THE SAME EYES

Tyra's POV

I could still feel the ghost of Osric's palm on my bare back, and it was ruining my concentration.

I had been sitting at the desk in the private study since noon, surrounded by research files and printouts I had spread out like a wall between me and the rest of the world. 

I had hoped the quiet would help me think, but it didn't. My laptop was open to a dataset I had read the same line four times.

Every time I looked at the numbers on the screen, my mind slid straight back to last night. I saw the dance, the way the room had melted away, and the heat that had rushed through my veins until I thought my whole body would catch fire. 

God, just remembering the way his thigh had felt sliding between mine was driving me crazy. 

The warmth that had pooled low in my belly when I saw his eyes dropping to my lips and his head lowering toward mine... holy shit.

If Alaric hadn't stepped between us when he did, Osric would have kissed me in front of every pack in the region.

And I would have let him.

I let out a groan and dropped my forehead onto the cool surface of the desk.

All my life, I had heard people talk about the mate pull like it was some sacred, magical force. 

My scientific mind had always dismissed it as a romanticized explanation for intense chemical attraction, nothing more than pheromones, dopamine, and wishful thinking dressed up in moonlight. 

If anyone had told me that someone as logical and unromantic as me could lose herself in a man's eyes in the middle of a crowded ballroom, I would have laughed in their face.

Yet here I was, a woman with three degrees, unable to read a simple datasheet because I couldn't stop thinking about the way my stepbrother's hand had felt on my body.

I picked up my phone when it buzzed on the desk. It was a text from Magnus. The third one that morning.

Magnus: Breakfast was sooo lonely without you. Let’s have lunch together, please. I promise not to mention your family's soap opera drama.

A reluctant smile tugged at my lips, but no way was I ready to face him for now.

Me: Aww, that’s so sweet. But I’ll have to decline. I have to finish my data report and some paperwork. Sorry. 

I had just pulled the spreadsheet back up when a soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," I called, my voice hoarse from disuse.

A young omega stepped inside with a polite and hesitant smile on her face, carrying a folded envelope on a small silver tray.

“Good day, Lady Tyra,” she greeted, giving me a bow before I could stop her. 

I really hated the chaste system here.

"This was left for you at the front gate, ma'am," she continued softly, holding it out. "There was no sender's name on it."

"Thank you," I replied, taking it carefully from the tray despite the hair on the back of my neck prickling.

Before I could say another word, she practically ran out of the room. 

I turned the envelope over in my hands to see my full name written across the front in elegant, looping cursive. The handwriting was beautiful, and it was completely unfamiliar.

My fingers had started to tremble before I even opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of heavy cream paper, faintly scented with something metallic, like iron. There was only one line written on it, but it made my blood run cold.

You should have stayed away. Remember what happened to your father. The same eyes are still watching.

The paper slipped from my fingers and fluttered onto the desk.

For a long moment, I couldn't breathe. The world seemed to shrink down to the shape of those words, and the air in the room went thin.

My father's death was the one thing I never let myself touch. I had locked it away so deeply that even my therapist had needed two years to get me to say it out loud. 

And here was a stranger, mentioning it casually in pretty handwriting, like a line from a dinner invitation.

"The same eyes are still watching?" I whispered shakily to the empty room. "What the hell does that even mean?"

I shoved my chair back and stood, pacing the length of the study as I tried to stop my hands from shaking. My mind raced through every possibility. Was it a cruel prank or a warning? Was it the same person who had slipped the first note into my coat?

My hand drifted to my pocket, where that first note was still folded into its tight little square. I hadn't been able to make myself throw it away.

A soft sound behind me made me spin around.

The door creaked open again, without a knock this time, and Osric stepped inside.

He was dressed casually in dark slacks and a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his golden-brown hair was still damp from the rain. 

A small, hopeful smile was already on his lips, like he had been looking forward to seeing me all morning.

The smile died the moment he saw my face.

"Tyra?" he asked sharply, his whole body going still. "What's wrong?"

Because I didn't trust my voice, I just picked up the note from the desk and held it out to him.

"This was delivered just now," I said quietly.

He crossed the room in three long strides and took the paper from my hand. 

I watched his eyes skim the words. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and when he looked up at me again, there were flecks of amber burning in the blue of his eyes.

"Who sent this?" he demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

"There's no name," I replied, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Is it from someone inside the estate?" he asked.

I shook my head. "The girl who brought it said it was left at the front gate."

Osric lifted the paper to his nose and inhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Whatever he found made his frown deepen.

"All I can smell is the pack members who handled it," he muttered tightly. "And something else underneath, but it's faint." His fingers tightened around the paper. "I'll find out who did this, Ty."

"Don't," I said quickly, reaching for his arm. "Please. It's probably nothing. It's most likely someone in the pack playing a sick prank. They used to love sending me notes back then too."

Osric's head snapped up. "What?" he growled, the word coming out low and furious. "What notes? Why didn't you ever report them?"

I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "I was already nobody's favorite," I said quietly. "Reporting it would have only made things worse."

When I finally looked up, the expression on his face made my chest ache. Disbelief, sadness, and pure, protective fury on my behalf were flashing across it all at once, like he didn't know which one to feel first.

"You think someone mentions your father's death for no reason?" he asked softly.

My throat tightened. "I just don't want to turn it into a spectacle right now," I whispered. "Not during the inauguration."

"Ty—" he started.

"I just want some peace," I cut in, my voice cracking. "For once in my life, Osric, I just want a little peace."

Something in my voice made him stop.

His shoulders softened, and the fury drained slowly out of his face. Then he lifted his hand, gently, like he was afraid I might flinch, and brushed his thumb along my cheek.

"You've carried too much for too long," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "And I'm so sorry I never noticed what you were going through back then. I was a careless, selfish kid who only cared about parties and pretending everything was fine." His thumb traced slowly along my cheekbone. "I should have seen you, Tyra. I should have been there."

His touch burned softly against my skin, and my breath caught before I could stop it.

"Osric…" I whispered, and without even realizing it, I leaned into his palm.

A faint smile curved his lips as he cupped my face fully, his blue eyes searching mine like he was looking for permission.

The study seemed to shrink around us. The air grew heavy with that same electric awareness I had felt on the dance floor, and his scent filled my senses, pine and rain and warm skin, steady and grounding. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. His gaze dropped to my lips, and my fingers curled into the front of his shirt without my permission.

Then footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, heavy and familiar.

I jerked out of Osric's reach so fast I nearly stumbled into the desk, my cheeks burning, just as the door swung open.

Alaric stood in the doorway.

His dark eyes moved from my flushed face to Osric's hand, which was still half-raised in the air where my cheek had been, and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked, his voice cool but sharp with suspicion.