Chapter 6

ELARA'S POV

I can't sleep.

Three hours. Maybe four. The ceiling hasn't changed. Same crack in the plaster. Same shadow from the curtain.

Beside me, Kael breathes slowly and evenly. His arm is heavy across my ribs, possessive even in sleep. I should be used to it by now.

I'm not used to anything anymore.

Ronan's mouth. Ronan's hands. The way he said my name like he'd been saving it for ten years.

I press my palm flat against my chest, like I can physically push the thought down. It doesn't work.

I shift. Just a little. Just enough to ease the tension in my shoulder.

"Mmm." Kael stirs. His grip tightens slightly. "Are you awake?"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

He turns toward me, eyes half-open, face soft with sleep. "What is it, baby?"

I hesitate. Not because I'm calculating—not entirely. The question caught me off guard. What is it?

"I don't know." My voice comes out smaller than I intended. "Just… thinking."

"At four in the morning?"

I almost smile. "Apparently."

He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. The moonlight catches the side of his face. Handsome. Concerned. If I didn't know what his hands had done, I might believe this was real.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

I look away. "The future. It feels… bleak lately."

A pause. His brow furrows. "Why would you say that?"

"I don't know." I pull the sheet up slightly, buying time. "Everything just feels heavy. The killings. The uncertainty. This tracker you hired—"

"Ronan?"

"Ronan." I let the name sit on my tongue. "You met with him. What did he say?"

Kael exhales, settling back against the pillow. "We haven't spoken since the initial meeting. He's working. I don't want to hover."

"So you just… wait?"

"For now." He glances at me. "Why? Are you worried?"

Yes. That I'll kiss him again. That he'll betray me. That he won't. That this fragile, stupid hope in my chest will either kill me or save me.

"I just want this over with," I say. "The killer out there. Everyone is on edge. The boys are scared."

Kael's expression softens. "Zev told me he couldn't sleep earlier."

"He waited up for me." I swallow. "Said he was scared I got lost."

"See?" Kael reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is tender. It makes my skin prickle. "This is why I can't lose you. Not just for me. For them."

I don't respond to that. I can't.

"So," I say instead, "this tracker. Do you trust him?"

Kael considers it. "He's got the best reputation in five territories. Never failed a contract. His success rate is… unnerving, actually."

"But do you trust him?"

A longer pause. "I trust that he wants to get paid," he says finally. "And I'm paying him very, very well. That's enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Enough to know he'll do the job." Kael's voice is calm, practical. "He doesn't have a pack. No political ties. No reason to sabotage this. He's a weapon, and I pointed him at the target. Now we wait."

I let that sit.

"So if he doesn't find anything," I say slowly, "what's the next step?"

Kael doesn't answer immediately. His thumb traces absent circles on my shoulder.

"Then we find another way," he says. "There's always another way."

Not for you, I think. Eventually, I will be the last way left.

But I just nod, feigning reassurance. "Okay."

"Okay?" He tilts his head, a ghost of a smile. "That's it? No cross-examination? No three more follow-up questions?"

I almost laughed. Almost genuinely. "I'm tired, Kael."

"Liar." But he's smiling now, settling back down. His arm finds its way around me again, pulling me into the familiar curve of his body. "You're always cross-examining me. It's one of your charms."

"One of them?"

"Mmm." His voice dropping, humor seeping in. "You have many charms, Elara. You just don't like admitting I've noticed them.’

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Small. Surprised. I turn my face into the pillow, hiding.

"See?" His voice is warm, teasing. "There it is."

"There's nothing." But I'm smiling. I can feel it against the fabric.

His hand finds my chin, turns me back toward him. His face is close now. Soft in the dark. His thumb brushes my lower lip.

"Elara."

I know what he wants. The wife in me—the one who has spent years learning every role he needs—already leans toward him.

But I say it anyway. "I think my breath is—"

He laughs, low and quiet. "You've been married to me for how many years? And you think I care about that now?"

