WHISPERS IN THE DARK

The afternoon sun bled through the tall arched windows of the east wing, casting long, crimson shadows across the polished wooden floorboards.

Nora sat on the cushioned window seat, her knees pulled tight against her chest. True to Dominic’s word, a royal physician named Dr. Silas—a soft-spoken elder wolf with gentle hands and kind, silver-streaked hair—had arrived at noon. He had drawn a vial of her blood, performed a brief magic-infused examination, and declared that the crimson binding had taken root flawlessly. Her body was ready.

Now, the quiet of the estate felt heavy, almost suffocating.

Unable to stay trapped inside her room any longer, Nora slipped off the window seat and opened her door. The long, carpeted hallway was deserted save for two silent guards stationed at the far end who merely bowed their heads as she stepped out.

Guided by a quiet curiosity—and the persistent, subtle hum of Dominic’s scent lingering in the building—Nora walked down the grand corridor. She passed through the west gallery, where rows of ancient portraits hung in gilded frames.

As she examined a painting of a vast dark forest under a full moon, a quiet raspy voice spoke from behind her.

Searching for answers, little human?

Nora jumped, turning around quickly.

Standing a few feet away was an elderly woman pushing a heavy wooden laundry cart. She wore a simple gray servant's dress, her face etched with deep wrinkles, but her dark eyes were sharp and wise.

I... I was just walking," Nora admitted softly. I didn't mean to trespass.

You aren't trespassing, the old woman chuckled quietly, her voice sounding like dry leaves rustling in the wind. The Alpha gave strict orders that you are free to roam the residential halls. I am Martha. I’ve been a house servant here since Lord Dominic was a mere pup no taller than my knee.

Nora relaxed her shoulders slightly. He seems... so distant. And the mask... why does he hide himself?

Martha’s smile faded, replaced by a dark, mournful shadow. She glanced down the empty hallway to ensure they were alone before stepping closer to Nora.

The mask is not a fashion, child. It is a prison, Martha whispered. Three years ago, this estate was vibrant. Lord Dominic was engaged to be married to Lady Rebecca of the North Pack. The wedding was meant to unite the territories and bring peace.

Nora felt her pulse quicken. What happened?

Betrayal, Martha said grimly. A rogue alliance breached the gates on the night of the solar eclipse. They set fire to the pack house. Dominic fought like a demon to save his family, but he was ambushed by black magic blade-work. He watched his father, his mother, and his bride slaughtered before his very eyes.

Nora gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"The dark curse from those rogue blades left deep, unhealing scars across his upper face, Martha continued softly. But the scars on his skin are nothing compared to the ruin inside his soul. He blamed himself for failing to protect them. He put on that obsidian mask, shut off his heart, and declared that love was a weakness that destroyed Alphas. He vowed never to take another mate.

Nora looked back at the hallway leading toward Dominic's study. The image of the towering, stern Alpha standing alone in the dark firelight returned to her mind, but this time, it filled her with a heavy, aching sorrow. He wasn't just a cold, arrogant tyrant—he was a broken man living in the ash of his lost world.

"Then why agree to a surrogate? Nora asked softly.

Because the Pack Council pressed him," Martha replied. Without an heir, the bloodline dies, and rival lords like Lady Evelyn’s father will seize the throne. He chose a human surrogate because he believed a human would mean no feelings, no bond, and no vulnerability. Martha stepped closer, her sharp eyes studying Nora’s face. But I saw how he carried you up those stairs last night, child. I saw the golden light of the binding. He thinks he can guard his heart against you... but the Moon Goddess has a cruel sense of humor.

Before Nora could digest Martha's words, a cold, sharp voice echoed from the top of the gallery staircase.

Gossiping with the cattle, Martha?

Lady Evelyn glided down the stairs, her silk gown rustling against the stone. Her icy blue eyes locked onto Nora with lethal hatred.

Return to your duties, old woman, Evelyn spat.

Martha bowed her head humbly. Yes, Lady Evelyn, she murmured, pushing her laundry cart quickly down the hall.

Nora stood her ground as Evelyn stepped into her space, bringing with her the heavy, sharp scent of winter jasmine and venom.

Enjoy your little walk, surrogate? Evelyn sneered, her eyes dropping to Nora’s flat stomach. "Do not mistake Dominic's pity for affection. You are nothing more than a golden womb carrying his duty. The moment that pup leaves your body, I will personally ensure you are tossed out into the snow."

Nora held her chin high, looking Evelyn directly in the eye. "If I am so insignificant to him, Lady Evelyn... then why are you so afraid of me?"

Evelyn’s face flushed with violent rage. She raised her hand, her nails extending into sharp, deadly claws, aimed directly for Nora’s cheek