Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Chapter 28
The page is gone.
$331 p>
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Not just any fucking page–the page. The one with the song I wrote down. My throat is dry as I flip through the notebook for the hundredth time, fingers shaking so hard the paper threatens to tear. It’s useless. I know it’s not here. It was ripped out clean, spine frayed at the edges like someone had all the time in the world to take it.
I slam the book shut and stare at the window across the room. The latch dangles open, crooked.
I swear I bolted it last night.
My stomach twists. Slowly, I move closer, bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The dawn light filters weakly through the shutters. I press my palm against the sill. It’s cool. The air smells different too–not the damp musk of the servant quarters. Something else.
It’s familiar but I can’t put my nose into it.
My chest tightens. Someone was here. Inside. Touching my things. Taking what doesn’t belong to them.
I snap the window shut, shoving the bolt hard until it clangs into place, like that’ll undo the fact that someone slipped past it already. My head runs in circles–do I tell someone? Marg? Tully The others? The thought of Camila finding out I left the window loose–whether I actually did or not–makes bile rise in my throat. She’d have me skinned alive for “carelessness. ” And if I tell anyone else, it sounds paranoid. Stupid.
No. Better to keep it to myself. Pretend nothing happened.
I’m halfway to convincing myself when a knock rattles the thin wood of my door. I jolt so hard my knee bangs the desk.
“Fuck,” I hiss, clutching it.
“Sorin!” Tully’s voice floats through, bright as ever. “You awake p>
Marg’s voice follows, muffled, “Of course she’s awake. She’s always awake before us, probably plotting something p>
“I heard that,” I call back, forcing my voice steady.
The door creaks open and the two of them slip in, cheeks pink from the morning chill, hair braided messily down their backs. They don’t even wait for an invitation.
Tully beams. “Guess what day it is? ”
“Judgment Day?” I mutter, still rubbing my knee.
“Marketplace day,” she sings, ignoring me. “We’re going to pick cut masks. For the ritual p>
Marg lifts a brow at me, her usual unimpressed expression in place. “She’s not dressed. Figures p>
I roll my eyes but shove myself up anyway. “Fine. Marketplace. et’s go before I change my mind p>
The Imperial marketplace isn’t what I expected. It’s worse.
It’s a riot of colors, sounds, and smells–roasting meal, spices ship enough to sting my nose, wolves shouting over each other to sell dyed cloth or polished trinkets. Stalls spill into the arrow cobblestone streets, masks hanging from every hook and string.
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Chapter 28
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Carved wood with snarling wolf faces. Leather stretched and parted black, stitched with silver thread. Even delicate gilded ones that gleam in the sunlight–meant for the highborn who’ll retend a mask makes them the same as everyone else.
Tully darts ahead, already squealing over a half–mask with feathers fanned out like a crow’s wing. Marg follows more slowly, shaking her head at every gaudy piece she passes.
I hang back, weaving through the stalls. My hand brushes a mask carved smooth, painted in soft white with gold edging. It’s simple, elegant. I hold it up, studying the way it hides half my face in the warped reflection of a brass plate hanging nearby.
Behind me, laughter rings out–the Omegas trying on masks, tugging them on each other, teasing until their shoulders shake. Their warmth presses against me, pulling me in like I’ve always belonged with them.
But it doesn’t drown out the prickle at the back of my neck.
Someone’s watching me.
I freeze, eyes flicking to the brass plate again. And there–just behind me, blurred in the reflection–a figure. Tall. Masked. Watching.
My stomach lurches. I whip around.
Empty. It’s just a crowd of strangers moving past, stalls creaking under the weight of goods. Whoever it was is gone.
“Sorin!” Tully calls, holding up two masks, one shaped like a fox and another like a hound. “Which one’s me p>
I force a laugh, shoving the unease down. “Both. A sneaky fox who eats like a dog p>
She gasps. “Rude. ”
Marg snorts. “Accurate p>
I shake my head, moving to the merchant’s table to pay for the masks I picked out. My fingers brush the coins into his palm, but when he closes his fist, something else presses into mine.
A folded scrap of parchment.
He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a word. Just turns to the next customer.
My pulse stutters. I slip it into my sleeve until we’re clear of the stall.
Later, when no one’s watching, I unfold it,
Three words in a hand I don’t recognize.
‘He will know p>
My blood runs cold.
Back in the servant quarters, the air is warmer, thick with the sell of stew and smoke from the fire pit. The Omegas crowd around the long table, masks piled in the center. Tully already hshers on crooked, pretending to be some mysterious noble. Marg smacks her head to straighten it.
They laugh, tossing the masks around, trying them on, teasing til the sound bounces off the stone walls. For once, I let myself smile. It’s… nice. Easy. No one here looks at me like I’ma stain on the floor. No one whispers rogue like it’s a curse.
For the first time in years, I feel almost–almost–like I belong.
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Chapter 28
Until a voice cuts through the laughter.
“Do you think the King will wear one too p>
The question hangs heavy in the room, dragging the air down. The fire crackles. Someone shifts uncomfortably.
Or does he not need one?
I don’t answer. None of us do.
Because I’m thinking it too.
Masked or unmasked, how the hell am I supposed to face him?
And worse–how long before the rest of my secrets stop being mine at all?
The torches outside my window spit and crackle, shadows bleeding across the stone walls. They stretch long and warped, like claws reaching for me. I sit cross–legged on the thin mattress papers spread around me again even though I promised myself I wouldn’t obsess. But the missing page–it’s not just ink and scratches. It’s my fucking insurance. My notes.
Not just about rituals. About him.
Alaric.
