Chapter 12 – Fallout and Flirtation

Kieran

The pack is buzzing.

I can feel it from the ramparts, a low, nervous thrum that travels through the stone and up into the soles of my boots.

Down in the training yard, the warriors have broken into smaller, agitated groups, whispering behind their hands. Tarek, Vorlag’s brutish nephew, is being helped to the infirmary, his face a mask of humiliated fury, dirt smeared across his cheek.

Alexei Basov stands alone in the center of the ring, not even breathing hard, looking every bit the conquering hero in his perfectly fitted leathers. He’s already become a spectacle.

His display of brutal, effortless grace accomplished exactly what he intended. It drew a stark, unforgiving line between himself and my pack. He’s a predator. They’re... not.

The younger warriors watch him with a kind of terrified awe, impressed by the raw power they’ve only ever heard about in stories.

The older guard, Vorlag’s loyalists, just look furious. They see his victory not as a display of skill, but as a profound insult to Silvercrest’s honor.

He’s been out of his cell less than a day, and he’s already destabilized my entire military structure. I should be angry. I am angry. But I’m also... impressed.

It was a masterful performance, a calculated risk that paid off. He just proved his value and exposed my pack’s weakness in one clean, three-second move.

And he knew I was watching. The mocking bow wasn't for the crowd. It was aimed directly at me. A challenge. A flirtation. A promise.

My chest tightens. This is so different from Eli. Eli’s chaos was like a whirlwind, all bratty energy and sharp edges, a defense mechanism born of trauma. I understood Eli.

Alexei’s chaos is a deliberate, confident invasion. He’s not shielding himself at all. He’s actively and openly probing my defenses, and he seems to be enjoying it immensely.

I turn away from the railing, my composure stretched thin. “Marcus,” I say to my captain, who’s standing at my side.

“Alpha?”

“See that Vorlag is not left to his own devices.”

Marcus nods, understanding immediately. “I’ll have men posted outside his quarters. Discreetly.”

“Thank you.”

I stride back toward my study, needing the sanctuary of my own space. The pack's unease is a palpable thing, following me down the corridors. They’re looking for a strong leader, and I just showed them I’m willing to harbor the wolf who embarrassed one of their own.

I’m halfway to my study when Vorlag finds me. At least this means he isn’t plotting in the shadows.

He doesn't just intercept me, he plants himself in the middle of the corridor like a mountain, his face puce with rage.

“Alpha!” he barks, dispensing with any pretense of respect. Several wolves passing by quickly find reasons to be elsewhere.

“Vorlag,” I greet him, my voice even. I stop, deliberately leaning against a decorative alcove, affecting an air of casual patience. “You seem agitated. I take it you’ve heard that Tarek came off second best when he challenged Alexei?”

“You dare mock me?” he sputters. “You unleashed a savage in our midst! A Redmaw dog, who you allowed to publicly humiliate my blood, one of your own warriors! This is what your weakness brings! This is the poison you’ve invited into our home!”

He’s loud, his voice bouncing off the stone, ensuring anyone within fifty feet can hear his dissent. He’s trying to bait me, to draw me into a public shouting match where he can play the role of the passionate traditionalist and I, the reckless young fool. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I pick a piece of lint from my sleeve, examining it with mild interest before flicking it away.

“He’s unleashed standards, Vorlag,” I say, my voice smooth as polished silver. “Our men clearly need a higher bar. From what I saw from the ramparts, Tarek was clumsy. He swung with his emotions, left himself wide open, and Basov simply… corrected his form.”

“Corrected?” Vorlag looks like he might choke on the word. “He assaulted him!”

“He defeated him,” I counter, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Efficiently. Without drawing blood. Which, I believe, is the entire point of sparring.”

I let a small, cold smile touch my lips. “It was an excellent demonstration of superior skill. Our warriors should be taking notes, not offense.”

“You shame us! You shame your father’s legacy!”

“My father’s legacy,” I say, my voice dropping, losing its light charm and finding the steel beneath, “Was a pack of polished, untested warriors who would have been slaughtered by Brannagh’s first wave. I am trying to save this pack, not polish it for its own funeral. I will use Alexei Basov to sharpen our blades. Tarek simply offered himself up as the first stone.”

