Semua Bab A Different Kind of Alpha: Blood Oath: Bab 141 - Bab 150

KieranThe ledger on the table is open to a page filled with red ink.It looks like blood.I stare at the numbers, watching them swim in the harsh afternoon light pouring through the windows.The air in the room is stale, smelling of expensive wool, and the nervous sweat of the three men sitting across from me.“The deficit is... substantial, Alpha,” Matthew says.Matthew is the Guildmaster of the Merchants. He is a man made of soft curves and velvet, with a beard oiled to a shine and hands that have never held anything heavier than a coin purse. Usually, he is obsequious, eager to please the Keep to ensure his caravans get priority on the guarded roads.Today, he is not obsequious. He is stiff and combative.“Twelve percent drop in silver exports,” I read aloud, my voice flat. “And a twenty percent drop in incoming grain shipments from the Southern Clans.”“Winter is coming, Alpha,” Matthew says, dabbing his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “The passes are narrowing.”“The passes

KieranAlexei’s sitting in the chair by the hearth, staring at the flames, but he isn’t seeing them.I know this because a log pops, sending a shower of bright orange sparks spitting onto the stone hearth, and Alexei doesn’t even blink. He just sits there, one hand resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers drumming a silent, erratic rhythm against the leather.Physically he’s in the room. I can smell him. I can see the rise and fall of his chest.But he isn’t here.He’s retreated somewhere deep inside himself, disappearing behind the green eyes that usually track my every movement. He’s been like this ever since I came out of my office earlier. He was fine in the morning, and then, when I saw him again, he was this hollowed-out version of the man I love.It terrifies me more than the riots. It terrifies me more than the red ink in the ledgers.I can fight a riot. I can fight a deficit. I cannot fight this silence. It feels like he’s saying goodbye, even though he hasn’t moved an

Kieran“If you touch that bandage one more time, I’m going to tie your hands behind your back. And I won’t use the silk ties. I’ll use the rough rope from the stables.”I freeze, my index finger hovering a millimeter from the itchy, throbbing stitches on my left cheek.I glare at Alexei in the mirror. He’s leaning against the heavy oak wardrobe, arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too smug for a man who is currently the subject of a pack-wide witch hunt. He’s wearing his casual leathers, the ones that fit him like a second skin, and the sunlight catching his wavy blonde hair makes him look irritatingly at ease.“It itches,” I say, lowering my hand with as much dignity as I can muster, which isn’t much. “And it feels tight. I think you pulled the knots too hard. It feels like you have a vendetta against my face.”“I have a vendetta against you moving while I’m holding a needle an inch from your eye,” Alexei corrects. “And it looks fine. Dashing, even. Very ‘rugged Alpha.’ Th

KieranThe report on my desk is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.It isn’t a declaration of peace, a treaty with a rival clan, or a newly discovered vein of silver in the western mines. It’s a guard rotation log for the last twelve hours. And under the column titled Incidents, there is a single, glorious word written in Marcus’s heavy, impatient scrawl. None.No angry mobs descending on the gates. No painted shields discovered in the barracks. No disrespectful stable boys. No slaughtered livestock.Just silence.The Keep is quiet. The wind outside has died down, leaving the night crisp and still. It feels as though the entire world has finally taken a breath after holding it for a week.I pour two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal tumbler. The liquid catches the firelight, glowing like molten gold. I swirl it, watching the legs run down the glass, and for the first time in days, I feel light. I feel like the mood in Silvercrest is finally returning to normal.“You’re sm

AlexeiThe sun is rude.That is my first thought as a beam of aggressive, unfiltered light hits me directly in the eyelid. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut, and try to roll over.I can’t. I’m pinned.There is a weight across my chest that feels suspiciously like a very contented, fairly heavy Alpha.Kieran is sprawled on top of me, his face buried in the crook of my neck, one leg thrown over my thighs, and his arm clamped around my waist like a vice. He is dead to the world.I open one eye, squinting against the glare.The room is a disaster zone. The mirror in the corner is still fogged and streaked. My shirt is on the lampshade. One of Kieran’s boots is on the mantlepiece, though I have absolutely no memory of how it got there. The sheets are tangled around our legs in a complex knot that would baffle a sailor.It looks like a hurricane hit this room. And looking at the sleeping man on top of me, I suppose one did.I shift slightly, trying to restore circulation to my left arm.Kiera