The gate

The gate

The border gate was two miles away, but in these heels it felt like twenty.

My midnight-blue gown caught on thorns and ripped. I didn’t care.

The silver wolf sigils stitched into the bodice were supposed to make me look regal. Tonight they looked like scars in the dark, catching the moonlight like shards of broken glass.

Behind me, the palace was still cheering.

“Risa! Risa! Risa!”

The chant chased me through the trees, louder than the wind.

The name cut me open.

Risa. The girl I used to braid hair for. The girl I gave my last piece of bread to when we were eight.

She took my family.

She took my mate.

She took my crown.

My lungs burned. The corset dug into my ribs until I couldn’t breathe. One heel snapped clean off on a root and I kicked the other one away. Barefoot was better. Faster.

I ran until the trees thinned and the wards of the border buzzed against my skin like static. Cold air sliced my bare legs. Thorns tore into the soles of my feet, but physical pain was nothing compared to the hole in my chest. The smell of pine and rain filled my nose and made me think of childhood nights before everything went wrong.

Then headlights.

“Raven!”

His voice tore through the dark like a lifeline thrown into deep water.

Zayn.

His black SUV skidded to a stop, tires spitting dirt. The doors flew open before the engine even died.

I ran toward him, my heart in my throat, the ruined gown tangling around my legs.

I was two steps from him when my ankle twisted.

I fell.

But I didn’t hit the ground.

Strong arms caught me before I could. Zayn.

He smelled like pine, leather, and something I hadn’t felt in seven years: safety.

“Got you,” he murmured against my hair. His voice was low, furious, and relieved all at once. Like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t ask why I was wearing a Luna gown with torn hems and bleeding feet.

He just swept me up, carried me to the passenger seat, and buckled me in like I was something fragile. Something worth protecting.

The second the door shut, he floored it.

The palace lights shrank behind us. The cheering faded into nothing.

And for the first time in my life, I was running toward something instead of away from it.

My hands shook in my lap. Zayn noticed. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over and took one of my hands in his. His palm was warm. Calloused. Steady. The kind of hand that could break a man’s jaw and then turn around and make soup.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly.

I stared at our joined hands. At the silver embroidery on my ruined gown, now stained with dirt and blood.

Safe.

I wasn’t sure I remembered what that word felt like.

The drive to Midnight Park was silent except for the hum of the engine and my shaky breathing. Every few minutes Zayn would squeeze my hand, like he was checking I was still there. Like he thought I might disappear.

When we pulled through the gates of Midnight Park, the guards didn’t even question us. They bowed.

“Alpha,” they said, and stepped aside.

Inside, Zayn carried me straight to the guest wing. He set me down on a bed that smelled like clean sheets and cedar. A healer came, cleaned my feet, wrapped them in soft bandages. Zayn stayed the whole time, sitting in a chair beside me, watching like I might bolt.

I didn’t.

For the first time in years, I didn’t have to run.

Three months later.

The sweet smell of roses filled my nostrils as I woke up. Zayn had roses delivered to my room every morning. Said the scent helped with healing.

At first I thought he was doing it out of pity. Or to prove he was better than Jaxon.

I was wrong.

He never stopped coming to my room in the mornings and evenings.

He never stopped taking me out to watch the stars from the roof of the Alpha house.

He never stopped carving out time between council meetings just to check on me.

He never stopped feeding me — something Jaxon would’ve called “not Alpha-like.”

I used to think Alphas had to be cold. Distant. Too busy with the pack to care.

Then I met Zayn.

He was kind. Patient. Compassionate.

And somehow, that didn’t make him weak. It made him the most respected Alpha in the entire territory.

The door opened and he walked in, two maids trailing behind him with large trays of food.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “How was your night?”

He looked unfair in the morning. Black sleep pants, bare chest, hair messy, golden eyes sharp even when he was tired. I had to force myself not to stare.

“I don’t know if ‘fine’ is the word,” I said honestly. “But I feel better here.”

“You will be fine,” he said. He grabbed a chair from my vanity and dragged it to the bed. “Come have breakfast.”

He waved the maids over. They set the table.

“Your Majesty, we can feed her—” one started.

“I’ve got it,” Zayn cut in. “Leave us.”

They bowed and left. His scent hit me then — cedar and something dark and clean. It made my chest tighten. Made Ember perk up inside me.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth or bathed yet,” I said quickly.

“You can do that after,” he said. “Go brush. I’ll wait.”

“Zayn, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His eyes met mine. “I’ll be here until I’m sure you’re okay.”

“What about council meetings?”

“They can wait.”

“And if they can’t?”

“Then they’ll wait longer.”

I stared at him. No one had ever chosen me over duty before.

I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face. When I came out, he was still there, leaning back in the chair like he had all the time in the world.

I reached for a plate. He stopped me.

“Not again,” I said.

“Just let me,” he said simply.

“You keep stopping the maids from serving me, and you won’t let me feed myself.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“But you look like one,” he said, and winked. “Mine.”

My cheeks went hot.

Ember purred in my head. _“He’s so cute. Tell him.”_

“Shut up,” I told her.

Zayn tilted his head. “Who are you talking to?”

“My wolf. She has terrible taste.”

He laughed. The sound did something dangerous to my heart.

I picked at the blanket. “How do I prove to you that I’m okay? That I can take care of myself?”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said softly. “I told you I’d always be here. This is part of it.”

God. How had I rejected this man?

A beta, choosing another Alpha over him. Not just any Alpha. The feared Alpha of Midnight Park. The one who ruled with an iron fist outside these walls and was gentle with me behind closed doors. What was I thinking?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, catching the look on my face.

I jolted. “Nothing.”

“You looked like you were about to cry.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize.” He reached out, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Can I feed you now, Your Royal Majesty?”

I smiled, even though it hurt. “As it pleases your Highness.”

He smiled back. That slow, devastating smile that made my stomach flip.

He fed me spoonful by spoonful. Chicken and rice. Warm bread. Fruit.

Halfway through, a bit of jam got on the corner of my mouth. He set the spoon down and reached out, wiping it away with his thumb. His touch lingered a second too long.

His scent was everywhere. Filling my lungs.

And suddenly there was a pull in my chest. A magnetic, impossible pull. Like my body wanted to lean into him. Like Ember wanted to brush against his wolf.