My suspicions on his moods, the way his gaze sharpens before he loses control, the precise hours when he’s weakest after council meetings. The stupid little details only I would think to write down, like how he touches the edge of his ring when he’s hiding his temper, or the fact he always pauses three seconds before answering if someone lies to his face.
Whoever took it didn’t just want scraps. They wanted leverage. Over him. Over me.
The note from the market burns in my skull. The missing piece is mine now.
I push my palms into my eyes, forcing down the rising panic. If someone knows what I know–fuck, if someone knows about me—
The corridor outside groans.
I freeze, breath caught in my throat.
For a moment, I tell myself it’s nothing. Old wood. Old stone. The pack grounds are full of whispers at night, and I’ve been paranoid since the dungeons. Every shadow feels like a blade wating to slip between my ribs.
But then–there are footsteps.
Not fast. Not careless p>
They stop right outside my door.
My body locks up. The air thickens, pressing against my chest lie a hand. My throat burns with the urge to scream, but I bite down hard. My fingers twitch toward the half–broken chairg I stashed near the bed–a pathetic weapon, but it’s something.
The door creaks open.
Not Alaric.
The man who steps inside is tall, broad–shouldered not as big as Alaric but close. His face is hidden behind a plain black
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Chapter 28
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mask. The air shifts with him, heavy, suffocating.
He doesn’t attack. He doesn’t speak. He simply stands there, filling the room with silence that grates against my bones. His eyes flick from me to the pile of masks I’d bought at the market.
I grip the chair leg. “If you’re here to stare like a creep, you’re wasting both our time p>
Nothing. Just a tilt of his head, slow, like I’m a puzzle he’s piecing together.
“Who the fuck are you? ” I snap, my voice sharper than the weapon in my hands. “If you think sneaking into an Omega’s room at night is brave, I’ll make sure your balls hit the floor before you touch me p>
Finally–his voice. Low, steady, carrying too much weight for a nameless intruder.
“You’d be a fool to think you can hide from him any longer p>
My blood chills. “What the hell are you talking about p>
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me, gaze burning through the mask like he’s memorizing every line of my face.
I force steel into my voice. “Leave. Now. Or I scream loud enough to wake the entire wing p>
Another silence. His head tips again–like I passed some test I didn’t know I was taking. Then he steps back, melts into the shadows by the window, and disappears. Just fucking gone.
Though he was never there.
My lungs collapse in a shaky breath. I clutch the chair leg so tight my knuckles ache, staring at the empty window until the torchlight flickers back into normal shapes. But the echo of his words sticks, wrapping around my throat like a noose.
You’d be a fool to think you can hide from him any longer.
Morning drags me out of bed with a pounding skull and sandpaper eyes. The common room is already buzzing–clay cups clinking, Omegas bustling with trays of bread and bowls of stew laughter bouncing off stone walls.
I slide in, pale and stiff, clutching a mask bundle under my arm. The warmth of the fire, the chatter, the smell of roasted herbs–it should calm me. Instead it scrapes against the raw edges of my nerves.
“You look like death,” one of the girls snorts, handing me a hunk of bread.
“Thanks,” I mutter, tearing off a piece and chewing just to have something in my mouth other than fear.
Another Omega leans close, teasing. “Didn’t sleep? Or did someone finally sneak into your bed p>
My stomach twists. They laugh, nudging each other, and I force tight smile. If only they knew.
Still, their warmth seeps in. The way they shove bowls my way,eir chatter circling me like a shield, the jokes about masks slipping during the ritual–it almost feels normal. Almost.
Until one Omega, wide–eyed and innocent, chirps, “The King himself will attend, right? Imagine him masked–would anyone even recognize him p>
My fingers spasm. The cup slips in my grip, nearly crashing to the floor.
The idea shouldn’t scare me this much, but it does. Him, in a mask, inches from me–one wrong move, one slip, and he’ll know. The bond will rip us open.
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Chapter 28
The room shifts.
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The fire still burns, the laughter still hums, but something heavier drops into the air. Silence crawls in from the doorway.
I don’t need to look to know why.
He’s here.
Alaric Hayes. Alpha King.
He enters with his Beta and a cluster of high–ranking wolves. Boots strike against stone in perfect rhythm, sharp, controlled. His gaze sweeps the room, sharp as a blade, and everyone reacts the same: heads down, spines stiff, breaths caught.
I yank my mask lower over my face, praying it hides me. But the bond is a vicious bastard–it surges alive the second his aura brushes the air, tugging at my chest, clawing at my stomach
I duck behind a pile of ceremonial cloths, pretending to adjust lantern strings, heart slamming so loud I swear it echoes.
Then–disaster.
One Omega beside me, fumbling with her tray, knocks over the stack of masks I’d bought. They scatter across the floor, clattering loud enough to slice through the silence.
His head snaps toward us.
Amber–gold eyes lock on the sound.
He steps closer. Slow. Every move calculated, predatory. His aura presses harder, suffocating the air until even the fire seems to shrink back.
The Omegas bow lower. I do too, praying my shaking doesn’t show.
His voice cuts through the silence, deep and sharp.
“Who dropped these? ”
No answer. The girls fumble, terrified. My lungs seize.
And then–he looks at me.
Not at the floor, not at the pile. At me. His gaze burns straight through the mask, pinning me like a hand around my throat.
A long pause. The kind that stretches until your pulse feels like is about to burst.
Then his voice again, low and commanding.
“You. Raise your head p>
My stomach plummets. My hands go numb.
This is it.
If I move, I’m caught. If I don’t, I’m still caught.
The bond thrashes, screaming for me to look at him.
And I know–fuck–I know the second I do, everything ends.
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