Chapter Eighteen: The Prince's revisit

The air in the pack house crackled with a nervous energy. It was as if a lightning storm was brewing, unseen but undeniably present. Kaelen's revisit had achieved the impossible: it had united Damon's pack in a bizarre charade of civility towards Elara. The very wolves who had previously sneered at her, whispering insults behind their cupped hands, now showered her with saccharine compliments.

"Elara, that color truly suits you," a female omega cooed, eyes darting towards Kaelen as she spoke. It was Maya, the one who had once tripped Elara in the hallway, causing her to spill a tray of food.

"Your hair looks particularly lovely today, Elara," another chimed in, this time it was Beta Ray, the pack's second in command. Each compliment felt like a poisoned dart, dripping with ulterior motives. They were all desperate to bask in the reflected glory of Kaelen's favor, hoping some of it would rub off on them.

Elara felt a wave of nausea, stronger than the morning sickness that had plagued her these past months. The hypocrisy was suffocating. Damon, standing rigid beside her, even managed a tight-lipped smile in her direction. It was a terrifying sight, like seeing a predator feigning affection.

"Elara has always had a keen eye for aesthetics," Damon said, his voice strained. "Perhaps she can offer her insight on the preliminary designs."

Elara bit back a sarcastic retort. Insight? He usually dismissed her opinions as worthless drivel. But Kaelen was watching, his eyes sharp and observant, and Elara knew she had to play along.

"Thank you, Damon," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She met Kaelen's gaze, finding a flicker of amusement there. He saw through the charade, of course. He saw everything.

Kaelen cleared his throat, his presence immediately silencing the sycophantic wolves. "Damon," he said, his voice carrying the authority of a king, "I've reviewed the sample designs you provided. They're impressive, certainly, but I believe a more in-depth discussion is necessary. Perhaps we could retire to your office?"

Damon visibly puffed up with pride. "Of course, Your Highness. Right this way." He cast a possessive glance at Elara before leading Kaelen towards a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.

As Damon ushered Kaelen into the office, the pack members resumed their unsettling performance, like wind-up toys set on repeat. Elara found herself cornered by Maya and Beta Ray, their false smiles plastered on their faces.

"Elara, darling, you must be so proud of Damon," Maya gushed. "Securing a royal contract is such a prestigious achievement."

"Indeed," Beta Ray added, his eyes glinting with undisguised envy. "The entire pack will benefit from this."

Elara felt trapped, suffocated by their insincerity. She needed to escape, to breathe. "Excuse me," she mumbled, placing a hand on her swollen abdomen. "I'm feeling a bit lightheaded. I think I need to lie down."

They reluctantly parted, their disappointment evident. Elara slipped away, moving towards the back of the house, towards the relative peace of the overgrown garden.

She found a secluded bench beneath a sprawling willow tree and sank onto it, her body aching with fatigue. The cool air against her skin was a welcome relief. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise, the pretense, the suffocating pressure of the pack.

A few moments later, the distinct sound of footsteps on the gravel path made her open her eyes. Kaelen stood before her, his expression unreadable.

"They are quite persistent," he observed, gesturing vaguely towards the pack house. "Like flies drawn to honey."

Elara managed a weak smile. "You have no idea."

Kaelen sat beside her on the bench, leaving a comfortable space between them. "Damon is... eager," he said, choosing his words carefully. "He's already drawing up contract drafts. He seems convinced that the pack's prosperity hinges on this project."

"He's right," Elara said quietly. "Our pack is in dire need of funds. Damon's architecture firm is the only thing keeping it afloat, and the said firm isn't doing too well either, it's in a couple of debts not too bad but not good too, it's really far from the image Damon paints it to be. He even has to throw party after party to keep people convinced his firm is doing well."

"And what about you, Elara?" Kaelen asked, his voice soft. "What about your needs, your desires?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "My needs are irrelevant."

Kaelen reached out and gently took her hand in his. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a forbidden thrill that both terrified and excited her. "They are far from irrelevant to me," he said, his voice husky.

Elara finally looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered. "If Damon finds us..."

"Damon is busy obsessing over blueprints and profit margins," Kaelen said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "He won't miss you for a while." He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "Elara," he said, his voice barely audible, "I need you to understand something. My intentions towards you are not... casual."

Her breath caught in her throat. "I don't understand," she stammered.

"I want you," he said, his gaze intense. "Not as a conquest, not as a pity project, but truly, genuinely you. I want to know your thoughts, your dreams, your fears. I want to be the one who makes you smile, the one who wipes away your tears. I want to be the man you deserve."

His words were like a seductive melody, a forbidden song that resonated deep within her soul. It was a dream, a dangerous, alluring dream she desperately wanted to believe. But reality was a harsh mistress, and Elara knew that dreams rarely came true.

"You can't," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm mated. I'm pregnant. You're a prince. It's impossible."

Kaelen cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. "Impossible is just a word," he said, his voice full of conviction. "And I don't believe in it. I know it won't be easy, Elara. But i am willing to fight for you. To fight for us. But only if you want me to."

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above hers. "Tell me to leave, Elara," he whispered. "Tell me you don't feel anything for me, and I'll walk away. I'll never bother you again."

Elara closed her eyes, her mind reeling. Every cell in her body screamed for her to kiss him, to surrender to the longing that had been building within her since the moment they met. But fear held her back, fear of the consequences, fear of the pain that inevitably awaited her.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken desires and unspoken fears. Elara could feel his breath on her lips, the heat radiating from his body. The scent of pine and cedar filled her nostrils, intoxicating her senses.

This is too much for her in everyway; too overwhelming, too scary, and too forbidden.

Can she really afford this entanglement?