Chapter Two.

Raya sat in the stone bath, steam curling around her like misted silk. The scent of crushed herbs floated in the air—lavender, eucalyptus, cedar. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth soak into her bruised body, though nothing could reach deep enough to soothe the ache that lived in her now.

Not physical.

Not entirely.

The mark at her throat pulsed—not visible, not bloody, but raw all the same. A phantom imprint, buried under her skin like a secret waiting to awaken.

She should have told someone.

She didn't.

She tried to remember.

What was his name? She wondered. But she couldn't remember.

The water shifted behind her, soft ripples brushing against her spine.

"I heard you returned wounded," came the low, familiar voice.

Riven.

Her Beta.

The only one allowed near her when her walls cracked.

"I'm not," she said, her voice barely audible over the quiet hiss of steam. "Just sore."

A pause. Then he chuckled and said,

“Her highness was drunk last night and decided to bang some stranger”

“Shut up,”she said while splashing water on him.

He moved closer anyway. She felt him at her back, still dressed, but close enough that his presence wrapped around her like a second cloak.

“Your scent is… different,” he said quietly.

She stiffened.

"Was it that intense?" he added.

Still, she said nothing.

He waved his head from side to side.

He knelt behind her at the edge of the stone pool. "Let me help. Your shoulders… you're wound so tight I can feel it through the air."

She didn’t argue.

Because she was tight,coiled like a blade before the strike. Her muscles screamed from tension, not battle. From denial.

She nodded once.

Riven slipped off his boots, then his tunic and rolled up his sleeves. He stepped into the warm water behind her with practiced calm.

No hunger. No demand.

But there was something else in his gaze.

Longing.

He moved behind her, his thighs on either side of hers, but never touching. His large hands settled on her shoulders. Firm. Familiar.

His thumbs pressed into the knots near her neck, and she exhaled on instinct,slow, deep, shaky.

"You've carried the weight of this pack since you could stand," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten how to rest."

Her laugh was soft and bitter. “Rest is for those who don’t rule.”

His hands worked in silence. Each stroke down her shoulders loosened something she hadn’t realized she’d locked away. His fingers traced the base of her neck, then slid slowly down the ridges of her spine.

And gods, her body responded.

Not in a frantic way,not like with him. But deeper. Sadder. A heat born of familiarity and forbidden comfort.

He leaned forward slightly, his chest brushing her back.

“I would never take what isn’t given,” he whispered near her ear. “But I see you. Always.”

She closed her eyes, tension rising again,except it wasn't tension anymore. It was something more dangerous.

Need.

She leaned into him, just a fraction. His breath caught.

His hands paused.

Then he slid them to her arms, down to her wrists under the water. His thumbs brushed slow circles over her pulse points.

“Spoils of war have been retrieved, your highness,” he said, voice like smoke.”Your people are waiting to congratulate their Queen.” He sat on the pool's edge,his legs in the water.

She turned slightly in the water just enough to meet his eyes.

“You’re quiet,” she said, pushing back her wet hair and floating closer to him. “Shouldn’t you be saying something?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Something like…?”

She smirked and came to a stop just below where he sat, her hands resting on the edge beside his thighs. “You’re my beta, right?”

“Of Course I am,” he teased, lips twitching with the threat of a smile.

“We are today.” She leaned forward just enough to let the water lap at his knees. “And as my beta… you should be the first to congratulate me.”

He laughed softly, a warm sound, and leaned forward too, his hands moving to her face. His fingers brushed along her jaw with a reverence that made her chest tighten. His thumbs gently tucked away a wet strand clinging to her cheek.

“You did it,” he said, his voice softer now, like he meant every word more than the last. “I watched you fight for it, struggle with it. And then I watched you win. You didn’t just deserve it,you owned it. I’m proud of you. So proud I could burst.”

Her smirk faded. Something in the way he said it, the way his hands lingered on her face, had all the mischief draining from her eyes. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but honest. Sincerely,

She wasn’t sure if it was the way his fingers traced her temple, or the way his lips moved around the words,slow and sure,but her gaze dropped to his mouth without her meaning to.

It was subtle. A moment. But her breath caught.

He noticed.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice anchoring her, tugging her back from wherever she’d drifted. “You’re doing it again.”

