Chapter 34 #2
It was a potent reminder that bonds could be formed with silk rather than iron. Not all Alphas sought to break and bend. With Kaelen, her heart didn’t cower or retreat. It sang —a melody of freedom, not fear.
“How did you learn this dance?” Reiya asked, breathless as he set her back on her feet.
His grin softened, golden eyes locked onto hers. “I’ve been to this festival before, remember?”
“I remember . . . but you never explained why .”
His laughter rumbled low, blending with the music and cheers around them. “You’ve caught me,” he admitted. “And I take it you won’t let me escape this time?”
“No such hope.”
They found each other’s hands again, moving in perfect rhythm. His gaze flickered to the distant firelight, a shadow flashing across his face.
“If you truly wish to know,” he said, quieter now, “I came here because I was running away.”
Reiya’s steps faltered, but Kaelen steadied her with a firm hand.
“Running from what?”
He spun her lightly, drawing her back into his arms, their movements falling into rhythm once more. His voice dipped, nearly lost beneath the pulse of drums and laughter.
“From my betrothal. To an Omega I thought I loved.”
The words struck like a sudden gust of wind, catching her off guard. Kaelen had loved another Omega. Someone else had once held his heart.
“You . . .” Her voice faltered as she searched his face. “You loved someone else?”
It wasn’t the question she truly wanted to ask. What she feared, more than anything, was whether he still did . Whether she was standing in the shadow of something lost but not forgotten.
“Anna?s,” Kaelen said, the name lingering between them like a ghost. “I thought we were destined. But . . .” He exhaled, his steps slowing as if the memory carried weight. “I wasn’t the only one.”
Her pulse quickened. A dozen moments flashed through her mind—Alarik’s quiet, lingering glances, the guardedness in his eyes when Kaelen wasn’t looking. A tension that had always been there, woven into the fabric of their bond. The pieces snapped into place with chilling clarity.
She barely found the strength to whisper his name. “Alarik.”
Kaelen met her gaze. “Yes. And worse, he loved her too.”
“They . . . didn’t tell you?”
“We were both kept in the dark. Alarik told me himself, the day my betrothal to her was decided. Then he walked away, thinking it was best. I couldn’t stay knowing that.”
She tried to piece it together, but the sharp twist in her chest said enough. She’d never considered that someone might’ve come before her—that the bond she thought they were forging had already been tested, stretched, perhaps even broken for someone else.
Kaelen must have sensed her turmoil because his hold on her tightened, as if pleading.
“Reiya,” he murmured. “It’s history. Over and done with.”
History.
The word felt too neat, too simple. As if this woman had been nothing more than a chapter closed. But her presence still lingered, didn’t it? It was palpable in the way Alarik carried himself, in the silences neither of them had spoken of until now.
Her gaze dropped, thoughts tangling into a storm she hadn’t seen coming.
Why did it unsettle her so much?
She had regrets too—her past was hardly unblemished. She had no right to feel this raw twist beneath her ribs, no reason for the sharpness threading through her chest. Yet, the thought of being measured against a memory—against someone in their past—set her teeth on edge.
It shouldn’t matter.
Who cared about the first, so long as she could be the last?
But no amount of logic dulled the sting .
Kaelen reached for her again, his fingers brushing her cheek, coaxing her to look at him. She wanted to let him, to pretend none of this mattered.
But it did.
“I need to clear my head,” she said quietly, pulling away. “I’ll grab a shawl from the wagon. The desert night’s colder than I expected.”
He hesitated, his golden eyes scanning hers. She saw the protest in him, the instinct to keep her close. But after a beat, he clenched his jaw and nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to return.”
She turned, each step carrying her further from the firelight, from the music, from the press of voices.
And from the past she hadn’t known she was walking into.
The wagon called, and she climbed the narrow steps, seeking its solace. She closed the door behind her. Shadows stretched long across the space, the faint glow of a torch filtering through the windows, casting flickering shapes on the walls.
