Chapter 9
Konstantine
The tower was often my place of refuge on nights where I needed a starlit sky and the moon as the only witnesses to my troubles.
I’d retreated here after a walk along the furthest corners of the territory, in desperate need of some fresh air.
The land had taken on a new meaning since Arax had arrived.
Everywhere I stepped, I smelled her sweet scent of jasmine.
The property was overflowing with the flowers, as if in homage to her.
I’d picked a few of the sprigs and brought them to my nose.
Their fragrance didn’t compare. How could it?
Nothing compared to her divine scent, distilled for my senses only, to entice, to enrapture…
Another piece of the bond’s clever agenda.
It was the hour I most enjoyed, dead of night.
The Fire burned steadily behind me, the one constant in my life of inconsistences.
How much we relied on it and so easily believed the stories of its origins were troubling.
Here, crouching on the stone like some silent watchman, looking over the lands of the Halo, I renewed my vows to my family and my pack as I always did in times when my mind was messy and cluttered.
These were the true pillars that held me up, not the flames of myth and legend that danced at my back.
I remembered my grandfather vaguely, but it had started with him, then my father, and it had been expected to continue with me.
The Fire had been the Halo’s greatest weapon, and he who brought it–Iskander Grigor, was the Halo’s greatest hero, and my earliest ancestor.
Tales were told that it was a gift from the divine, for his acts of bravery and loyalty in times where our kind was hunted, burned, or skinned, worn as a sign of strength, our heads displayed as trophies.
He united the wolves, brought us together as one, never to be the lesser again.
When the lines between the first etchings of our history were recorded, Iskander had scraped his place among the gods.
A lower god, a demi-god, but a god nonetheless.
However, as my father was quick to remind us, this was all according to Iskander himself.
No one could refute it though, or accuse Grigor of telling untruths, because all they had to do was look above and see the proof burning amongst the mountaintops.
Yet in the five or so millennia that had passed since the Iskander the First, one knew what The Fire could truly do.
If the extent of its powers was to keep the land fertile and weather warm, to give my pack increased strength and extra protection until the end of time or if there were limitations.
That is what my grandfather questioned, in his mind we had been relying too long on hearsay and fairytales and hence, his doubt created a divide between the packs who agreed with him and the purists of the Council who did not.
The latter worshipped not Iskander per se, but the advantages his Fire gave them.
And it was this conflict, this divide, much more convoluted than I wished to think about tonight, that had likely cost my father his life and followed me into my reign as Alpha.
The thought of bringing Arax into this tangled den of vipers seemed especially sadistic.
I straightened up and stretched, jumping down from my perch.
Before I retired for the evening, I had to make a stop at the hospital.
I’d bought a replacement camera for the one I was keeping and wanted to slip it into Arax’s bag prior to it being returned to her.
After grabbing the camera and a miniature vase I’d found in the kitchen, I tucked the jasmine sprigs inside and hurried along.
No one questioned my appearance, leaving me alone to do what I needed. I passed her room on my way out and slowed, then came to a halt in front of the door. Dorian was there, maintaining his faithful watch.
“Hello, Alpha,” he said respectfully.
“Dorian.” I nodded. “How are you doing?”
He shifted his weight slightly but didn’t say anything.
“Dorian?”
“I really have to use the facilities,” he whispered, lowering his head in embarrassment.
I let out a laugh. “You’re allowed bathroom breaks, you know. Go ahead.” I flicked my head toward the hallway. “I’ll stand guard.”
“Thank you, Alpha,” he said with relief.
I stayed on the other side of the door and peered inside. Arax was sleeping soundly, with a little frown on her beautiful face. She was healing well. The bruising looked less pronounced than it did this morning, and the swelling appeared to have subsided.
Go in, Apollo coaxed, and against my better judgment, I listened.
The smell of jasmine was at its peak tonight.
It suited her, and me, perfectly. My hand went to my back pocket, and I drew out the small vase.
After glancing quickly behind me, I set it on the bedside table with a low sigh, second-guessing my motives for being there.
Arax whimpered in her sleep, and I walked closer to her bed.
Her frown deepened, a sign of the beginnings of a bad dream.
I didn’t know what came over me, but at the sight of her in distress, I reached out and gently caressed her cheek with the back of my fingers.
She stirred and I flinched, thinking I’d woken her up, but then her whimpering slowly stopped and her face relaxed.
I told you, Apollo said quietly. She belongs with us.
Arax stirred again, but before I could move, she raised her arm and brought it to mine, covering my hand with hers. She pressed both to the side of her face and smiled, still fast asleep.
I couldn’t breathe. Warmth traveled from my fingers and up the length of my arm, filling me with a calmness I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Powerless, I let the fated bond weave its web around Arax and me.
She closed her hand around my fingers more tightly and gave them a gentle squeeze.
It pulled me closer, and my other hand found the curves of her lips.
The calm transcended into a moment of unparalleled happiness, sublime in its transience.
I wished I could have indulged in it with her longer, but Dorian would be back soon.
I caressed her cheek once more and carefully slid outside to wait for his return.