Chapter 26 #2
She could smell her own scent shifting, betraying her at the worst possible moment.
The suppression remedies she’d relied on weren’t enough.
Her body knew before she did, reacting instinctively, heedless of rational thought.
She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to steady her heart, to push back against the slow, creeping unravelling of her control.
But when she looked up again, Alarik’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. The movement was almost imperceptible.
Realization slammed into her like a crashing tide. He was scenting her.
Not overtly, not in the way Jodhar had. It was restrained, cautious, uncertain, as though he himself hadn’t expected to react.
And she wasn’t . . . recoiling.
She wasn’t choking on the weight of it. Wasn’t bristling with the same revulsion that had clawed up her throat when other Alphas dared to press too close.
Instead, she stilled, attuned to the slow, measured way he held himself in check, muscles taut with effort—like a bowstring drawn but never loosed.
The air between them crackled, a quiet hum of a restless thing, waiting. Her fingers twitched at her sides, instinct warring with reason, warning her that this was dangerous—that it would be safer to step back, to sever this thread before it wove itself into something she couldn’t untangle.
For a fleeting second, his pupils darkened, his body tensed as though fighting some unseen pull, as though waiting for her to make the call.
Then, with a jolt, he stepped back .
The space between them stretched, snapping taut like a thread about to fray. He exhaled slowly . . . controlled, measured.
“Enjoy your bath,” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher, as though it cost him to speak.
Then he turned and walked out the door without looking back.
Reiya remained where she stood, chest tight, legs unsteady beneath her. She pressed her back against the nearest wall, fingers gripping the cool stone. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, an ache curling in her lower belly as she tried to piece together what just happened.
For the second time today, an Alpha made her question everything she thought she knew.
S he couldn’t linger long in the bath. No amount of hot water or perfumed oils could dissolve the restless energy thrumming beneath her skin. What once felt like solace now buzzed with unease, the stillness pressing in rather than soothing.
She washed quickly, oiled herself with a light blend of almond and orange blossom, rubbing it over her arms and throat until the scents covered her. She dressed, fumbling with her sash as impatience prickled at her fingers, her mind still tangled in the memory of Alarik’s presence.
The cool night air met her as she stepped into the courtyard, brushing against her damp skin, carrying the smells of jasmine and wet stone.
She began to stroll toward the gates—only to freeze.
Alarik stood beneath the arching branches of an olive tree, half-shrouded in shadow. He was already looking in her direction, as if he’d sensed the exact moment she emerged.
For a brief, unguarded moment, she simply stared, uncertain whether to step forward or retreat. Then, steeling herself against the warmth creeping into her cheeks, she approached him.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said when he was within earshot .
Alarik’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, unreadable in the soft glow of the lanterns. Then, he nodded. “I know.”
He pushed off the tree, falling into step beside her as they made their way to the street. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of lingering spices from the market and the faint murmur of distant voices.
“You didn’t take long,” he remarked after a beat.
Reiya hesitated, fingers tightening around the edges of her shawl. “I didn’t feel like staying.”
He gave her a sidelong glance before he asked, “Did something happen?”
Reiya—still caught in the aftershocks of earlier, still trying to make sense of the storm he’d unknowingly stirred—realized she didn’t quite have an answer.
No answer aside from: ‘Yes. You happened.’
But she couldn’t possibly admit that. How did one even begin to say, ‘I cut my bath short because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?’
The mere thought sent heat curling up her neck. It was ridiculous. Embarrassing.
And entirely his fault.
Yet, as they walked, Alarik looked perfectly composed—calm, steady, as if nothing had happened at all.
Had he already put it behind him? Had their encounter meant so little to him?
The thought unsettled her more than it should have. He’d been the one to leave first, the one who’d put space between them. And yet, here he was—unaffected, as if their encounter had been nothing more than an ordinary moment.
Had she imagined it all? The tension, the restraint, the quiet way he’d held himself back?
Reiya clenched her jaw. She’d spent so long convincing herself that Alphas only took, that their presence only suffocated. But Alarik—damn him—had done nothing but give her space, letting her decide.
And somehow, that bothered her more than anything.
The unsettled energy clung to her, thrumming beneath her skin. She needed to focus on something else—something tangible, something that wasn’t him.
Glancing around, she scanned the quiet streets and lowered her voice. “Did Kai tell you about the bounty notice?”
Alarik’s gaze remained ahead. “He did.”
“Should we leave Zohara?”
“No. It would draw too much attention.”
She frowned. “But the mercenaries?—”
“Staying means blending in. Leaving means running. If we run, we look guilty.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “Hiding in plain sight is safer—for now.”