Then his mouth is on mine.

It's not Ronan. It's not desperate or hungry or years of grief pouring through skin. It's familiar. Practiced. The way two people move together when they've done it a hundred times before.

I don't fight it. I don't think about fighting it. The wife takes over, and she knows this dance.

His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer. I let him. I even want him, in the way a body responds to being touched. It's not love. It's not even passion, not really. It's just… habit. Muscle memory.

He kisses my throat. I tilt my head. He pulls the silk aside. I arch into him.

It's good. It's always been good, physically. He's attentive, generous. He knows exactly where to touch me to make me sigh.

But I don't close my eyes.

And when it's over, when he's catching his breath against my shoulder and murmuring something soft against my skin, I stare at the ceiling.

He gets up after a moment. "I need to wash." His thumb strokes my cheek. "Stay. I'll be right back."

I nod. Smile. The perfect wife.

The bathroom door clicks shut. Water runs.

And I lie there, naked and cooling, and think about a kiss that happened hours ago.

Ronan didn't ask. He didn't hesitate. And when my mouth took his, he responded like he'd been drowning for years and I was air.

There was nothing practiced about it. Nothing gentle. Just teeth and blood and a sound he made—half growl, half broken thing—that I feel echoing in my chest even now.

This—what just happened with Kael—this is choreography. I know every step. I know when to sigh, when to arch, when to say his name in that breathy way he likes. It's a performance. Beautiful, skilled, and hollow.

But with Ronan, I wasn't performing. I wasn't thinking. I just… kissed him . Like my body remembered something my mind will never forget.

The water stops.

I close my eyes.

When Kael returns, I'm already asleep. Or maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just very, very good at pretending.

---

Breakfast is almost boring in its normalcy.

Lucan complains about his porridge. Zev kicks his brother under the table. Kael reads through reports between bites of toast, one hand wrapped around his coffee, the other periodically reaching over to rest on my thigh beneath the tablecloth.

I sip my tea and play my part.

The door opens. Too fast. One of the junior guards, breathless, skids to a halt at the edge of the dining room.

Kael looks up, annoyed. "This better be important."

"Someone's here to see you, Alpha."

"Who?"

The guard hesitates. Glances at me. "The tracker. Ronan."

My teacup doesn't shake. My face doesn't change. That's years of practice not betraying my emotions.

Kael frowns. "Now? Did he say why?"

"No, sir. Just said he needs to ask a couple of questions. Said he won't take much of your time."

Kael exhales, setting down his coffee. "Fine. Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes."

The guard bows and retreats.

I set my teacown down carefully. "What do you think he needs?"

"I don't know." Kael reaches for his toast again, unbothered. "Probably just additional context. Details about the victims. Something to narrow the search."

"Or," I say lightly, "maybe he found something. Maybe he knows who the killer is."

Kael laughs. Actually laughs.

"Elara." He shakes his head, still amused. "This killer has been operating for months. Perfect strikes, no witnesses, no evidence. And you think this man shows up one morning and just—what? Announces he solved it overnight?"

You never know, I think. Sometimes the thing you've been hunting for months is sitting right beside you.

But I just shrug. "You're right. Probably just questions."

"Probably." He finishes his coffee, pushes back from the table. Leans over to kiss my forehead. "I'll be back before you finish your tea."

I watch him go.

The door closes behind him.

Lucan is still complaining about his porridge. Zev is drawing patterns in his oatmeal with his spoon.

I take another sip of tea. Slow. Deliberate.

Then I finish my breakfast. Every bite. Every sip. I take my time.

When I stand, my children don't look up. When I walk to the kitchen, the servants don't question.

And when my fingers close around the handle of the knife, it feels needed.

I tracked them down to where they were, the knife hidden in my garment.

I don't knock.

The door swings open and both men look up. Kael, seated behind his desk. Ronan, standing across from him. Maps and reports spread between them like a battlefield.

