CHAPTER 5: Imagination

Eileen’s pov

"You're imagining things," I said, forcing a careless smile despite the cold knot tightening in my chest. "Every bride is a little emotional on her wedding day."

"Emotional."

Alaric rolled the word across his tongue as though testing its weight.

His silver eyes never left mine.

"No," he said at last. "I don't think that's the word I'd choose."

I folded my hands neatly in my lap, praying he wouldn't notice how tightly my fingers had locked together.

"Then what word would you use, Supreme Alpha?"

A faint smile ghosted across his lips.

"I haven't decided."

His gaze lingered, patient and unwavering.

"But give me time."

A deliberate pause.

"I'm certain the right one will come to me before the night is over."

Before I could think of a reply, a circle of West Pack nobles approached the head table, offering congratulations and ceremonial blessings.

The moment they arrived, Alaric's expression transformed.

The suspicion vanished beneath effortless courtesy.

The attentive ruler.

The gracious host.

The perfect Supreme Alpha.

Anyone watching would have believed our conversation had never happened.

Only I noticed the occasional glance he cast my way throughout the remainder of the evening.

Quiet.

Calculating.

Never hurried.

Like a wolf that had already scented blood and knew there was no need to chase prey destined to corner itself.

By the time the final guests departed and servants began clearing away the golden plates and crystal goblets, every muscle in my body ached.

Not from the ceremony.

From pretending.

Wren escorted me to the private chambers prepared for the Luna in the northern wing.

The room was larger than the entire apartment I'd once lived in.

Moonlight spilled through towering windows, washing silver across polished floors and embroidered curtains.

Without speaking, Wren began removing the countless pins woven into my hair.

One by one.

"You handled tonight remarkably well," she said quietly.

Another pin slipped free.

"Although..."

She hesitated.

"I've never seen you speak to Lady Alice like that before."

I watched her reflection in the mirror.

"Is that unusual?"

She looked genuinely surprised.

"You two barely speak anymore, Miss Hayden."

Her fingers continued working through my hair.

"Not since... everything happened."

My stomach tightened.

"What exactly happened?"

This time, Wren stopped.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

"You truly don't remember?"

I held her gaze without answering.

A crease formed between her brows.

"You and Lady Alice haven't exchanged more than a handful of words in over a year."

She resumed unpinning my hair.

"Not since she accused you of stealing her betrothed."

Another piece.

Another fragment of someone else's life.

I tucked it carefully into place.

"People change."

"So they do."

Wren didn't sound convinced.

But she asked nothing more.

When the last pin had been removed, she helped me into a pale silk robe before bowing quietly and leaving the room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence settled over the chambers.

My eyes drifted toward the heavy oak door connecting my rooms to Alaric's.

I wondered whether royal marriages normally came with adjoining bedrooms.

I didn't have long to wonder.

The handle turned.

The door opened.

Alaric stepped inside without knocking.

He was still dressed in his ceremonial robes, though the embroidered cloak had been discarded somewhere along the way.

Without it, he somehow looked even larger.

More dangerous.

"We need to talk."

I remained where I was.

"About what?"

He closed the door behind him.

"The fact that tonight you spoke to Alice and Lucian like someone settling an old score."

One measured step.

"The fact that you collapsed this morning..."

Another.

"...and woke behaving like an entirely different woman."

Another.

"I've spent years hearing stories about Eileen Hayden."

He stopped only a few feet away.

"And not one of them resembles the woman standing before me."

I forced myself not to retreat.

"People change."

"Not overnight."

His voice remained maddeningly calm.

"The Eileen Hayden I was warned about is ruthless."

Another step closed the remaining distance between us.

"Calculating."

His gaze searched mine with relentless precision.

"She doesn't blush."

A beat.

"She doesn't stumble over her words."

Another.

"And she certainly doesn't mourn the death of strangers as though she stood beside them when they died."

My heartbeat slammed painfully against my ribs.

"You're imagining things."

"Am I?"

His eyes drifted downward.

To my hands.

