Chapter 6 — Under the Alpha’s Gaze

The clink of cutlery against porcelain was the loudest sound in the room. Every scrape felt deliberate, like a silent warning to keep my mouth shut. The table stretched longer than I remembered, lined with flickering candles and polished silverware, but it still wasn’t enough to keep their eyes from finding me.

All four of them.

The Quadruple Alphas sat like carved statues at their places of power, each one positioned so I was boxed in. No matter where I looked, I caught a flash of dark eyes, a tightening jaw, the faint twitch of a finger drumming against the table.

Killian — the eldest — sat at the head, his presence cutting through the air like frost. His every move was slow, deliberate. The kind of control that made you wonder if the beast under his skin was truly sleeping or just waiting for you to make a mistake.

Ronan leaned back in his chair with false ease, one arm slung across the backrest. His lips curled into a smirk every time my gaze accidentally brushed over him, as if he could hear the frantic rhythm of my heart and enjoyed every beat.

Cassian was quiet — too quiet. His silver eyes followed me with a precision that felt less like curiosity and more like cataloguing my every weakness.

And then there was Dorian. He didn’t look at me much, but when he did, it was like being stripped bare. There was no softness in his gaze — only the unspoken truth that he had already decided what I was worth.

I forced myself to chew, swallow, breathe.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Ronan finally said, his tone lazy but his eyes glinting sharp. “Not hungry? Or just afraid to speak in front of your… mates?”

The word landed like a slap.

I set my fork down, making sure the clink was deliberate. “I’m eating. And I’m not afraid of speaking to anyone.”

Killian’s gaze lifted, slow and heavy, like a winter storm turning its attention on a lone traveler. “Good. Then you won’t mind answering a few questions after dinner.”

There it was — the tightening in my chest, the certainty that they weren’t going to let the night end without dragging me into something I wasn’t ready for.

Cassian leaned forward slightly, his voice low but carrying across the table. “Tell me, do you always wander around at night without telling your alphas where you’re going?”

My stomach dropped. They knew.

The silence that followed wasn’t real silence — it was expectation. Waiting for me to trip, to stumble into their trap.

“I wasn’t wandering,” I said evenly. “I was getting air.”

“Air?” Ronan chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Funny. You were close enough to the eastern border for the guards to take notice. That’s not just getting air, sweetheart.”

My hands clenched in my lap under the table. They weren’t supposed to know. I’d been careful. Or so I thought.

Dorian finally spoke, his voice soft enough to draw every ear toward him. “Next time you plan to run, at least be smart enough not to leave your scent trail.”

The table might as well have collapsed. Every word felt like an accusation, and the worst part was — they weren’t wrong.

Killian set down his glass with a soft thud. “We’ll discuss it later. Privately.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay level. “If you’ve already decided I’m guilty of something, why wait?”

Ronan’s smirk sharpened. “Because we’re civilized. Mostly.”

I pushed my plate away. “Then maybe I should leave you to your civilized dinner.”

The scrape of my chair against the floor was louder than I intended, but I didn’t care. I stood, every nerve telling me to get out before I said something I couldn’t take back.

But Killian’s voice stopped me cold. “Sit. Down.”

It wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. His command wrapped around me like chains, thick and unyielding. My body obeyed before my pride could argue.

I sank back into the chair, pulse hammering.

The rest of the meal passed in tight-lipped silence. Every moment was a tug-of-war between my instinct to run and the raw awareness that all four of them were reading me like an open book.

When the plates were cleared, Killian stood first, his chair sliding back in perfect, controlled movement. “With me.”

It wasn’t a request.

I followed him out into the corridor, the air colder here, shadows stretching long across the walls. The other three trailed behind us like a silent jury.

Killian didn’t stop until we reached a study — dark wood, shelves stacked high, the faint smell of cedar and smoke. He closed the door, the click of the lock louder than it should have been.

“Now,” he said, turning to face me, “tell us what you were doing at the border.”

“I already told you—”

“Don’t lie,” Cassian cut in sharply, stepping forward. “Your scent was all over the trees past the guard post. That’s not getting air. That’s testing the boundaries.”

“Maybe I wanted to know how far I could go before one of you noticed,” I shot back, my voice trembling but not from fear. “Maybe I wanted to see if the prison you’ve put me in has an escape route.”

Ronan’s eyes lit up with dangerous amusement. “So you admit it. You were thinking about running.”

I held his gaze. “Wouldn’t you?”

For a heartbeat, none of them moved. Then Dorian stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Run if you want,” he said quietly. “But remember — we’ll always find you.”

The room felt too small, the walls pressing in. My heart pounded, not just from fear but from something sharper, hotter, something I refused to name.

Killian’s voice cut through the tension. “You’re not a prisoner. But you’re ours. That means your life, your safety, your actions — all of it — matters to us. And to the pack.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I said.

“You think we did?” Ronan’s tone was almost bitter. “You think we wanted fate to throw you at us?”

The words stung, but I didn’t let them see it. “Then reject me. Set me free.”

The silence after that was the kind that burned.

Killian’s jaw flexed, his voice low. “Not happening.”

Something in his tone told me the argument was over — not because they’d won, but because they weren’t willing to let me go. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And that was the real problem.

