Chapter 22

Xander's POV

We talk and laugh, catching Zahra up on the pack changes. We keep things light, skirting around the heavier topics—especially the ones that hit too close to Max. He’s quiet, distant, but at least he’s still here. That counts for something.

After eating, Zahra excuses herself to rest before the evening party. The moment she disappears inside, I feel the tension creep back. Without her presence, everything feels off-balance. I can’t stop thinking about her words, about how lonely she must have been. And then there’s Max—his misery so heavy it’s suffocating. I want to help him, to talk to him, but Helena’s hand on my arm burns like a brand, dragging me back to reality.

I can’t stand it anymore. I need to move.

“I’m going to shower and change before the guests arrive,” I announce, standing up. Helena’s fingers tighten on my arm.

“Babe, want me to come up and help you?” she asks in a sultry voice, and I feel every muscle in my body tense. The others all look away pointedly, the awkward silence stretching.

“No thanks. I think I can manage just fine,” I say flatly, already walking away. I make it inside before I let out the frustrated growl that’s been clawing its way up my throat.

Passing through the kitchen, I catch Mum and Dad talking quietly with Henry in the living room. I slip by unnoticed, but then something stops me cold.

Zahra’s scent. It’s strong, fresh—like she just passed through. My heart kicks. I glance toward the hallway, tracking it to the basement door. Confused, I push it open and head down the stairs.

Through the glass door of the gym, I see her. Zahra’s on the treadmill, running hard, her ponytail swinging with every stride. Sweat glistens on her skin, catching the light like molten gold. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. Of course, she’d come down here to train. It’s actually a damn good idea. I could use the workout myself.

I turn toward the laundry room, grab a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from Dad’s neatly folded pile, and strip out of my chinos and shirt. I don’t bother with shoes. Bare foot’s fine for weights. What I really need is a way to burn off the storm that’s been building in my chest all fucking day.

I head back and push open the gym door. Zahra doesn’t notice me at first. She has her earbuds in, completely lost in her own world. The rhythmic thud of her feet hitting the treadmill fills the room, steady and relentless. She’s beasting her run, pounding away with the incline set high, her legs moving like pistons. I lean against the rack beside me, mesmerised. She’s running like she’s being chased by the hounds of hell, yet she barely looks winded. Her stamina is unreal. She was a machine before, but now? She’s something else entirely. I can’t wait to see her in action during real training again.

I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop. Then suddenly, her gaze flicks up, meeting mine in the mirror. Caught. I smirk. “Wow, Zahra, you’re not hanging around, are you?”

She hops onto the side plates, hits stop, and pulls out one earbud before answering. “Well, I’ve not got long, and I needed to burn some energy after today.”

I can imagine. Three years of isolation, of having no one to talk to, and now she’s been thrown back into the middle of all of us. It must feel like sensory overload. Add to that hours in a car, hours sitting through the graduation ceremony, and being surrounded by people who’ve moved on without her—it’s no wonder she’s restless.

I nod, smiling softly. “I can imagine. After a quiet few years, it’s probably been pretty overwhelming.” I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms right now, to ease some of that tension in her voice.

“Ha. You could say that again.” She giggles, grabbing a towel and wiping her face. The sound sends warmth through me, uninvited and inconvenient. She hops off the treadmill and heads for the punching bag, and my eyes follow her automatically. She’s taller now, stronger, more defined. Her body is all lean power and sculpted muscle, not a trace of the scrawny girl I used to spar with. Her thighs are carved and solid, her ass looks like it could stop a damn bullet, and her waist—goddess, her waist—is so small I could probably span it with one hand.

I bite back a groan, dragging my eyes away before I embarrass myself. Focus, Xander. She’s your Beta’s little sister. Your future queen. Not someone you should be imagining naked. I swallow hard, trying to chase away the heat crawling down my neck.

To distract myself, I step closer and nod toward her hands. “Want help wrapping your hands?” My voice comes out lower than I intended, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and take them.

She shakes her head, confusing me for a second. “We don’t wrap at the academy,” she says. “If you’re in a fight, you don’t have time to protect your hands. Better to toughen the knuckles in training.”

Of course, they don’t. That’s brutal. That’s Zahra. I grin at her, both proud and a little in awe. “You’re so hardcore now.”

A pang hits deep in my chest—part admiration, part something I don’t dare name. I shouldn’t want to touch her, I know i shouldn't, but all I can think about is how close she is, the heat rolling off her skin, the scent of wildflowers and steel.

Get a grip, Xander. Seriously.