Chapter 7

★𝕺𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖆

The memory of Alpha Ronan's command, raw and absolute, clung to me like a chill, even days after the incident on the training grounds. It wasn't the sound itself that haunted me as the Alpha's sister, I was accustomed to hearing his authoritative tone. It was the feeling it evoked within me.

The way my wolf, Rex, had flared in defiance for a split second, a surge of defiant energy that had momentarily pushed against the overwhelming pressure. And the shame that followed, the immediate instinct to bow, even as my core seemed to vibrate with a foreign refusal.

I dismissed it, of course. Just my nerves. The sheer power of an Alpha’s direct command could unnerve anyone, especially after months of his absence. But the feeling of being seen by Ronan in that moment, of his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that promised he’d noticed my brief hesitation, left a cold knot in my stomach.

My body continued its strange rebellions. The subtle healing I’d dismissed as exhaustion became more pronounced.

I accidentally burned my hand on a hot pot one morning, a deep red welt blooming instantly. I rushed to cool it under the tap, expecting the sting and blistering. But by the time I dried my hand, the skin was already smooth, merely a faint pink where the burn should have been. I stared, my mind scrambling for explanations that didn’t involve impossible feats.

And my senses. They were hyper-alert. The faint scent of pine that always clung to Ronan, usually a distant note, now seemed to pervade the palace whenever he was near.

I could hear whispers from two rooms away, discern individual footsteps on the stone floors, even the distant flapping of a raven’s wings outside the highest tower. It was overwhelming, a constant flood of input that made my head ache. I kept telling myself it was stress, that the pressure of managing the kitchen for the Alpha’s ongoing welcome was simply getting to me.

I tried to lose myself in the rhythm of the kitchen, in the familiar comfort of chopping vegetables and kneading dough. But even there, I felt him. Not physically, but a pervasive awareness.

It was like a string, taut and invisible, connecting us. When he entered the dining hall for meals, I could feel the shift in the air before I saw him. When he left the palace for patrols, a subtle tension seemed to lift, only to descend again upon his return.

One afternoon, I was checking inventory in the sprawling pantry, my mind preoccupied with the week’s menus. The pantry was usually quiet, filled with the comforting scents of dried grains and herbs. Suddenly, a familiar scent, strong and crisp like mountain air, filled the space.

"Still hiding away in the pantry, Liv?"

My heart jumped, sending a jolt of alarm through me. I whirled around, my hand instinctively reaching for the heavy oak door frame.

Ronan stood there, leaning against the archway, his arms crossed over his powerful chest. His dark eyes, as always, were fixed on me, that same piercing gaze that saw too much. My wolf, Rex, gave a low, questioning rumble, a feeling of both agitation and strange allure.

"Ronan!" I managed, trying to sound casual, despite the frantic thudding in my chest. "Just... ensuring the supplies are in order. The feast preparations are ongoing."

He pushed off the archway, stepping into the pantry, and the small space seemed to shrink, filled by his presence. "You work tirelessly," he observed, his voice a low, rumbling baritone that vibrated through me. His gaze drifted to my hands, and I quickly clasped them behind my back, suddenly self-conscious about my rapid healing. "You push yourself too hard."

"It's my duty," I mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze, my cheeks burning. He seemed to sense every subtle shift in my discomfort, every racing thought. It was unnerving, as if he could read me.

He took another step, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "Perhaps," he murmured, his eyes lingering on my face. "But sometimes, a change of pace is necessary. You should join the pack more often. Or perhaps... take a walk in the woods with me. The air is always clearer there."

My mind spun. A walk in the woods? Alone with Ronan? The thought sent a confusing mixture of fear and a strange, almost electric anticipation through me. "I... I have many duties," I stammered, stepping back until my spine hit a shelf, rattling a jar of pickled vegetables.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Of course. Duty calls." He didn't press. But his gaze, as he turned and left the pantry, lingered for a long moment, a silent message that I couldn't decipher but that promised he wasn't finished with me.

I sank onto a nearby crate, my legs suddenly weak. My brother. Why did he feel so utterly unfamiliar, so... dangerous? And why, despite the fear, did a part of me feel a strange, exhilarating pull towards him? My quiet, orderly world was being chipped away, piece by piece, and I had no idea how to stop it.