Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
REIYANA
R eiya spoke a few quiet words to Solmaz before they departed the bathhouse, thanking her for the sanctuary, the care, and the use of the private chamber. Solmaz accepted her gratitude with a graceful nod, her dark eyes warm with understanding.
“We’ll speak again at first light, before the caravan sets out,” the woman promised.
With a final, lingering glance at the place that had sheltered her through the worst, Reiya turned and followed Kaelen and Alarik into the cool hush of the night.
Somehow, they returned to the caravanserai just in time for her to slip beside Su Lian and Ru Rong, helping to prepare supper. The market had stayed bustling well past sunset, swelling with travellers pouring into Zohara, and the stall had remained open longer to catch the last eager buyers.
Now, the air was thick with the scent of roasted lamb and saffron, a warm, rich perfume clinging to the cooling night.
Reiya fetched water, her steps unhurried, savouring the rare steadiness within her. No fever gnawed at her edges. No restless ache buzzed beneath her skin. For the first time in what felt like a long while, she allowed herself to just be .
She filled the jug at the communal well, balancing its weight easily in her arms as she turned back toward the wagon, already thinking ahead—to their departure at dawn, to the long stretch of road beyond Zohara, to the next leg of the journey—when she collided with something solid.
Water sloshed violently side to side within the jug. She stumbled, catching her balance just as a slow, mocking voice grated against her ears.
“Miss me, baby bird?”
Her stomach dropped.
Jodhar.
Reiya’s grip tightened, fingers curling around the jug’s handle like a lifeline. So he’d returned from his errand.
“Does your job involve nothing but pestering caravan members? Because I have nothing to say to you,” she said.
“Ah, but I have plenty to say to you.” He stepped closer, breath thick with the scent of stale liquor and dust. Then, low enough for only her to hear . . . “Princess.”
Her pulse thundered.
The title hung between them like a blade, meant to slice through any illusion of safety she might’ve had.
She kept her expression cool, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Is this where you swap your sword for gossiping like an old washerwoman?”
Jodhar smirked. “Not gossip.” He leaned in, his voice silk-wrapped steel. “Truth. And don’t worry—I’m not in the mood to share it. No, a prize like you is far too valuable to let slip away.”
A sick, twisting anger curled low in her stomach. He knew . Somehow, he had pieced together what the bounty notice hadn’t said. But he wasn’t shouting it, wasn’t drawing attention. He was hoarding the knowledge, savouring the power before he decided precisely how to use it.
She raked her brain, remind herself that the caravan was leaving tomorrow. Just half a day’s ride to Dune Crest, and he’d be nothing more than dust behind them.
She stepped past him.
His hand shot out, fingers brushing her wrist before locking around it, tight.
The jug slipped from her grasp, shattering against the ground in a burst of clay and water. Around them, conversations faltered, heads turned, but all Reiya saw was Jodhar’s smirk—cruel, knowing, daring her to fight back.
“Did I say you could walk away?” His voice dropped lower, coiled with venom.
Before she could wrench herself free, another voice cut through the air.
“Let her go.”
The voice was calm, steady, a quiet promise of danger.
Alarik.
She turned just enough to see him at the edge of the crowd. His stance was deceptively relaxed, arms loose at his sides. But his gaze—dark, quiet, burning—was locked onto the mercenary with unwavering intent.
Jodhar didn’t release her. If anything, his grip tightened as he turned, his smirk widening. “And what will you do about it?”
Alarik didn’t move closer, he didn’t need to. He simply stood there, his presence stretching between them like a drawn bowstring, taut with quiet menace.
“She’s not yours to touch,” he said, his voice quieter now, but somehow more dangerous for it. “Let her go.”
The air in the caravanserai shifted as all eyes turned toward them. Jodhar wavered, just for a flicker of a second.
And Reiya knew, in that moment, the Alpha brute wouldn’t win.
His sneer deepened as he yanked her forward, grip tightening until a dull ache spread through her wrist. She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to flinch, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
The energy around them crackled in an instant.
Alarik moved, swift and silent, his hand clamping around Jodhar’s wrist with unyielding force. A sharp creak of bone filled the clearing, silencing the onlookers. Jodhar’s smirk faltered, his expression tightening as Alarik’s grip turned ironclad.
“Do not make the mistake of thinking I’d lose sleep over snapping a bone or two.” Alarik’s voice carried a lethal weight. His expression remained impassive, carved from stone, but those golden eyes shone with the chill of a blade just before it struck.