I pause, letting the insult land. “Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate the ‘proper’ technique yourself tomorrow, Vorlag? I’m sure the pack would be eager to see their elder lead by example.”

He sputters, his face going from red to a rather alarming shade of purple. He’s all bluster and threats, a relic of a court that fought with insults, not steel. He knows, just as I do, that Alexei would snap him in half.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, his rage trapped behind his teeth with no escape.

“I thought not,” I murmur. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. See that Tarek gets an extra ration tonight. He’ll need it for the strenuous training ahead.”

I stride past him without another word, leaving him fuming in the corridor.

My study feels like a sanctuary, but the adrenaline from the confrontation leaves me wired. I try to focus on the ledgers, on the reports from the mining tunnels, but my mind keeps drifting.

I’m so wound up I almost don’t hear the door open.

“I was told I’d find you in here, brooding attractively.”

I look up, my heart giving an unwelcome lurch. Alexei Basov stands in the doorway, my two best guards flanking him uselessly.

He’s already changed out of his training leathers and into the black tunic, embroidered with gold around the edges, and worsted wool trousers the tailor delivered for everyday wear.

He looks... devastating. The dark fabric clings to his frame, emphasizing the sheer breadth of his shoulders and the lean taper of his waist. The gold echoes the highlights in his hair, making his skin glow.

He looks less like a barbarian and more like a dark god of war, casual and lethal.

“My guards were supposed to inform me if you left your quarters, Basov,” I say collectedly, setting down my quill.

“Oh, I’m sure they intend to do as they’ve been told,” he says, sauntering in, ignoring the guards entirely. He moves right past my desk and heads for the library shelves, trailing a hand along the leather spines.

“I just told them you and I had an urgent... consultation... and that you were expecting me. They seemed to believe it. Your men are very trusting.”

He’s lying, of course. He likely just walked past them and dared them to stop him. The fact that they didn't is concerning. Or perhaps they, too, were mesmerized.

“You’re testing my patience,” I warn, my voice tight.

“Am I?” He turns, leaning back against the bookshelf, arms crossed. The pose is pure, insolent arrogance.

“I thought I was being helpful. Did you enjoy the show in the yard, pretty prince? Tarek’s form was truly appalling. I almost felt bad for taking him down so quickly.”

“You looked devastated.”

He grins. “I can be much more... instructive... in private.” His voice drops, the flirtatious rumble returning, and it scrapes directly along my nerves.

“Just you and me. I could show you all sorts of Redmaw techniques. We’re very hands-on.”

My mind flashes to Eli. To the heartbreak I’m still nursing, the raw wound of his rejection. I won’t be a game for another wolf. I won’t be a conquest.

“My private time is my own, Basov,” I say, my voice turning to ice. “Your instruction will remain public, and confined to the drills I approve. You’re here to train my men, not poach my attention.”

“Poach?” He pushes off the shelf, closing the distance between us, that predatory grace back in every line of his body.

“I’m not trying to poach anything, Alpha. I’m just offering my services out of the kindness of my heart.”

He stops at the corner of my desk, leaning in. “I’m not here to injure your men, Kieran. They're all you have. I simply want to make them worthy of you.”

He’s repeating my own words back to me. The ones I spoke to him in the cell. But his tone... it’s not mocking. It’s something else. Perceptive. He sees the desperation under my command.

“They are all I have,” I say stiffly. “And I won’t have you breaking them for sport.”

“I don’t break things for sport,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Only for pleasure.”

He’s too close again. I can feel his body heat, see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “But I only play with those who ask nicely. Are you, Alpha?” His voice drops to a purr that vibrates right through me. “Are you asking?”

I’m trapped. By his proximity, by the sudden, suffocating heat in the room. My heart hammers, a traitorous, pounding beat. I should tell him to leave.

Instead, I lift my chin, meeting his gaze with every shred of icy authority I can muster. “I’m ordering you to behave, Basov. I’m not asking you for anything. Don’t confuse the two.”

He holds my gaze for a long, charged moment, his smile slowly spreading, wicked and knowing. He sees right through me. He sees the flush I’m fighting, the way my pulse is hammering in my throat. He sees the man I’m hiding beneath the Alpha.

“As you command,” he whispers, the words a caress, not a concession.