The stray

Kael’s POV

“She’s not what I expected, Alpha. You’ll want to see this for yourself.” That’s the first thing Rowan said to me tonight. No formalities, no elaborate briefing—just those exact words. Now here I am, standing on the edge of my balcony, watching the final rounds of combat play out under the moon’s crooked smile. The yard is alive with snarls, sweat, and steel. Warriors spar with bone-snapping precision, their wolves crouched low and feral in the dirt. We train at night—always have. It’s tradition. And in Nightwalker Pack, tradition isn’t just respected. It’s enforced. Reputation is our currency. Fear is the language we speak fluently. I down the last of my tequila, the bite of it hardly registering anymore. My eyes scan the perimeter of the training grounds, but they don’t land on what I’m looking for. Where the hell is Rowan? He left nearly an hour ago to respond to an intruder alert. The western border’s been acting up lately—rogues sniffing around, scouts from rival packs pretending to be lost. Nothing surprises me anymore. But what unsettles me is Rowan’s silence. He always checks in. Always. And that silence? That’s what’s got my instincts buzzing. When you build an empire from ash and blood like I did, you don’t ignore your gut. You listen to it. Because empires fall the moment their kings start thinking they’re invincible. My father made that mistake. I watched him die for it. “Alpha.” One of the patrols steps onto the balcony, bowing slightly. I turn to him, already reading the tension in his posture. “Report.” “Beta Rowan’s returned.” “And?” “We’ve captured the intruder.” I nod once. “Where is she?” “She’s being held downstairs, sir. Beta Rowan said it’s… best if you see for yourself.” There it is again—that hesitation. That careful choice of words. It’s enough to make me toss my empty glass into the night air and head for the stairs. The hallway leading to the holding room is quiet. Too quiet. As I enter the underground cell, the familiar chill seeps into my bones. The room’s dimly lit, the scent of iron and damp stone thick in the air. Rowan leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She put up a bit of a fight,” he says, nodding toward the figure tied to the chair. “But she didn’t get far.” The girl’s body is slumped forward, her wrists bound, ankles chained, a black cloth still draped over her head. “She a rogue?” I ask, stepping closer. “Nope.” “Spy?” “Doesn’t fit the profile.” I narrow my eyes. “Then what the hell is she?” Rowan shrugs. “That’s why I called you.” He gives a nod, and one of the guards steps forward, ripping the cloth from her head. And there she is. Her face is streaked with dirt, bruises blooming beneath her eyes, her hair tangled and clinging to her damp cheeks. But it’s her eyes that stop me cold. Aria. Not just her name—I don’t even know that yet—but her eyes. Bright and clear and terrified. Like fire trapped in glass. She tries to pull back as I approach, her breathing quick and shallow behind the cloth gag. There’s blood at the corner of her mouth, dried and flaking. Something twists in my chest. I ignore it. I crouch in front of her, close enough to smell fear and iron on her skin. I watch her flinch when I reach for her gag, but I pull it down anyway, gently. She gasps softly, lips trembling. But she doesn’t speak. “What’s your name?” My voice is lower than usual—rough, but not harsh. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her chin quivers. She swallows. “A-Aria,” she stammers finally. “Aria Morven.” I nod slowly. The name means nothing to me yet. But her presence? It already does. “Aria,” I repeat, tasting it on my tongue. “Just like your eyes.” She doesn’t respond. Just blinks, confused, scared, maybe even humiliated. I should care less than I do. But I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. She’s broken. I can see that. But not hollow. There’s something else under all that fear. Something raw. Untamed. Rowan’s voice cuts in. “She’s not chipped. No ID, no scent trail. And she crossed our border alone, mid-shift.” “She say why?” “She hasn’t said much. I figured she’d talk to you.” I stand and take a step back, folding my arms. Aria stays silent. “You’re either the bravest Omega I’ve ever seen,” I murmur, “or the stupidest.” “I didn’t mean to trespass,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” “Yet here you are,” I reply evenly. Her lips tremble. “Please don’t kill me.” I don’t answer. Rowan lifts a brow at me, clearly waiting on my call. I study her for another moment. “We’ll take her to the infirmary,” I say finally. Rowan’s brow shoots up. “What?” “She’s half-dead. I don’t interrogate corpses.” “She’s a stranger—” “She’s mine for now. That’s all anyone needs to know.” I turn to Aria, who’s staring at me like she doesn’t know whether to cry or beg. “Rest. You’ll need it for what comes next.”