Chapter 25
Night settled softly over the plains. Small fires dotted the grassland like fallen stars while the packs kept close to the treeline. No one spoke the reason aloud, but all understood it. The forest offered cover. The open land did not.
Alaric paced inside his tent, listening to the low hum of camp settling for the night. The scent of roasted game drifted through the air, mingling with woodsmoke and earth. Laughter rose and fell in scattered pockets, the sound of people who had earned their rest.
He was adjusting the strap on his boot when the tent flap shifted.
“Are you prepared?”
Evelyne slipped inside without waiting for an answer, her eyes bright and far too pleased with herself.
He let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. “That depends,” he said. “Have you come to tell me something dreadful?”
“No,” she replied lightly. “Something worse. Heidara suspects nothing.”
That was enough to make his stomach tighten.
“You are certain?”
“Entirely,” Evelyne said. “Which means you must stop looking as though you are marching off to war and instead summon whatever charm you once wielded in Caltheris.” She tipped her head. “You were rather skilled at polite flirtation, if memory serves.”
“That was another life,” he muttered.
“And yet,” she said, stepping forward to fold him into a sudden, fierce hug, “you are still here.”
He went still for the briefest moment before returning it, his arms settling around her with careful warmth. The embrace did not last long, but it carried more than either of them could have said aloud.
Evelyne stepped back and placed a folded wool blanket in his arms, then a basket laden with roasted meat and fresh provisions. “For later,” she said. “You may be glad of it.”
He swallowed. “Thank you.”
Her smile softened. “I am going to draw Heidara away for a walk. You have a little time. Go on. Put things in order.”
“Evelyne?”
She paused at the tent flap.
“I owe you more than words,” Alaric murmured.
She smiled. “I’m just glad you made it back to us.”
Alaric drew in a slow breath and nodded.
He moved beyond the reach of the nearest firelight to a shallow dip in the grass, where the stars stretched wide above without a single branch to break them. He spread the blanket with care, set the basket beside it, then lit a lantern and turned the flame low until its glow was soft and warm.
Nothing grand. But something.
Footsteps approached behind him, followed by the murmur of Evelyne’s voice on the breeze.
“Oh, how careless of me,” she said. “I quite forgot myself. I must get back to Kaldrek at once. You must forgive me.”
“What? But you—” Heidara began, and Alaric turned.
She stood in the lantern glow, her hair unbound and shining, long golden waves spilling over her shoulders.
She had taken the trouble to freshen herself, though only lightly, enough to seem effortless and all the more devastating for it.
The night carried her scent to him: lilac, clean earth, and something that was simply Heidara.
For one suspended moment, Alaric forgot how to breathe. How to speak.
Evelyne gave Alaric a brief, conspiratorial smile, then slipped away without another word.
Heidara watched her disappear, then turned back to him with a smile that already knew the answer. “This was a setup.”
“Yes,” he said honestly. “But a well-meaning one.”
She laughed softly and stepped nearer. And gods help him, Alaric realized he had never been this nervous in his life. Not beneath chandeliers. Not while making promises he had not yet known how to keep.
Tonight mattered.
He cleared his throat. “Would you… would you do me the honor of sitting with me?”
Heidara’s mouth curved. “That is far too proper.” Still, she came closer and lowered herself to the blanket with easy grace. “But yes, I will sit with you. I am starving, though, so I hope you brought—oh.”
Her gasp broke into delighted laughter the moment she spotted the basket.
“You did bring food.” She clasped her hands together like a child let in on a secret. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Alaric let out a long breath, and some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders. She made it too easy to be near her. Easy to smile. Easy to speak. Easy, for a moment, to forget that his heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.
He sank down beside her and offered the basket, grateful it was Evelyne’s doing. Left to himself, he would have come with nothing but good intentions and a stammer.
“I cannot, in good conscience, take all the credit,” he admitted. “Evelyne had a great deal to do with this… rather deliberate arrangement.”
