds in place.
Instead, jealousy coiled in his chest like a living thing.
“You’ll see them again,” he said. The words came out before he could stop them. “When circumstances permit.”
Her eyes sharpened. Reading the careful phrasing. The conditions he’d just attached to something he’d offered freely that morning.
“Of course.” Her tone matched his—neutral, measured, giving nothing away. “When circumstances permit.”
They reached his chambers in silence.
Sylas had ordered the midday meal brought while she was away.
The food waited on the low table near the fire—dishes he’d learned she preferred, arranged with more care than he’d admit to instructing.
Roasted game birds glazed with mountain honey.
Root vegetables from the fortress gardens. Warm bread that steamed when torn open.
He watched her settle onto the cushions, watched her reach for the bread without being told, and something in his chest unknotted slightly.
She was here. In his space. Eating food he’d provided. The bond hummed between them, steady and present, and for a moment he could pretend that was enough.
“You’re watching me eat.” Her voice carried dry amusement. “Is this a cultural thing I should know about?”
“I’m ensuring you consume adequate nutrition.” The excuse sounded weak even to his own ears. “You’re still recovering from the ceremony’s effects.”
“I feel fine.” She selected a piece of the glazed meat, and he tracked the movement with more attention than it warranted. “Better than fine, actually. The headaches are gone. Whatever Yarx did to stabilize the neural pathways seems to be holding.”
Yarx. Another male who’d touched her. Healed her. Given her something she needed.
Sylas stilled. His claws sank into the cushions beneath him, puncturing deep as he forced the surge of rage down, burying it where it couldn’t reach her. The growl clawed at his throat anyway—low, violent, meant for the males who had dared lay hands on what was his.
Not for her. Never for her.
“The council meets this afternoon.” He forced his attention back to practical matters, selecting meat and root vegetables with deliberate precision. “There will be...discussions. About the ceremony. About you.”
“About my usefulness, you mean.” She didn’t look up from her plate. “Or my threat level. Depending on who’s talking.”
“Both.” He saw no point in softening it. She deserved the truth, even when it cut. “Vask has been circling the same accusation for days. That you’re leverage I can’t afford to hold. That you’ve compromised my position.”
Her fork paused. “Have I?”
The question hung between them, heavy with implications neither of them was ready to name.
Sylas thought about the grid display in his study—those endless red markers he should have been monitoring instead of waiting outside the infirmary wing.
Thought about the doubled patrols he’d ordered that morning, the “coincidental” rotations that just happened to pass by every corridor she might explore.
Thought about the way his heartbeat had spiked the moment she’d emerged with that new confidence in her eyes.
Thought about the way he’d positioned himself at that junction, pretending it was coincidence, when they both knew better.
“Not in the way they mean,” he said finally.
She held his gaze for a long moment. The firelight caught the blue of her eyes, made them look almost luminous. Something flickered in her expression—understanding, maybe, or the first crack in the careful neutrality she’d been maintaining.
“And in other ways?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The truth sat on his tongue like a blade, and he wasn’t ready to let it draw blood.
You’ve become the center of everything. The first thought when I wake. The last before I sleep. The constant pulse at the edge of my awareness that tells me you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re mine.
And I don’t know how to stop it. Don’t know if I want to.
Instead, he sighed, holding her gaze. “The political situation is...complex.”
“You mean dangerous.” She set down her fork, giving him her full attention. “Mia mentioned that Yarx has been worried. Something about faction movements. Increased activity in the lower levels.”
Yarx again. Sharing information with humans who shared it with his mate. Building connections and trust that had nothing to do with Sylas.
“The healer should focus on his patients.” The words came out sharper than intended. “Not on political analysis.”
Elsa’s expression cooled. “He’s trying to help. They all are. That’s what people do when they—” She stopped herself, but he heard the rest anyway.
When they care about each other.
The jealousy coiled tighter.
They finished the meal in silence, the weight of unspoken things pressing against the air between them.
Sylas rose first, gathering his thoughts for the council session ahead.
He would need every ounce of control he possessed to face Vask’s insinuations without violence.
To play the political games that kept his throne secure while his enemies circled closer with every passing day.
“Stay in the chambers while I’m gone.” He paused at the door, not quite looking at her. “The Sabers outside will see to anything you need.”
“And if I want to walk the corridors? Visit the library? Return to the infirmary wing?”
His claws scraped stone. “When circumstances permit.”
He felt her frustration flare through the bond—sharp and hot, quickly suppressed. But she said nothing. Only watched him go with those clear blue eyes that saw too much.
The council session proved every suspicion he’d harbored.