His fingers flexed, slow and merciless. Jodhar winced.
The air roared with tension, every breath held in anticipation. The onlookers shifted, waiting for the moment it would tip from warning to violence. Finally, with a muttered curse, Jodhar released her wrist and wrenched his hand free. She pulled hers back, kneading the sore muscles.
The mercenary stepped back but didn’t retreat. His smirk returned, forced and brittle, as if willing his bravado to remain intact.
“You’re aware I’ve marked her, aren’t you?” His voice carried over the crowd, loud enough to ensure everyone heard. He gestured toward her, his smirk widening. “Look at her neck.”
The weight of his words dropped into her stomach, but she refused to let them crush her. She squared her shoulders, her voice slicing clean through the murmurs.
“By force,” she said firmly. “You bit my neck without permission or invitation.”
Jodhar barked out a laugh, sharp and grating.
His amusement was a mockery, a taunt wrapped in the shape of a grin.
The crowd stirred uneasily, shifting, whispering.
Somewhere among them, she spotted Xian Jun, his mouth flattened into an angry line, and Elder Tasim, wringing his hands but doing nothing.
Low and measured, Alarik’s voice was like a blade drawn but not yet swung.
“Mark or not, a forced claim holds no weight.” His dark gaze pinned Jodhar in place.
“Your actions are nothing but a coward’s attempt to assert dominance where it’s neither wanted nor deserved.
” A beat of silence, thick with warning.
“Touch her again, and you won’t live to see another day. ”
Jodhar spat, a splatter of saliva landing near Alarik’s boots. “You call yourself an Alpha, but you don’t even understand the simplest truth.”
His gaze flicked back to Reiya, dark brows arching, vile smile widening. “The strong take, baby bird. The weak are prey for the powerful. But don’t worry—you’ll come to appreciate it. Even crave it.”
Reiya’s stomach twisted, disgust coiling inside her. But beneath it, something fiercer burned. She lifted her chin, meeting his stare with steel in her spine.
“Strength isn’t defined by taking from others—something you’ll never understand.”
Jodhar chuckled, low and guttural, like he relished her disgust. “You can claw, spit, deny it all you want,” he murmured, stepping in close. “But I caught the truth in your scent. Thick. Heady. Dripping with need.”
He bent lower, voice dropping to a rasp meant only for her. “You were slick for me, little Omega. And no amount of shame will change that. Your body cried for it—louder than you ever did.”
Heat crawled up her spine, shame clawing its way into her throat like a living thing. His words were vile, twisted, but what cut deeper was the betrayal of her own body in that moment. The flicker of instinct she had no control over.
But that wasn’t real desire.
Not like what she’d felt with Kaelen and Alarik.
Not even close.
With the Asadian princes, there’d been no force, no cruelty. When she’d burned with fever and desperation, even if knowing she’d have no strength or will to refuse, they hadn’t taken. They had only given—steady hands, whispered reassurances, warmth surrounding her like a shield.
Comfort, not control.
Jodhar could never understand that. What he’d forced upon her was nothing more than a mockery of what she’d shared with them—of what she could have with them.
He must’ve mistaken the crack in her composure for weakness, because his sneer widened. “Such a pretty lie you tell yourself, baby bird. But your body couldn’t lie, could it? You can hide it all you like, but you?—”
“Careful, Jodhar,” came a lazy drawl, sharp enough to slice through Jodhar’s voice.
The onlookers turned as one, parting instinctively as Kaelen strolled forward, the picture of unconcerned confidence. His expression was steady, but the sharp tilt of his grin didn’t hide the steel lurking beneath.
“You’ve got quite the talent for flapping your gums,” he mused. “Ever thought about taking that act on the road? I hear circus performers make a decent living.”
Jodhar’s nostrils flared, his grip tightening on his sword. “Stay out of this, you bright-haired bastard,” he snapped. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Kaelen tilted his head, one fist propped on his hip, his tone turning contemplative. “Strange. I thought it had everything to do with me when you laid your greasy paws on my companion.”
His gaze flicked briefly to her, and the tightness in her chest eased. “That makes it my business, don’t you think?”
Jodhar’s lips curled into a snarl. “You think you’re some kind of hero, coming to her rescue? Don’t delude yourself.”
Kaelen’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “A hero?” he echoed, feigning thoughtfulness. “No, not really. I prefer a rat-catcher. I have little patience for vermin who forget their place.”