Heidara wasted no time. She snatched up a roll and roasted meat and ate with such open enjoyment that Alaric found himself staring. She looked like someone who had never learned to apologize for her appetite or her presence.
She caught him watching a moment later and swallowed. “All right. Either you’re not hungry, or I have something on my face, or you’re about to tell me something terrible.” Her eyes narrowed, playful but sharp. “Because you’re staring. Explain.”
His mind stumbled. His mouth, traitor that it was, moved first.
“I cannot get over you.”
The words landed between them like a confession laid bare, too honest and too swift, and for one suspended heartbeat he was certain he had ruined everything.
Heidara went still, not with coldness or anger, but with a quiet, searching look, watching him as though she meant to understand every part of him he had never intended to reveal.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve just never…” He gave a rough shake of his head, searching for words that would not reveal how completely undone he felt. “No one has ever made me feel—”
His eyes betrayed him anyway, dropping to her mouth where she caught her lower lip between her teeth. It was a small thing, perhaps thoughtless, yet it struck him like a blow to the chest. He was falling too quickly, and there was no graceful way left to deny it.
One of her brows lifted, as though she could hear the words he couldn’t manage to say. Then she reached for him.
“Alaric.”
The way she said his name sent something in him off balance. She took his hand and guided it to her chest, pressing his palm against the firm pulse beneath. It was not teasing. Not temptation. Only trust.
“So you know,” she murmured, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath, “it isn’t only you.”
He felt that quick, living rhythm beneath his hand.
“I’m nervous around you too,” she said, her voice dropping softer. “But it’s… a good kind of nervous. Like whatever this is between us could be something very right.” She paused. “And yet—”
“I do not want to ruin it,” he breathed.
“Neither do I.”
Slowly, as though nearing something sacred, he drew his hand away and let it settle at the back of her neck, his thumb resting where her skin was warm and unguarded.
Heidara leaned into the touch as if she had been waiting for it.
Their faces drifted closer. Her lashes lowered.
His heart hammered hard enough to mortify him.
Surely she could hear it. Surely she could feel the way his restraint was unraveling, thread by thread.
“This,” he whispered, his mouth just above hers, “is better than anything I have ever known—”
He broke off, as though stopping himself might keep the rest of him from breaking with it. The next words left him rougher than the last.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “For what I did to you. For the pain I caused you, Heidara. I never meant—”
“You would never have hurt me by choice,” she cut in at once, as though she would not permit him to turn cruel against himself. Her eyes flashed. “Now kiss me.”
A soft, helpless laugh escaped him, half relief, half disbelief. His hand tightened gently at the back of her neck, and at last he gave in to the moment he had been aching toward—
“Aw, would you look at that.”
The voice behind them came thick with ale and malice.
Alaric froze. Beneath his hand, Heidara’s body went rigid.
Beau stumbled closer, each step carrying the sour reek of drink and something fouler beneath it.
“So this is what it’s come to?” he slurred.
“Getting close with the demon boy now?” His mouth twisted in a laugh too loud for the quiet camp.
“Well done, Heidara. I knew you were easy, but really…” He shook his head, grinning meanly. “Still chasing the human? Pathetic.”
There wasn’t much ale to be had while they were on the move—no tavern, no easy barrels passed around a crowded room.
The packs kept what they had for ritual nights, for celebrations that mattered.
Which meant Beau had been desperate, reckless, or both to get at it now.
And from the way he swayed, he was doing a fine job of trying to drown whatever was eating him alive—at the expense of everyone else.
Alaric’s fingers remained at Heidara’s nape, steadying her, steadying himself, even as the moment they’d been about to share slipped away like smoke.
How dare he try to humiliate her like that?
Alaric remembered the first night Beau showed up, the way Heidara had gone still, the color fading from her face as though someone had pulled all the warmth from her.
He had not asked about it. He could not.
But he had noticed. She looked the same now: pale, motionless, held for one heartbeat too long.
This time, though, it was not fear on her face.
It was fury.
“Beau,” Heidara said, the word sharp as a snapped command. “You’ve had far too much to drink. Go back to your tent.”
