CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Vihaan stood still, his heart clenching painfully at his wife’s insecurity, and then expanding with an overwhelming, staggering surge of love as he listened to Serena’s words. The Sentinel of the North, a man who had not cried since he was a child, felt a thick, lump form in his throat.
Beside him, Rudraksh was perfectly silent. The Monarch leaned his broad shoulder against the stone wall; his arms crossed over his chest. But his dark eyes were blazing with a pride so intense it was almost blinding.
He looked at Serena through the glass. He listened to the fierce, empathetic grace of his beautiful storm. She understood their brutal world better than anyone, yet she possessed a heart so and understanding that it took his breath away.
Vihaan let out a long, ragged exhale. He looked at Rudraksh, shaking his head in awe. "She is... incredible, Monarch. Your major."
Rudraksh’s jaw tightened, a slow, deeply possessive smile touching his lips. He looked at the platinum ring glinting on Serena’s finger.
"She is my everything, Sentinel," Rudraksh murmured.
Vihaan clapped Rudraksh silently on the shoulder, a gesture of gratitude, before pushing the door open to step onto the balcony and wrap his wife in a desperate, crushing embrace. Rudraksh slipped back into the mess hall, leaving them to their moment, his heart full.
The joint tactical exercise was initially scheduled for ten days, but the synergy between the two elite units was so unprecedented that General Staff authorized an extension.
Rudraksh’s team ended up staying at the Northern Command for a few more weeks, integrating their intelligence protocols directly into the base’s kinetic strike capabilities.
The teams worked surprisingly, seamlessly well together.
***
But a few weeks in close quarters also meant new variables were introduced to the environment.
One of those variables was Major Gagan Singhania.
Major Singhania was a hotshot from a flanking mountain battalion who had recently been rotated into the Northern Command.
He was thirty-two, objectively handsome, and possessed a cocky, arrogant swagger that grated on the nerves of every seasoned operative on the base.
He was a capable soldier, but he operated under the distinct delusion that he was God’s gift to the armed forces.
And from the moment he laid eyes on Major Serena Dhar, he was captivated.
It started subtly. A lingering glance in the mess hall. A swaggering comment during the morning briefings. But as the weeks wore on, Singhania’s attempts to charm the beautiful intelligence operative became painfully overt.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. The primary training mat in the base’s subterranean gym was illuminated by stark, humming fluorescent lights.
Serena was seated on a steel bench near the edge of the mat, reviewing a heavily encrypted topographical data pad. She wore a grey tank top and black tactical trousers, a towel draped around her neck, having just finished a grueling two-hour close-quarters combat drill with Armaan.
"Major Dhar," a smooth, overly confident voice called out.
Serena didn't look up. She simply flipped to the next page of her digital dossier.
Major Gagan Singhania strolled up to the bench, leaning casually against the steel support pillar. He offered her a blinding, practiced smile. "A woman as stunning as you shouldn't be burying those beautiful eyes in a data pad after a workout. You should be letting someone buy you a drink."
Across the gym, sitting on the edge of the boxing ring, Armaan Trivedi, Vivaan Saxena, and Ishaan Mehta were watching the interaction. Next to them, Arhaan Raina and Ronav Sethi from the Northern Command had actually stopped sparring just to witness the impending trainwreck.
"I give him ten seconds before she verbally castrates him," Vivaan whispered, taking a sip from his water bottle, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Ten? You're generous. I give it five," Arhaan snorted.
Serena finally lifted her gaze from the pad. Her dark eyes were flat, devoid of any warmth. She looked at Singhania the way one might look at a particularly persistent, annoying mosquito.
"Major Singhania," Serena said, her voice dripping with dry, razor-sharp boredom. "I am currently reviewing hostile troop movements that directly impact the survival rate of this base. Unless you are offering me actionable intelligence on the eastern sector, you are standing in my light. Move."
Singhania chuckled, oblivious to the warning in her tone.
He misread her icy dismissal as a challenge.
He ignored the platinum diamond ring catching the harsh gym lights on her left hand—whether he was too arrogant to notice or simply believed he could out-charm whoever put it there, the result was the same.
"Come on, Serena," Singhania purred, stepping closer, invading her personal space. "All work and no play makes for a very cold deployment. I know the best spot in the cantonment. Just one dinner. Let me show you—"
The temperature in the gymnasium seemed to plummet by ten degrees in a single second.
The ambient chatter died. Armaan and Vivaan instantly sat up straight, the amusement wiping from their faces as they looked toward the entrance of the gym.
Lt. Col. Rudraksh Ashmehr-Vohn had arrived.
He didn't shout. He didn't run. He walked across the mat with the slow grace of an apex predator that had just found a trespasser in its territory. He wore his dark combat fatigues, his boots making no sound on the padded floor.
Rudraksh was not a jealous man. Jealousy stemmed from insecurity, from the fear that someone else could take what was yours. Rudraksh knew, with the certainty of the sun rising in the east, that Serena loved him. He knew she found Singhania repulsive.
But Rudraksh was deeply, intensely, violently possessive.
He closed the distance in seconds. Singhania barely had time to register the shift in the room's atmosphere before the Monarch was standing right behind Serena’s bench.
Rudraksh did not look at the cocky major.
Instead, he reached down, his large, calloused hand settling heavily on the back of Serena’s neck.
His long fingers slid beneath the damp, dark waves of her hair, his thumb coming to rest directly over the frantic pulse point at the base of her throat.
It was an incredibly intimate, deeply claiming gesture.
Serena let out a soft, exasperated sigh, though she leaned her head back into the warmth of his palm, surrendering to his touch.
Only then did Rudraksh lift his dark, brooding eyes to look at Singhania.
The look was dead. It was the flat, soulless stare of a man calculating exactly how much pressure it would take to snap a spine.
"Is there a tactical issue requiring my analyst's attention, Major Singhania?" Rudraksh asked. His voice was a low hum, barely above a whisper, but it carried the devastating weight of an incoming artillery shell.
Singhania froze. His arrogant smile vanished instantly. He looked at the hand gripping Serena’s neck, and then he looked into the pitch-black eyes of the Tactical Commander. The overwhelming alpha presence of the Monarch practically crushed the air out of his lungs.
"N-no, Colonel," Singhania stammered, his confident swagger evaporating. "No tactical issue. I was just... checking in."
"Check out," Rudraksh commanded softly.
Singhania swallowed hard, took a hasty step back, and practically sprinted toward the locker rooms without another word.
The moment the gym doors swung shut behind the fleeing major, the silence in the room was shattered.
Vivaan burst into howling laughter, leaning against Armaan, who was shaking his head with a grin. Ronav and Arhaan exchanged highly amused looks, picking up their sparring gloves once more.
Serena reached up, her hand wrapping over Rudraksh’s thick wrist. She tilted her head back to look at him, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
"You are ridiculous, Monarch," she muttered, though a deeply affectionate smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth. "I was perfectly capable of handling him. He is an idiot."
Rudraksh let out a low rumble of amusement, sliding his hand from her neck to cup her jaw. He leaned down, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to the crown of her head, unbothered by their audience.
"I know you can handle him, Blaze," Rudraksh murmured, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, his eyes burning with an intense, unyielding fire. "But if he asks you to dinner again, he is a dead man."