80

ALEXANDER

When I came to, the air was already humming with movement. It was still early but the sounds of footsteps and murmured voices drifted in from the hall. Workers were already at it, shuffling through the corridors, fixing, cleaning, and putting the place back together.

It made me wonder just what the hell we’d done last night. I could picture overturned furniture, shattered glass, chaos scattered from one room to the next. Maybe we hadn’t been as quiet or careful as I thought. And these people, if they had even the slightest clue I was here, They’d be keeping a hell of a lot more distance.

Killian lay crumpled on the floor, limbs sprawled like a dropped puppet, his empty scotch glass just out of reach. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing heavy. He looked almost… human like this. Vulnerable, even. If I stared for too long, if I let my gaze linger, his eyes would snap open.

So I didn’t.

I bent, grabbed my scattered things from the floor, and slipped out without a word.

Claude was nowhere. Maybe he’d woken before me, or he’d left on purpose. It didn't matter. I took the stairs two at a time, heading for my room, nodding absently at the workers who crossed my path.

When I reached my door, I stopped. My hand rested on the handle, but my body refused to move forward. I couldn’t explain it. A twist of unease curled low in my stomach. My instincts never lied to me.

Still, knowing Alina was inside, I told myself it was just paranoia, just some leftover tension from recent events. I pushed the door open. I froze.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. “What the fuck?”

They broke apart instantly, scrambling away from each other like the distance might erase what I’d just seen. Sheets tangled around their legs.

Claude and Alina. On my bed. Not just sharing the bed but tangled.

Something thick lodged in my throat, burning as it went down. For a heartbeat I didn’t know if I was going to laugh or tear him apart where he sat.

“Alexander,” Claude said quickly, his voice strained, his eyes holding mine like he was trying to tether me in place. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”

He was bare from the waist up, only his pants still clinging to him. I didn’t let my gaze stray to Alina. I didn’t want to know how undressed she was.

I walked past them both without a word, straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary.

My fist connected with the wall before I could think. The plaster cracked and caved under the hit. Pain flared bright in my knuckles, but it wasn’t enough. I hit it again. And again. Until my hand went numb and I could barely feel the skin splitting. A minute later, the pain faded as the bones knitted back together, my healing mocking me for even trying to find relief that way.

Closing my eyes didn’t help. The image was still there, burned into the inside of my skull. Alina’s body close to his, the look in her eyes when she’d seen me.

A low growl tore its way out of my chest. I shoved the door open and strode out, not caring if I saw her again. Not caring if I heard another word from him.

Downstairs, Killian was just stirring, rubbing his face with one hand. He blinked at me, still hal -asleep, and I didn’t slow down.

All I could think about was the betrayal.

I never saw it coming. I’d trusted Claude my whole damn life. When our father turned on us, when my mother was murdered, he was there. When his mother walked away, I stayed by his side. Every storm we’d been through, we’d weathered together.

And now, this?

If someone had told me they’d seen it, I would have had them killed without hesitation. That’s how much I believed in him. But now I've seen it myself. With my own eyes. And it was worse than I thought it would be.

Footsteps followed me, but I didn’t turn. Whoever it was, they’d be smart to keep their distance until I could breathe without wanting to rip something apart.

Of course, it was Killian.

I caught sight of him in my peripheral vision and nearly laughed at the irony. The last person I wanted to deal with right now was him. His emotional intelligence hovered somewhere below absolute zero.

“So, you’re just going to walk away from your brother?” he called out, his tone sharp. “What the fuck, man?”

“Killian,” I said without looking back, “leave me the fuck alone.” My voice was flat. “You’re one of the last people who should be giving me advice.”

The house fell away behind me as I kept walking. My boots crunched over leaves and dirt as I headed deeper into the woods, the same direction we’d gone yesterday. There were rogues out here, plenty of them. If yesterday proved anything, it was that they didn’t know when to quit, even if it meant getting themselves torn apart. And right now, I needed something to bleed before I went back and did something I couldn’t undo.

Killing Claude would be a mistake. I knew that.

Funny, though, no matter how much rage burned in me, I couldn’t picture hurting her. And that, more than anything, was my biggest problem.

Killian’s voice carried after me. I ignored it.

“Fucking stop!” He snapped eventually, jogging to catch up. He stepped right into my path and shoved a hand against my chest to block me. I could have pushed past him easily, but some tiny thread of restraint kept me in place.

I lifted a brow. “You have five seconds before I start with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Since you’re insisting on being a bitch… Claude is your brother. I’m sure he’s got an explanation for whatever you think you saw.”

“I know what I saw.”

“And salt looks a lot like sugar,” he shot back.

I narrowed my eyes on him. If he thought now was the time for kitchen metaphors, I was about to make him regret it.

“My point,” he went on before I could speak, “is that it might’ve looked like one thing, but that doesn’t mean it was. Talk to him first.”

I didn’t answer. I hated that he was making sense. The smug bastard didn’t need the ego boost.

“Claude would never betray you,” he added. “He’s your brother.”

The words didn’t put out the fire in my chest, but they took some of the edge off. The craving for violence eased, just a fraction.

Then Killian tilted his head, his voice quieter. “Maybe look into your girl.”

I turned sharply, my glare enough to make most people run. He lifted both hands in surrender.

“I’m just saying,” he said quickly, “she looks innocent as hell. And that’s exactly the kind of person who makes the perfect spy. You were attacked recently, she was right in the middle of it, and now this.”

His words settled heavy between us. It sounded a hell lot like what Claude said at the beginning of all this. And I hated that so many things were starting to make sense.

My pack has never been threatened this much. Not until she came here.

For the first time since opening that bedroom door, I didn’t know what I wanted to do next.