The clink of silverware against porcelain sounded unnaturally loud in the long dining hall. The chandelier’s warm light did nothing to chase away the chill curling along my spine. Every bite of food tasted like ash, though I barely touched the roasted venison cooling on my plate.

They sat across from me—four towering silhouettes of raw authority—yet not a single one of them met my gaze.

Cassian’s knuckles tightened around his fork until it bent ever so slightly, his attention fixed on the empty space in front of him. Kael busied himself cutting into his steak with precise, deliberate movements, as if the meat had personally offended him. Darius stared at the far wall, jaw clenched, while Lucien… Lucien just smirked faintly, swirling his wine like he was enjoying a private joke.

Every second of silence was heavier than the last.

“You could at least pretend to talk to me,” I said finally, my voice slicing through the tension.

Cassian’s head lifted fractionally, his storm-gray eyes flickering to mine before darting away. “Eat,” he said, low and clipped.

I forced a laugh, brittle and humorless. “Oh, so now you care whether I eat? That’s sweet.”

Lucien leaned back in his chair, lazy and dangerous. “Careful, little mate. That tongue of yours might start something you can’t finish.”

I set my fork down with a soft clink. “You’ve already started something I never agreed to.”

Darius’s gaze snapped to me then, sharp enough to cut. “You think we wanted this? You think—”

“Enough,” Kael’s voice was a whip crack, silencing him instantly. He didn’t raise his head, but the air shifted, oppressive with Alpha command. “This dinner isn’t the place.”

“Then tell me when the place is,” I shot back. “Because ever since I woke up in this damn house, it’s been orders, secrets, and half-truths. I deserve answers.”

Lucien’s smirk deepened. “Maybe you do. But the question is—are you ready to hear them?”

I didn’t flinch. “Try me.”

The four of them exchanged glances—silent communication only Alphas could pull off—before Cassian finally set his fork down. The sound echoed in the cavernous hall.

“There’s more than one reason you’re here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “More than just the mate bond.”

I leaned forward, pulse pounding. “Then say it.”

Kael exhaled slowly, and for the first time, I saw something almost like reluctance in his dark eyes. “You were marked before we found you. By someone who shouldn’t exist.”

My blood ran cold. “What do you mean ‘shouldn’t exist’?”

Darius answered this time, his voice like gravel. “A rogue Alpha. One we killed years ago.”

I stared at him, the words making no sense. “If he’s dead, then how—”

Lucien cut in, almost gleeful. “That’s the mystery, sweetheart. And the reason you can’t leave.”

The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in. I didn’t realize I’d pushed back from the table until my chair scraped against the marble floor. “So I’m a prisoner.”

Cassian’s expression darkened. “You’re protected.”

“Protected,” I echoed, my voice shaking with something between fear and fury. “That’s what you call it?”

Kael’s gaze locked with mine, unblinking. “That’s what it is. Until we know who’s playing this game, you don’t take one step outside these walls without us.”

I hated the way my stomach twisted at his words, part of me wanting to fight, another part too aware of the danger lacing every syllable.

Lucien broke the tension with a drawled, “Well, now that we’ve ruined dinner, shall we move on to dessert?”

I didn’t stay to hear their answer.

The moment I stepped into the hall, the air shifted—warmer, charged. My wolf stirred restlessly, sensing movement just beyond the grand staircase. Footsteps, light but purposeful.

And then, from the shadows, a voice I hadn’t heard in years whispered my name.

The rest of the hall seemed to fade into the background. All I could hear was the faint clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversations that didn’t concern me, and the loud, suffocating sound of my own heartbeat.

“Eat,” Kael said finally, his tone clipped.

I stared at the plate in front of me — roasted venison drizzled with some glossy sauce — and felt my throat tighten. “Not hungry.”

His eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Draven leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping lazily over me. “Still pretending you don’t feel it?” he asked, voice a dangerous purr. “The bond. Our bond.”

My hands curled into fists on my lap. “I’m not pretending. I’m ignoring it. Big difference.”

A low chuckle rolled from Lysander, seated across from me. “Ignoring a bond is like ignoring a storm heading for your house. You can close the curtains and pretend it’s not there, but when the roof caves in, don’t act surprised.”

“Not everyone wants to live in a house with four storms at once,” I shot back before I could stop myself.

The air between us tightened. The other alphas exchanged a look — the kind that communicated a thousand unspoken things.

Aedan was the one who finally broke the silence. His voice was quieter, but there was a razor edge to it. “You think you’re above this? Above us?”

I set my fork down deliberately. “I think I’m my own person, and I don’t need to be claimed like… like some prize you all won in a hunt.”

For a moment, the tension threatened to snap into open violence. Then Kael’s lips curved — not into a smile, but something far more unsettling.

“Then we’ll see how long your independence lasts,” he said.

And then, as if the conversation had never happened, he resumed eating.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. I barely heard the pack members who stopped to greet them, barely tasted the food I forced myself to swallow. My mind was still spinning with the sheer force of their presence — and the terrifying certainty that they weren’t bluffing.

When we finally rose from the table, Kael’s hand came to rest lightly — possessively — at the small of my back. I stiffened.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, low enough that no one else could hear. “We’re patient… to a point.”

As we walked out into the cold night air, the moon hung full and bright above us — a silent witness to the storm I had just stepped into.