CHAPTER TWELVE: Collapse!

The kitchen was already awake when I entered.

Heat lingered in the air, heavy with the scent of herbs and simmering broth. Stone counters lined the walls, scrubbed clean and bare except for the tools laid out with careful precision. Everything had a place. Everything knew where it belonged.

I did not.

Maera, the head servant, stood near the center table, her back straight, her movements sharp and economical. She did not look surprised to see me. She did not greet me either.

“You’re responsible for the Alpha’s breakfast now,” she said, as if announcing the weather. “You will prepare it. You will serve it. You will not ask unnecessary questions.”

Her voice was not unkind.

It was not gentle either.

I nodded. “Yes.”

She glanced at me then, briefly. Her gaze was assessing, cool and unreadable. A woman who had served long enough to know better than to comment on strange decisions made above her station.

“The Alpha eats early,” she continued. “His preferences will be taught. Until then, you will follow instruction exactly.”

Another nod.

“Stand there.”

I moved where she pointed, near the counter. My hands rested lightly against the stone, cool beneath my palms.

Maera’s attention shifted to the fire. “Have you cooked before?”

I hesitated. “No.”

She made a sound under her breath. Not irritated. Resigned.

“Then you’ll learn quickly,” she said. “You’ll have to.”

She placed a knife in my hand and guided my fingers into position without ceremony. Her touch was firm, practiced. The lesson was efficient. Chop. Stir. Measure. Watch the flame.

I tried to focus.

But ever since I woke from the dream, something inside me felt off balance.

Not pain.

Weight.

A heaviness that sat behind my ribs, pressing outward, as if my chest were too small for what it held. The warmth I had grown used to pulsed faintly beneath my skin, restless and contained only by effort.

‘It will pass.’

I told myself that as I followed Maera’s instructions, as I copied her movements carefully, as I forced my attention onto the task in front of me.

The knife slipped once.

Maera’s gaze flicked to my hand.

“Pay attention,” she said.

“I am,” I replied, quickly.

She watched me for a moment longer, then turned away.

The pressure in my chest grew sharper.

By the time the tray was assembled, my fingers were trembling faintly. I curled them into my palm, hiding it.

Maera gestured toward the door. “Go.”

The walk from the kitchen to the Alpha’s inner dining chamber felt longer than it should have.

Each step echoed too loudly in my ears. The warmth beneath my skin thickened, spreading upward toward my throat. My breathing grew shallow without my permission.

‘Just serve the food.’

‘Then you can leave.’

The doors were already open.

Alpha Kael was seated when I entered.

He was not working.

No papers. No writing. No council.

One elbow rested against the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his chin. His posture was loose, almost idle, like a predator conserving energy.

The moment I crossed the threshold, his gaze lifted.

And stayed.

I felt it immediately.

Not like being watched.

Like being held in place by attention alone.

I crossed the room carefully, the tray steady despite the faint tremor in my arms. His eyes never left me. I set the tray down before him and straightened.

“You’re late,” he said finally.

The words were neutral. Almost absent.

“I’m sorry,” I replied.

His gaze sharpened, no longer idle.

“Come closer,” he said.

The tone was different.

Focused.

As if he had already noticed something I was trying to ignore.

I took a step forward.

Suddenly...heat surged in me without warning.

It flooded my chest in a sudden wave, fierce and consuming. Cold sweat slid down my spine. My fingers tingled, then went faintly numb.

I inhaled too quickly.

My vision wavered.

Alpha Kael was already moving.

He rose in a single smooth motion and closed the distance between us before my knees could buckle. His hand caught my arm, firm and precise, steadying me as the room tilted.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly.

I tried to answer. No sound came out.

The heaviness inside me broke its containment.

My legs gave way.

He caught me fully this time, one arm braced around my back, the other steady at my side. The world narrowed to the heat of his body and the solid certainty of his hold.

I did not hit the floor.

I did not black out.

But I could not stand.

The warmth surged again, uncontrolled now, spilling through my chest and limbs like something seeking release. My heart raced painfully, each beat sharp and erratic.

Alpha Kael stilled.

I felt it the moment he did.

His breath slowed. His body went rigid, not with tension, but with sudden awareness. His grip adjusted minutely, not to restrain me, but to hold me exactly where I was.

“Maera,” he said.

She was already there.

“My lord,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Clear the room.”

“Yes.”

I felt movement around us. Doors closing. Footsteps retreating.

Then there was only the two of us.

He lowered me carefully onto the chair behind him, not releasing me entirely. His hand remained at my wrist, fingers resting over my pulse.

The contact sent a sharp, unmistakable reaction through my body.

The pressure eased.

Not gone.

Redirected.

My breath came easier.

Alpha Kael noticed immediately.

His fingers tightened slightly, not enough to hurt. Enough to confirm what he was feeling.

His jaw clenched.

“This isn’t dispersing,” he said quietly.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

“It’s accumulating,” he continued, more to himself than to me. “And it’s accelerating.”

His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse.

The relief was immediate.

My chest loosened. Another breath slipped in smoothly, then another.

Alpha Kael’s pupils widened.

Just slightly.

Enough.

“It’s entering my body,” he said. “Without resistance.”

The words landed heavily.

He looked at me then, truly looked, his gaze sharp and assessing. Not hunger. Not anger.

Calculation.

Concern.

Something darker beneath it.

“If this continues,” he said slowly, “you will collapse again. Harder.”

I did not argue.

He straightened, still holding my wrist.

“This arrangement,” he said, voice low and controlled, “is not sustainable.”

The words echoed in the quiet room.

Not a threat.

A conclusion.

"Let's go back to my room."