Before I realized what he intended, he reached forward. His fingers closed gently around my wrist. Impossible to resist without making a scene.

He slowly turned my hand over, exposing the pale skin along the inside of my forearm.

His thumb rested lightly against my pulse. Feeling the frantic rhythm racing beneath my skin.

Then he looked back into my eyes.

It was the smile of a man who had just found the first piece of a puzzle he'd been searching for.

"You know," he murmured softly, "your heartbeat tells a far more interesting story than your mouth ever does."

“The real Eileen Hayden has a crescent-shaped scar right here.”

His thumb hovered just beneath my wrist.

“From a training accident when she was twelve. Her father told me himself. Said it was the one thing she was ever ashamed of.”

I went still.

Completely still.

Because his fingers were moving now slow, deliberate tracing over untouched skin. There should have been a scar there. There wasn’t even the faintest memory of one.

I watched his expression shift in real time.

Suspicion… narrowing… sharpening…

Then—

Certainty.

“There’s no scar,” he said quietly.

My throat tightened.

“Alaric…”

“There’s no scar.”

His voice rose this time, controlled but edged with something dangerously close to rupture.

His grip tightened around my wrist not enough to hurt, but enough to make escape a thought rather than an option.

“So tell me exactly what I’m looking at.”

His silver gaze locked onto mine.

“Because it is not the woman I married this afternoon.”

My mind scrambled for something anything that could hold the shape of an explanation.

It came up empty.

“I can explain,” I said anyway.

A useless promise even as it left my mouth.

“Then do it.”

His voice dropped lower.

“Because I am one word away from calling my guards.”

A beat.

“And once they enter this room… whatever you are stops being my problem to solve quietly.”

The candlelight trembled between us, warping shadows across his face.

He looked carved from something ancient.

Unforgiving.

“Who are you,” he said, “and what happened to my wife?”

My lips parted.

And for the first time all day, I reached for something close to truth instead of survival.

But before it could form

A sound cut through the silence. A growl that didn’t belong in a human throat.

Alaric froze.

His grip vanished.

His body jerked back a step as though something inside him had snapped against its restraints.

“What ”

I didn’t finish.

Because his eyes changed.

Gold bled through silver like fire breaking through ice.

“Alaric?”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. Every muscle in his body locked as though he were fighting something invisible clawing its way up from beneath his skin.

“I…” His voice broke rough, strained. “I haven’t lost control like this in years.”

The gold flared brighter.

More violent.

His breathing turned shallow, uneven.

And then—

Something inside me answered.

It rose from somewhere deep in my chest, as though something had been waiting my entire life for this exact moment to wake.

My breath caught.

“What is happening…”

The words barely left me.

His head snapped up.

Those burning gold eyes locked onto mine with such intensity it stole the air from my lungs.

“My wolf,” I whispered, understanding striking too late to soften the shock of it. “It’s reacting to me.”

Something fractured in his expression at that.

Recognition not of me…

But of the impossible truth forming between us.

“It’s never done this,” he said hoarsely.

His voice sounded scraped raw.

“Not once. Not with anyone.”

A step forward.

Then another.

“Not since the night my first Luna died in my arms.”

The room went utterly still.

Even the candles seemed to hesitate.

“Seven years,” he continued, quieter now, as though speaking too loudly might break whatever fragile thread held him together. “Seven years of nothing.”

His gaze didn’t leave mine.

“And the moment I touched your wrist…”

His jaw tightened.

“My wolf tried to claw its way out of my chest.”

Silence stretched heavy, electric, suffocating.

Then he took another step closer.

Not cautious anymore.

Not investigative.

Drawn.

Something almost broken flickered behind the gold in his eyes.

“Whoever you are,” he said, voice rough with restraint, “whatever you are…”

A pause.

And then, quieter

“I don’t think I care anymore.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my hand.

Then rose again.

Because now there was something else in his eyes.

Something that terrified me more than suspicion ever had.

Certainty.

“Because right now,” he said, “for the first time in seven years…”

His voice softened into something almost unrecognizable.

“…some part of me is certain I already know you.”