Beau barked a laugh. “Maybe you should come with me.” His eyes dragged over her like a deliberate insult. “I could keep you a hell of a lot warmer than this fragile little joke of a man.”
Heidara surged to her feet.
Alaric moved before she could. He stepped into her path and turned fully toward her, not Beau, pressing a steady hand to her chest as though he could hold her there by touch alone.
“Wait,” he said quietly.
Her hands curled, ready for violence, but she listened.
“He is not worth it,” Alaric murmured. “Not your time. Not your strength. Not even your anger.”
He lifted his other hand and gently tipped up her chin until her eyes met his.
“Look at me,” he said in a gentle, but stern voice. “He has shown you exactly who he is. Do not reward him with your attention. He does not deserve it. Do you hear me?”
Heidara clenched her teeth, the strain visible in the tight set of her mouth. Her eyes shifted past him to Beau. After a long moment, she gave one tight nod.
“Good,” Alaric said softly. “Now breathe.”
Heidara drew in a slow breath through her nose and let it go in a long, shaking exhale.
Alaric turned just as Beau staggered forward again, his words slurring into something ugly and baiting. The male’s eyes were glassy, unfocused in the way only a drunk’s could be. “Look at you,” he sneered. “Hiding behind her now? Thought you nobles were supposed to be brave.”
Alaric didn’t rise to it. He only stepped forward, placing himself fully between them, calm on the surface even as his pulse began to sharpen.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said.
That did it.
Beau lunged.
The strike was clumsy and slow. Alaric slipped easily aside as Beau’s fist cut through empty air.
“Shit—” Beau stumbled over the word, but the miss only fed his temper. He came at Alaric again, swinging harder, anger driving what little coordination he had left straight into the dirt.
Alaric moved to evade the second blow, but this time he misjudged. He twisted clear of Beau’s fist, only for his boot to slide on loose soil. He dropped hard to one knee, his palm hitting the ground to catch himself.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
So did what came next.
The land shifted beneath his hand.
The sensation was so sudden and strange that he nearly tore his palm away. Something moved far below the surface, restless and aware, as though the land itself had turned toward him. As though it were reaching for him. Calling on him to listen.
Alaric drew in a quick breath as dizziness swept over him and the edges of his vision blurred.
For half a heartbeat, the camp disappeared.
A high, ringing hush filled his ears, a thin sharp silence that swallowed every other sound.
The air smelled of damp stone and something metallic, familiar enough to make his stomach tighten.
Beneath it all, he felt pressure moving deep below the surface, spreading southward like roots searching for purchase.
Nausea twisted through him as the memory of the Noskari’s voice rose again, that ceaseless whisper threading through his mind.
South. Take the alpha south. Cannot fail.
Something was wrong. Sound dulled around him, and he tore his hands from the ground, bracing them hard against his knees.
“Alaric!” Heidara’s warped voice echoed, as though carried through water.
Beau stumbled again, readying another swing, but this time the movement drew attention.
“What in the seven hells is going on?”
Obren’s voice cracked through the night like a whip. He was already striding toward them, expression thunderous as he took in Beau’s unsteady stance and Alaric on his knees.
Obren’s gaze snapped back to Beau. “You,” he barked. “Get your drunk ass back to your tent before you disgrace your pack any further.”
Beau scoffed, but under Obren’s stare he backed away all the same, muttering curses as he went.
Alaric breathed slowly, waiting for the unease to pass.
Heidara was kneeling beside him now, one hand tight on his arm. “Hey. Hey—look at me.”
He raised his head. The world steadied just enough for her face to come into focus, concern written clearly in every line of it.
“You’re pale,” she said quietly. “Come on. You need to lie down.”
“I’m fine,” he tried to say, but the words rang hollow even to himself.
She didn’t argue. She simply helped him to his feet and guided him away from the lantern light, one hand firm at his back. Alaric glanced once—only once—toward the dark stretch of land that led south, before deciding he needed to sleep this night off.