The Alpha's Eyes

They walk me through the big doors of Blackridge House with my wrists still tied, and every step across that stone floor feels like walking into a memory I'm not allowed to have.

The entry hall hasn't changed. Same high beams. Same old tapestries on the walls. Same cold draft that never goes away no matter how many fires burn in the hearths. I used to run down this hallway laughing. I used to belong here.

Now they're dragging me through it like a stranger.

Cassian walks ahead of us, not saying a word, his back straight and stiff. I watch the width of his shoulders and try to match this man up with the one who used to pull me against his chest and tell me nothing bad would ever touch me in this house.

He leads us into a small room off the main hall. A study. Dark wood, a fire already going, maps and papers stacked neat on a heavy desk. He waits until the guard shuts the door behind us before he turns to look at me full on.

"Untie her," he says.

The guard hesitates. "Alpha, she was found near a fresh grave, covered in—"

"I said untie her."

The guard does it fast and steps back near the door once my wrists are free. I rub the raw skin where the rope dug in, and Cassian watches my hand like it costs him something to see it.

"Leave us," he says, still not looking away from me.

"Alpha, is that wise—"

"Leave us." Sharper this time. The guard bows and slips out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence after that is thick. He looks at me the way you'd look at something you're scared might vanish if you blink.

"Selene Voss," he says, finally, like he's testing the name out loud, like he doesn't quite believe it belongs to me.

"That's right," I say, and I make myself hold his eyes even though everything in me wants to look away.

"You were found climbing out of a grave in Grimwood." It's not a question. "Explain that."

"I don't remember much," I say. The lie comes steadier now, worn smooth from saying it over and over. "I was attacked. I woke up in the dirt with no memory of how I got there or why."

"Convenient." Same word the young rider used, and hearing it from him hurts more than it should.

"I know how it sounds."

"Do you?" He steps closer, slow, and my pulse picks up whether I want it to or not. "Because from where I'm standing, a woman with no history and a stolen name walks straight into my territory two days before the anniversary of an execution. This house still hasn't gotten over."

My stomach drops. He remembers the exact date. Of course he does.

"I didn't know that," I say, and my voice comes out smaller than I mean it to.

He's close enough now I can see the tired lines on his face, the shadows under his eyes, the way his jaw stays clenched like he's holding something back by force. His wolf is right there, just under his skin, I can feel it, pushing toward me, and his eyes flicker gold at the edges.

"Why does your scent do that," he says, quiet, almost like he's talking to himself.

"Do what?"

"Nothing." He steps back, like he caught himself doing something wrong. "You said you were attacked. By who?"

"I don't know. I told you, I don't remember."

"You don't remember who attacked you. But you remembered my territory's name well enough to walk straight to my gate."

"I asked someone in Grimwood which pack was closest," I say. Close enough to true that it doesn't shake coming out. "They said Rook Territory."

He studies me for another long moment. I hold still under it, breathing slow, hoping my heartbeat isn't as loud to him as it is to me.

"You flinched," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"When the guard grabbed your arm outside. You flinched like you already knew what was coming. Like men like him have grabbed you before." His eyes narrow. "That's not how someone reacts if they've never set foot on Rook land."

My throat goes tight. He's too sharp. Same as I remember him being, before all of this, and I hate that four years of grief hasn't dulled that part of him at all.

"I don't know what to tell you," I say. "I don't remember my life before two days ago. Since then I've just been trying to survive whatever's left of it."

Something shifts in his face. Not quite soft, but close to it. Something almost like guilt. He turns away, walks to the window, stares down at the courtyard.

"I lost someone," he says, voice low and rough. "Four years ago. Someone I trusted more than anyone in this world. And she betrayed that trust in the worst way there is."

My chest hurts so bad I can barely breathe.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I don't need your sympathy." Sharp again, turning back to face me. "I need to understand why a stranger with no history walks into my territory smelling like—" He stops. Jaw tight.

"Smelling like what?"

He doesn't answer. Just stares at me, something raw flashing behind his eyes for a second before he shuts it down completely.

"You'll stay in the guest wing," he says, all business now, all Alpha again. "Under guard. Until I decide what to do with you."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"You're a stranger who climbed out of a grave with no history and no proof of a single thing you've told me," he says. "Call it whatever helps you sleep."

The words sting more than they should, considering he has no idea who he's actually talking to. I nod once and swallow everything else I want to say. Everything I can't say yet.

He goes to the door and calls the guard back in. "Take her to the guest wing. Post someone outside her door at all times."

"Yes, Alpha."

They lead me out, and I glance back once. He's still watching me go, the same unreadable look on his face, like he's trying to solve something he doesn't even know is a puzzle yet.

They walk me down a hallway I know by heart, past a door I recognize right away even after four years. The room that used to be mine, back when I had a right to walk these halls without anybody watching.

The guard stops at the guest wing door next to it and pushes it open. I step inside and find it's already got someone in it.

A woman stands by the window. Arms crossed, sharp eyes, dark hair pulled back tight. Watching me with a look I can't quite read.

"So," she says, voice smooth as silk wrapped around a blade. "You're the ghost everyone's whispering about.”