She blinked, eyes snapping up to meet him. “Doing what?”

“Staring like you want to bite me but haven’t decided if it’s for love or war.”

She let out a low laugh, embarrassed and amused at once. “I wasn’t…”

“You were.”

He wasn’t teasing anymore. Not fully. He was just watching her, the way he always did. Like he could see everything she didn’t say.

“I’m not going to apologize for looking at you,” she said, quieter now.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

They stayed there, eyes locked, silence thick and charged. His hands were still at her face, his thumbs lightly brushing her cheeks, grounding her. Around them, the world kept moving,water rippling,the wind dancing around them,but their gaze didn’t break.

“You always do that,” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“Make everything feel like it matters.”

“Maybe it does.”

Her throat felt tight, the air heavier than before. She hadn’t expected him to say something like that. Not now. Not while the scent of chlorine lingered and water clung to her eyelashes.

He leaned just a little closer, their foreheads almost touching now, the tips of her wet fingers still resting on the edge beside him. His knee brushed against her shoulder in the water. Neither moved away.

“I like how you look at me,” he said, almost a confession. “Even when you’re pretending you’re not.”

“I never pretended,” she whispered.

His hands dropped slightly, not away from her, just lower,his fingers trailing from her jaw to the base of her neck, barely there, a touch that was more about presence than pressure.

She closed her eyes, then opened them again, as if afraid the moment might vanish if she blinked too long.

“I wanted you to be proud,” she said.

“I always was.”

Their gazes met again, and this time, it held more than warmth. It held questions, and promises, and everything unspoken.

He smiled softly, and she felt it echo somewhere deep inside her.

“Then say it again,” she murmured.

He leaned forward, the space between them smaller than a breath. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “And I always will be.”

The stare between them was thick,heavy with history, with what they'd never allowed themselves to want.

His gaze dropped to her lips. Lingered.

Her breath caught.

He leaned forward. Slow. Measured. Like he needed permission from her soul before he dared close the space between them.

Their lips were a breath apart. A heartbeat.

She raised her hand, touching his cheek. His skin was warm, beard-rough under her fingers.

But then her body flinched.

The mark on her throat pulsed,violently.

She gasped and pulled away, sloshing water as she turned from him, hand flying to her neck.

Riven stood, instantly alert. “Raya?”

Her eyes were wide. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe her. But he didn’t press.

“I’ll get your robe,” he said, voice tight.

She nodded, not looking at him. Her body was shivering now, though the water was hot. She waited until he disappeared beyond the stone archway before she rose from the bath.

Dripping. Breathless. Mark burning.

She wrapped a towel around herself and staggered to the mirror embedded in the cave wall.

The skin of her throat looked untouched. No wound. No bruise.

But beneath the surface,it pulsed with light.

Faint. Silver. Alive.

She touched it,and the world shifted.

Heat tore through her spine, spreading like liquid fire. Her vision blurred. The air around her rippled, shimmered.

Then she saw.

A flash. A flicker.

Not the room. Not the cave.

But him.

The rogue.

Standing at the edge of a dark cliff, moonlight catching in his hair. Shirtless, marked by ancient sigils carved into his skin—ones she didn’t recognize. He turned, as if he felt her watching.

Their eyes met—across realms, across impossible distance.

“Raya” he whispered, though she couldn’t hear his voice.

She stepped forward, hand reaching toward the vision. It shimmered, then surged forward.

A jolt hit her chest,hard,and she dropped to her knees.

The mirror shattered.

Water dripped from her skin, heart racing, lungs heaving.

What the fuck was happening to her?

The surge still burned beneath her skin, and now… it felt like it was waking up.

Not a werewolf’s power. This was no shifting, no primal rage.

This was older. Wilder. And it was familiar.

“Humphrey” she mumbled to herself.

Behind her, she heard the soft sound of footsteps returning. She scrambled to her feet and yanked her towel tighter, just as Riven rounded the corner holding her robes.

He froze when he saw the shattered mirror.

“Raya?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I slipped. It’s nothing."

But the heat behind her eyes, the crackle in her veins, the throb at her throat…

It was everything.

And she was beginning to realize the stranger hadn’t just left her ruined that night.

He’d left a piece of himself behind.

And he has awakened some kind of power that she has never felt within her.