Chapter Two: The Alpha’s Warning

Silas’ POV

The Red Moon compound didn’t sleep. Even at dawn, boots thudded against dirt paths, warriors trained until their muscles bled, and commands cracked like whips in the air.

Silas carried crates from one end of the yard to the other, each heavier than the last. It was grunt work. A test. He passed it without complaint, without faltering. Without revealing who he truly was.

But beneath the sweat and dust, he was burning.

Not from labor.

From the way Ethan had looked at him the night before.

Not like prey.

Not like a threat.

Like something he didn’t want to want.

Silas knew the signs. He’d read them in others. He’d faked them, too. But this…this wasn't faked. Not from Ethan.

And that scared him more than being caught.

By midday, Arden Torro found him.

The Beta didn’t speak when he arrived, just stared, arms folded, face unreadable. Silas lowered the last crate and wiped his hands on his trousers.

“Am I doing it wrong?” he asked, feigning naivety.

“No.” Arden’s voice was smooth. Too smooth. “You’re doing everything right. That’s the problem.”

Silas blinked. “Meaning?”

“Meaning the Alpha doesn’t trust easy. And I don’t trust perfect.”

Silas smiled, tilting his head just slightly. “Good. I’m far from perfect.”

Arden’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’ll see.”

He turned and walked off, just as a low growl rolled from behind.

Silas stiffened.

Ethan.

He hadn’t noticed the Alpha approach. That wasn’t like him.

And yet, there he was arms folded, shadow stretched long across the courtyard, gaze hard and hungry.

“Come,” Ethan said.

Not a request.

Silas followed.

The Alpha’s office sat in the heart of the compound room built of stone, steel, and silence. No windows. Just a single desk, and the scent of ash and cedar.

Ethan didn’t sit. He stood near the center, back to Silas, hands behind his back.

“You’ve only been here a day,” Ethan began, voice low and steady, “and already half my wolves either want to fight you… or f*** you.”

Silas arched his brow. “That sounds like a pack problem.”

Ethan turned, slowly. “Or maybe it’s a you problem.”

Silas stood still, heart thudding a little too loud.

Ethan stepped closer. His eyes, that molten red, locked on him like fire searching for oxygen.

“You’re hiding something.”

Silas kept his face blank. “Aren’t we all?”

“Some things are worth hiding,” Ethan murmured. “Others get people killed.”

He moved like a shadow suddenly close, circling. Silas didn’t flinch.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Ethan said.

“Should I be?”

Ethan’s hand moved to Silas’ jawhovering. Not touching. Barely a breath away. His voice dropped lower.

“Most are.”

Silas didn’t move. His pulse betrayed him, fluttering traitorously at his neck.

Ethan noticed. Smirked. The tip of his thumb finally brushed against Silas’s skinlight, fleeting, electric.

“I don’t like games,” the Alpha whispered.

Silas swallowed. “Then don’t play them.”

Their eyes met and for a second, the room wasn’t cold stone anymore. It was heat. Pressure. Something trembling on the edge of breaking.

Then

The door slammed open.

Noah.

Dressed sharp, lips curled in disdain, arms crossed like a shield.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, voice dry, “but some of us are still managing pack affairs.”

Ethan stepped back. Just slightly. Silas exhaled.

Noah’s eyes flicked between them. Cold calculation blooming like a storm.

“I see the stray’s settling in,” he added, tone barbed.

“His name is Silas,” Ethan said too quickly.

Silas didn’t miss the way Noah’s jaw clenched.

So this was the game now. Not just survival. Not just lies.

But the eyes of two powerful men locked on him for very different reasons.

That night, Silas sat alone on the barracks rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. The stars were sharp tonight. The air colder than before.

He thought of his father.

Of Marcus.

Of Ethan’s thumb grazing his jaw.

He didn’t know which memory cut deeper.

His mission was clear. Infiltrate. Disarm. Destroy.

But there was no strategy for the way Ethan looked at him like a question he wasn’t ready to answer. No training that prepared him for the ache between loyalty and longing.

The rooftop door creaked behind him.

He didn’t turn.

He didn’t need to.

Ethan sat beside him in silence. Close, but not touching.

“I knew you’d be up here,” Ethan said after a moment.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what people do when they’re trying not to run.”

Silas stared ahead. “And what do people do when they want to?”

Ethan didn’t answer.

Instead, after a long beat, he said quietly, “I don’t know who you are. But something in me, something I can’t explain, wants to protect you.”

Silas’ throat tightened.

He stood, boots scraping against the rooftop tiles.

And without looking back, he said, “Then don’t look too close. You might change your mind.”

Because if Ethan ever found out who he really was

no instinct in the world would be strong enough to save them both.