Reiya exhaled slowly, her uncertainty settling alongside his steadier resolve. She’d always equated freedom with movement, with slipping through unseen cracks before the walls could close in. But now, she must learn survival in stillness, in calculated steps rather than frantic ones.
They walked in silence as the caravanserai came into view. Lantern light flickered at its edges, and the distant murmur of voices marked the boundary of their temporary refuge. But between them, the silence lingered.
Alarik’s stride, naturally longer, never left her behind. Somehow, he always matched her pace without effort—not in a way that felt forced, but instinctive, as if he’d spent his life learning how to walk beside someone rather than ahead of them.
Her gaze drifted to the inside of his right forearm, where the edges of a tattoo peeked from beneath his rolled-up sleeve.
She hadn’t imagined it. Half a sunburst, its circle incomplete, its rays frozen mid-arc. It mimicked a Sunborn mark, yet wasn’t one.
A mark of something he’d once reached for—or something he’d turned away from?
The question hovered on her lips, but when she glanced up at him, the quiet stillness of his expression stopped her. He didn’t seem ready to share that part of himself.
Her steps slowed as they passed a weapons stall, the gleam of steel catching her eye. Blades and bows glinted under the lanterns, polished edges gleaming with quiet promise. She drifted toward the display, her fingers brushing the wood, drawn in by the craftsmanship laid before her.
A wiry Beta merchant straightened, smiling at their approach. “Fine selection, miss. Balanced, durable—sharp enough to split a hair.”
Reiya barely heard him, her focus narrowing on a single dagger nestled among the others. A crescent-shaped blade, its hilt wrapped in dark leather, the kind that would mould to a grip like it belonged there. She picked it up carefully, its weight settling in her palm.
She knew the moment she held it—it felt right. Her thumb brushed over the hilt, and a thought sharpened at the edges of her mind.
She thought of Jodhar, his mocking voice, the way he’d loomed too close, his words a reminder of just how powerless she’d been in those moments. She hadn’t been able to fight back, hadn’t even had the means to bluff.
Never again.
She thought of the mercenaries hunting her, how at any moment, one or more could corner her, and her grip on the dagger firmed.
“Are you interested in weapons?” Alarik’s voice cut through her thoughts.
She glanced up sharply. He stood close beside her.
“I want to learn.” The words came without hesitation, more to herself than to him. “I should’ve learned long ago, but I brushed it off as unnecessary.”
He studied her. His silence wasn’t dismissive—it was thoughtful. He didn’t tell her she didn’t need to know or offer the same assurances her father and brothers might have, that she’d always be protected. That someone else—like her Alpha—would wield a blade in her stead.
Alarik looked at her and understood .
“It’s a good blade,” he said finally, nodding toward the one she held. “Balanced. The curve makes it excellent for close combat—quick, decisive cuts.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the quiet respect in his tone. “You think so?”
He nodded. “I have one just like it. ”
Reiya’s fingers tightened around the dagger before reluctantly placing it back on the display.
“I have a dagger,” she said. “A ceremonial one my mother gave me, blessed at Luneth’s temple. It’s more decorative than practical, but . . .”
Alarik lifted a brow, though there was no mockery in his gaze. “A blade is a blade. Even a ceremonial dagger can cut if kept sharp.”
Her lips curved faintly. “It’s sharp, but maybe not sharp enough.”
“Then we’ll fix that.” His voice held quiet certainty. “If you’re committed to learn, we can start tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ll teach me?”
He nodded, eyes steady. “It takes a lifetime to master a weapon, but we can start with the foundation. Enough to make sure you’re not thoroughly helpless.”
Something warm coiled in her chest—more profound than relief, or gratitude. He didn’t offer protection. He offered knowledge. He offered choice .
“Hand-to-hand too,” he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not everything can be solved with a blade.” He paused before adding, “And my bow, if you’d like to try it.”
Her mouth fell open. “You’ll let me use your bow?”
“I trust it’ll survive a novice.” His voice was dry, but his expression held something lighter. “Just . . . don’t throw it when you get frustrated.”
She huffed. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow. After your turn at the stall.” A pause. “Unless you’d rather wait.”
“No.” Her fingers curled at her sides, excitement buzzing through her veins. “Tomorrow is perfect.”
Alarik inclined his head, nodding toward the daggers. “When you’re ready, we’ll find one that’s truly yours.”
She traced a final touch over the crescent blade before stepping away.
For now, its weight would remain in her memory. A goal to reach for, not something to walk away from entirely.