My husband smiles. "Darling. Everything okay?"

I make myself look at him first. Steady. Soft. The concerned wife checking in.

"Fine. I just—" My gaze drifts. Just a flicker. Less than a second.

Ronan's eyes meet mine.

I look back at Kael. "How's it going?"

"Fine, my dear." He reaches for me, pulls me close, tucks me against his side. His hand settles on my hip. Proprietary. Unaware. "Actually, let me introduce you. This is Ronan, the tracker I told you about."

Kael gestures. Ronan extends his hand.

I take it.

"Elara," my husband says. "My wife."

Ronan's grip is steady. Warm. His face reveals nothing.

"Pleasure," he says.

"And yours." I smile. Polite. Distant. A stranger's smile.

We release.

Ronan turns back to Kael. "As I was saying—the third victim. Was there anyone who might have held a grudge against him specifically?"

Kael answers. Something about pack disputes, territory lines, old debts. I hear the words but don't process them.

My hand rests in my lap. Beneath the folds of my garment, my fingers curl around the knife handle.

Any minute now. Any minute, one of you will say something that makes me draw it. One of you will give me a reason.

Ronan asks another question. Kael answers. The conversation flows around me like water around stone.

I watch Ronan's mouth move. Remember what it felt like against mine.

My grip tightens on the knife.

"And that's all I need." Ronan steps back, nodding once. "Thank you for your time, Alpha."

"Of course. Keep me updated."

Ronan turns toward the door. His gaze passes over me—one beat, two—then continues.

He's gone.

I exhale. I don't remember holding my breath.

Kael sinks back into his chair, already reaching for another report. "Well. That was a waste of time."

"Do you think he's close?" My voice is even. Curious. "To finding the killer?"

Kael snorts. "Honestly? I don't have much hope. Months of nothing, and now this man shows up asking questions I've already answered a dozen times." He shakes his head. "He might just be going through the motions."

I nod slowly. "So what now?"

"Now we wait. See what he comes back with." Kael picks up his pen. "If it's nothing in few week, I'll cut him loose and find another way."

I wait. Three breaths. Four.

"I need some air," I say. "I think I'll walk the gardens."

Kael doesn't look up. "Don't go far."

"I won't."

---

I don't go to the gardens.

I take the servants' corridor. The east stairwell. The kitchen entrance. The guards are changing shift; the gap is three seconds, maybe four.

It's enough.

I move fast but not frantic. Calculated. The knife is warm against my palm.

The estate gates. Another gap. Another breath held.

Then I'm through, and the forest swallows me whole.

I don't know where he parked. I don't know which direction he walked. I only know—

There. A figure, almost swallowed by trees, heading toward the main road.

"Ronan."

He stops. Turns.

I don't slow down. I don't think. I close the distance between us and grab his collar, dragging him off the path, behind the thick trunk of an old oak.

My knife is at his throat before he can speak.

"What," I whisper, "are you looking for here?"

He doesn't move. Doesn't try to push me away. His eyes hold mine, steady.

"I just came to see you."

The blade presses closer. A thin line of red wells up.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have." His voice is low, rough. "I couldn't stay away. Not after last night. I wanted to confirm you are real, the last night wasn't a figment of my imagination."

My hand shakes. Just slightly. I hate it.

"You risked everything," I say. "My cover. Your life. The entire plan. For what? A look? A handshake?"

"For you."

I should cut him. I should walk away. I should do a lot of things.

Instead, I lower the knife.

"You can't do that again," I say. "If he suspects—"

"He won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know I couldn't stay away."

We stand there, breathing the same air. His blood on my blade.

"Leave" I say.

He nods once.

I put the knife away.

Then I turn and walk back toward the estate. Back toward my husband. Back toward the life I've been building without him.

I don't look behind me.

I don't need to. I can feel his gaze on my back the whole way.