Chapter 6

Faye’s pov

The tension in the pack house stretched on like a taut string, an ominous quiet settling over us for days. It was a heavy calm, almost unbearable, as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. I had prepared myself for an impending attack, a raid that would signal the BloodMoon pack’s long-anticipated aggression toward us. Yet, to my disbelief, nothing had happened. Our borders remained eerily quiet, with not a glimpse of their warriors, even as Killian led his patrols of our own pack guards, vigilant but uneventful.

As I strolled through the grand hallway of the pack house, where ancestral portraits of our forebears watched from the walls, a growing unease nestled in my chest like a stone. Each creak of the polished hardwood floors beneath my feet echoed in the stillness, and the hushed conversations of workers felt almost conspiratorial. The impressive decor of the pack house, with its marble marble columns and intricate carvings, only added to my disquiet. Whispers of the elders filtered through the air—a gathering of the wise ones concerned with war strategies—but their words felt empty, devoid of urgency and clarity.

My steps faltered as I passed the staff attending to their tasks, their expressions shifting from the usual politeness to an unmistakable admiration as their eyes lingered on me. They complimented my dress—an ethereal shade of lavender that cascaded around me like a soft cloud—but their praise felt insincere, mere formality against the backdrop of my turmoil. I hardly registered the gentle swish of the fabric as it brushed against my legs; it was utterly incongruent with the heavy weight of discontent that settled in my heart.

Where the hell is Killian?

Days of searching for him had yielded few answers, and the chasm between us had only widened. His sudden distance, fueled by a newfound obsession with matters beyond my reach, left me bewildered. He was no longer the Killian I once knew—he had become a shadow of himself, distant and withdrawn, retreating deeper into the recesses of his thoughts. I had endeavored to draw him out, to remind him of my presence and commitment, yet every attempt seemed to push him further into isolation.

Lost in these troubling thoughts, the sound of light laughter echoed through the hall, snapping me back to reality. As I turned the corner into the sun-drenched courtyard, my heart skipped a beat at the sight that unfolded before me.

Zane.

And Killian.

They were not engaged in some grim sparring or strategizing; instead, they were enveloped in a game of youthful abandon. Killian, the once-cold heir to the Silver Frost pack, was animated, laughter spilling from his lips like music. Zane chased him, her hair flaring behind her like a fiery banner, arms outstretched in an attempt to catch him. They moved fluidly, spinning through the courtyard in a whirlwind of joy, oblivious to my presence.

I stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide in disbelief as I watched. There was something almost poetic in their movements, a dance that spoke of camaraderie and shared laughter, a stark contrast to the heaviness that had lodged in my chest.

A sudden heat surged within me—an unwelcome cocktail of jealousy, anger, and confusion flooded my senses. Why was Killian displaying this carefree spirit? Why did he seem to revel in Zane’s presence as if nothing else mattered in this world except for her?

Fingers clenching into fists, I dug my nails into the soft fabric of my skirt, feeling the sting of conflicting emotions swirl within. I loathed this. I hated the way Zane gazed at him with admiration, how Killian returned that look with a warmth I hadn't seen in ages. They were wrapped up in their own world, as if I was invisible, and I couldn’t shake the burning question that echoed in my mind.

Why did I even care?

Without a second thought, I marched toward them. My heels clicked sharply against the stone floor, each step echoing my determination. The sound of my approach snapped them back into reality. Zane was the first to notice, her grin growing wider, a playful smirk stretching across her face. Killian, however, offered me only a cursory glance before returning his attention to his friend, too wrapped up in the game to acknowledge me.

"Killian," I called, my voice low yet piercing with frustration. "This is the pack house, not a playground."

They both froze.

Zane raised an eyebrow, her grin unwavering, while Killian’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened slightly. He recognized the tone of my voice and the shift in my energy. But he remained silent, just watching me, as if anticipating my next words.

My breath quickened, and anger surged within me. "What is going on here?" I snapped, unconcerned about who might overhear. "Are you a warrior, or are you just going to play games with her all day?"

The words felt like daggers, slicing through the air. Zane flinched slightly, but Killian merely observed me, his expression unreadable.

“You know,” I pressed on, my voice rising in intensity, “this isn’t some amusement park. The entire pack is on edge. War could be days away, and you’re treating it like a joke.”

I despised the tremor in my voice, the hint of hurt I struggled to suppress. It only fueled my frustration. I didn't care that Zane found it amusing; I didn’t even care about their fun. It was Killian—my Killian—I wanted back.

Zane’s grin faltered, but Killian sighed, not breaking his gaze from me. The tension between us was palpable. His jaw clenched, and he took a purposeful step toward me, narrowing his eyes.

“Faye,” he began, his voice low but commanding, “it’s not—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “I’m done with this, Killian. I don’t understand what’s happening with you, but this isn’t who you are. I refuse to stand by while you forget everything just to share a laugh with her. The pack needs you. I need you.”

Zane crossed her arms, taking a step back with a snort. “Damn, Faye. What’s with the attitude?”

I shot her a glare, but my focus remained on Killian. He was the one who had hurt me, the one allowing this tension to grow. But the sharp sting of jealousy coursing through me was undeniable. Why was he allowing Zane this closeness? Why wasn’t I the one laughing and sharing these moments with him?

“I’m not your babysitter,” I snapped, my voice laced with resolve. “If you want to play with your little pet, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch you forget everything else.”

My heart raced as the words poured out. I wasn’t sure if I was more frustrated with him for ignoring me or with myself for caring too much.

Zane’s grin fell away, but Killian continued to watch me, his expression hardening, yet he remained silent. I could see him biting his tongue, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let him pretend that everything was fine.

Then, in an unexpected move—Killian reached for Zane. Without a warning, he swung her effortlessly over his shoulder, grinning like a fool.

My heart sank. The jealousy and hurt were overwhelming.

I stood there, staring at them, at him.

He caught my gaze over Zane’s shoulder, and I saw the flicker of realization cross his face, the regret settling in.

I refused to witness this any longer.

I turned on my heel, my feet moving quickly as I headed toward the door. But as I stepped into the courtyard, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was slipping through my fingers.

The last thing I heard before slamming the door behind me was Killian’s voice, calling my name.