CHAPTER FOUR

They say a dragon’s heart beats louder when it senses a threat. I wonder if the wolves can hear mine since it hasn’t stopped thundering since dawn.

The scent of lemon oil and vinegar clung to the walls like sweat. Steam curled from the hearth, mingling with the nervous breath of overworked hands. Every chopping board gleamed, every pot sparkled, and the floor had been mopped so many times it was nearly slick with panic.

The kitchen was too clean. The kind of clean people chased when they feared blood would be the next thing staining the tiles.

Marga prowled the room with her cleaver drawn—not for chopping. No one dared touch a blade unless she told them to. That knife was her voice, and her silence? A sentence.

“You!” she barked at a shivering apprentice blanching asparagus. “The Beta likes his meat rare.

If I see one overcooked cut, you’ll wear it as an apron. Understand?”

“Y-yes, ma’am!” the girl squeaked.

Marga moved on like a brewing storm. Her eyes caught everything. Crooked spice tins. Cracked jars. A broth that had the audacity to smell tired. She wasn’t just enforcing quality—she was protecting us. Because apparently, Hayden Moore didn’t miss things. And if he found a mistake, it wouldn’t be a shouting match. It’d be a slow, terrifying smile. Then blood.

I kept my head down, hands steady as I polished silver trays until I could see my reflection—and the wildfire crouching just beneath my skin.

Scales don’t show unless I let them. Neither does fire. But they feel—the ache in my back, the itching heat in my palms, the burn in my lungs when I lie.

The worst part? I’m good at lying.

Too good.

Maybe that’s why Nana taught me to run first, lie second, fight last—because when a dragon fights, kingdoms fall. And if they find out what I am…

I won’t be burned at the stake.

I’ll be dissected. Tortured, till I give up all my secrets, till there's nothing left for me to give

Julise swept through the kitchen with the grace of a whisper and the weight of a secret. She barely looked at me as she passed, but her fingers gripped my wrist hard enough to leave bruises. “Hayden Moore notices everything,” she hissed near my ear. Her breath was mint and menace. “If he looks at you, drop your gaze. If he speaks to you, mumble. If he touches you…” Her grip tightened. “Run, Mira. Run, because that means he knows something that shouldn’t be known.”

I swallowed. Hard. Julise never flinched. Not when Marga threw a cleaver. Not even when i heard that a guard last week “accidentally” cornered her in the wine cellar. But now? Her fear was dense. Like lead in silk.

Then—

HOOOOONNN.

The horn outside bellowed like a beast, low and loud and final.

The kitchen froze.

Knives hovered mid-air. Pots paused in motion. Even the fire seemed to flicker quieter.

The doors slammed open.

And he walked in.

Hayden Moore. Beta. Enforcer. The Alpha’s Second.

Every instinct I had screamed to flee. But my feet were stone, and my skin—it shifted, scales itching beneath flesh like they knew a predator had entered the den.

He strolled In with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much damage he could do and had no plans to hold back. His boots barely made a sound, but the silence he commanded spoke for him.

He was all charm and menace, sun-warmed skin and amber eyes sharp as broken glass. A dangerous contradiction wrapped in an easy grin.

“Looking radiant as always, Marga,” he said, plucking a grape like he owned the kitchen. “Is that a new scar? Brings out your eyes."

Marga bowed low, her voice brittle. “My lord Beta.” He winked, and chaos resumed—but carefully. Quieter.

The inspection began.

To most, it looked like flirtation and food talk. Hayden complimented pastries, teased the butcher, even praised a tart so bland it had nearly dissolved on his tongue.

But I watched his hands.

The way his fingers lingered over spice jars. The slow, deliberate swipes across doorknobs. The faint twitch in his nose when he passed the cooling rack—checking for traces. Testing for sabotage. Traps. Magic.

Julise shifted near me again, stepping sideways like a human shield. “Don’t draw attention,” she whispered. “Keep your head down and—”

His gaze hit me.

I stopped breathing.

Boring brown eyes locked onto mine, slow and deliberate, dragging across my body like heatseeking fire.

And then—he changed direction.

Each step he took toward me felt like a countdown. My pulse thundered. My skin burned.

“New face,” he said smoothly, stopping at the washing trough beside me. Close enough that the heat of him brushed against the heat inside me. It was unbearable.

“Yes, sir,” I managed, my voice not much more than a breath. Trying hard to not spit fire at him.

“Sir?” he repeated, mockingly. Then he chuckled. “Call me Hayden. Unless you’re one of those formal types. In which case—” He gave a theatrical bow. “Lord Moore, at your service.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, I’d breathe fire. Literally.

He plucked a carrot from the pile and spun it between his fingers. “Bit quiet, aren’t you?”

His tone was gentle. But his eyes—his eyes were knives.

Julise appeared between us like lightning. “The Alpha’s venison is burning, my lord.”

Hayden didn’t blink. “Julise,” he said, purring her name. “Still playing hero, I see.”

He leaned in. Sniffed the air. I froze.

“Is that… wolfsbane oil?” he asked. His voice was too mild. “Bold scent for a kitchen.”

Julise stiffened. “Mira had a rash.”

His gaze slid back to me, slow and sharp.

“Of course she did.”

But this time… this time he didn’t laugh.

This time, his eyes saw something. Something wrong. Something hidden.

“Tell me, Mira,” he said softly, too softly, “where exactly did you say you were from?”

The world held its breath.

I opened my mouth—

CRASH!

A tower of copper pots hit the ground like thunder.

Lira stood in the chaos, wide-eyed and very, very guilty.

Hayden’s gaze snapped away. He sighed through his nose.

“Well. This has been fun,” he said, popping the carrot into his mouth like a final threat. “Try not to poison anyone before I return.”

He offered Marga a mock salute… and walked out.

But as the door shut behind him, he turned.

Just once.

Those eyes found mine. And this time, they didn’t just look.

They promised.

War.

Julise’s fingers dug into my arm until I gasped.

“He knows,” she whispered.

“Knows what?”

“He knows whatever it is you’re hiding.”

Shit. And it’s just my second day here