A trap

The corridor was so quiet that the hiss of hot water soaking into wool sounded like grease on a griddle.

Lady Rebecca recovered first. Her lace handkerchief dropped to her side as she stepped forward, her velvet skirts rustling softly.

"Orion. Your domestic staff has no discipline. This girl nearly scalded my maid, and my runner is ruined."

Orion didn't look at Rebecca.

He didn't look at the maid sobbing on the floor either.

His boots made little sound against the damp carpet as he closed the distance between them. The cold scent of hemlock and fresh frost rolled from his coat, swallowing the smell of damp wool. He stopped two feet from Selene.

She kept her head bowed, but she could see the scuffed leather of his boots and the silver buckles catching the torchlight.

"Step back, Rebecca."

The command was quiet, but it carried the weight of an iron gate dropping into place.

"Orion, she is a clumsy maid—"

"I said step back."

Rebecca's jaw tightened. Her pride was clearly stung, but the authority in his voice made her retreat towards the guest salon. Her attendants shrank behind her.

Orion reached for Selene.

His broad, calloused fingers closed around her left wrist.

A sharp jolt passed through her at the contact.

Selene's breath caught. She tried to pull away on instinct, but his grip held firm. His thumb rested against the inside of her wrist, just above her racing pulse.

He pushed her soaked sleeve upwards, exposing her forearm to the cold air.

Steam still rose from the coarse linen. Droplets of near-boiling water clung to the fine hairs on her arm.

The skin beneath was pale, smooth and completely unmarked.

Not a single blister. Not even a flush of red.

Orion stared at her arm. A muscle shifted in his jaw.

"Boiling water from the scullery stove," he murmured. His voice was low enough that only Selene could hear him over the maid's sobbing. "The copper was smoking when it came off the hearth."

"It... it didn't touch me properly, sir," Selene whispered. Her mouth had gone dry. "The wool caught most of it."

It was a clumsy lie. The cloth had been soaked through.

Orion slowly raised his eyes to hers.

Up close, the amber flecks in his dark hazel eyes seemed sharper. His nostrils flared as he drew in the bitter scent rising from her neck, the familiar mixture of hemlock and root.

He didn't call her a liar.

He simply watched her for several seconds, his fingers still around her wrist.

The warmth of his palm was strangely intense against her skin.

Then he released her.

"The girl was carrying a kettle too heavy for her because your attendants were too lazy to fetch their own water," he said, turning towards Rebecca. "If your people cannot carry a tray without causing a disturbance, they can eat cold bread in the courtyard."

Rebecca's eyes widened with indignation.

"You take the word of a human drudge over mine?"

"I take the word of my eyes."

Orion stepped between Selene and the salon door, blocking Rebecca's view of her.

"Go back to your rooms. Torin will send someone to replace the runner."

He didn't wait for an answer.

Turning slightly, he addressed Selene.

"You. Take the empty kettle downstairs. Now."

Selene didn't hesitate. She bent, gripped the dented copper handle with her unburned hand and hurried towards the stone staircase.

She didn't look back.

Her knees were shaking by the time she reached the dim basement laundry. She leaned against the cool timber of the linen press, clutching her wet sleeve against her ribs.

Why hadn't it burned?

She raised her arm towards the cellar candle. She had spent nineteen years getting splinters from firewood, scraping her shins against stone and catching winter colds. She was human. She had always bled red.

Yet the scalding water had felt like nothing more than warm summer rain against her skin.

"Selene?"

Gwen hurried over from the folding table, a stack of rough towels in her arms. Her face was pale with worry.

"I heard shouting in the eastern gallery. Someone said a kettle spilled over your arm. Are you hurt? Did Mrs Hallowell see?"

Selene quickly pulled her wet sleeve down, covering her wrist.

"I'm fine," she said, though her voice shook slightly. "It spilled on the floor. The Alpha came out."

Gwen gasped, clutching the towels to her chest.

"He was there? What did he say to Lady Rebecca?"

"He told her to return to her room."

Gwen stared at her.

"He sent the Western Alpha's daughter back to her room?"

"He didn't defend me, Gwen," Selene said, walking over to the basin to set down the dented kettle. "He was angry about the disturbance in the corridor. That was all."

"Still..." Gwen glanced towards the cellar stairs. "Nobody talks to Lady Rebecca like that. She looked as though she wanted to scratch his eyes out at breakfast."

Selene began wringing the water from her sleeve over the bucket.

Her mind kept returning to the same thing.

Orion had seen her arm. He had touched it. He knew the water was boiling, and he knew what it should have done to human skin.

He was an Alpha. He spent his life hunting, tracking and studying weaknesses.

He wouldn't forget what he had seen on that carpet.

And high above the mountain ridge, the sun was only just beginning to clear the pine trees.

Selene still had six hours left of her shift.