Her eyes landed on the shawl draped over a low stool. She reached for it, the fabric slipping cool between her fingers, soft against her palm. As she wrapped it around her shoulders, her thoughts drifted back to Kaelen’s words—and the questions they left behind.
Who was this Anna?s, the one who’d held not just Kaelen’s heart, but Alarik’s as well? What had drawn them to her? Why had she done what she did?
The answers felt like threads she dared not pull, lest the whole tapestry of her understanding unravel.
A creak beneath her feet broke the silence as she turned toward the door, intending to rejoin the others. But the moment she took the first step, a low, rhythmic rattle sent a chill prickling down her nape.
She stilled.
The sound grew louder, more insistent. Slowly, she turned, her breath shallow, scanning the dim interior.
Her eyes caught a flicker of movement near the base of the stool.
Pulse slamming against her ribs, her eyes locked onto it: a sandshrike.
Its silver-scaled body coiled tight around one of the wooden legs, its narrow, triangular head raised, onyx eyes gleaming in the dim light. The sharp hiss of its rattle filled the space, a death knell vibrating through the stillness.
Reiya didn’t move.
Her instincts screamed at her to bolt—to leap for the door before it struck. Would she be fast enough?
The sandshrike lifted its head higher, tongue flicking, assessing her.
Her fingers curled into the shawl. Think, Reiya. Think.
Light, skipping footsteps approached, barely disturbing the quiet. A moment later, the wagon door swung open, flooding the space with light.
Mei Mei’s voice broke the stillness. “Yara, what are you?—”
A sharp gasp followed.
Reiya’s blood ran cold.
She didn’t dare turn.
“Mei Mei, don’t move,” she whispered, stepping back, angling herself between the child and the sandshrike.
The creature’s head turned slightly, its focus wavering as it tracked her movement. The rattle grew louder as its tail vibrated. Reiya’s pulse roared in her ears, but she forced herself to stay calm. She lifted the shawl, fingers squeezing the soft fabric as she calculated her next move.
The sandshrike hissed, its body lifting higher, tensing, muscles rippling beneath its scaled surface as it prepared to strike.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and steady despite her pounding heart. Tension strained every syllable.
“Mei Mei. Step back, slowly . No sudden movements.” She swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving the snake. “Close the door behind you. Go.”
The faint creak of floorboards betrayed Mei Mei’s cautious retreat. Reiya’s grip on the shawl tightened, her knuckles white. The sandshrike’s head swayed in time with her breaths, forked tongue slithering in and out, slitted eyes gleaming with predatory focus.
And then, it lunged.
Reiya didn’t think—she simply moved.
She snapped the shawl forward like a whip. The fabric cracked mid air, striking the sandshrike mid-lunge and tangling around its thrashing body. A shrill, ear-piercing hiss ripped from the creature as it writhed, venomous fangs snapping at nothing.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Her blood roared in her ears, but this was no time to panic. The sandshrike convulsed violently on the floorboards, its tail lashing in fury. It wasn’t victory, just an interlude before the next attack.
Her gaze darted around the dim wagon, the flickering lantern light casting shadows over the tools and supplies scattered around. Her eyes locked onto a sturdy, woven basket not far from her—thick reeds, heavy build.
It might work.
The sandshrike hissed, beady eyes locking onto her. The second it sensed her intent, it lunged, venomous fangs bared.
Reiya snatched the basket and slammed it down.
The impact shook through her bones. The woven reeds trapped the snake mid-strike, its body snapping and coiling violently against its cage. The furious shriek that followed rattled through the confined space.
She threw her weight onto it, palms slick with sweat as the basket shuddered beneath her grip. The sandshrike lashed out again, slamming against the reeds, hunting for a weakness, a crack—an escape.
Outside, Mei Mei’s panicked cries pierced the night. A promise that help was coming.
Her legs buckled, knees hitting the floor as she fought to keep the basket pinned.
“Stay down,” she muttered, panting.
She wasn’t sure if she meant the snake—or herself.