Semua Bab A Different Kind of Alpha: Blood Oath: Bab 41 - Bab 50

AlexeiKieran’s wrath hums in the air, alive and magnetic, and I’m drunk on it. He hasn't said a word to me in the three hours since we left the stables. He’s just a rigid, perfect, vibrating line of aristocratic rage on his sleek black mare. He’s staring straight ahead, his perfect jaw clenched, pretending I don't exist.He’s failing. Miserably. I’m a pretty intense presence to ignore.I can smell his anger. It’s a hot, sharp, almost bitter scent on the cold morning air, a fascinating contrast to the to the crisp, civilized scent that usually keeps his edges hidden.He’s furious about the stirrup. Furious that I touched him. Furious that I did it in front of his warriors, turning a simple equipment check into a blatant, public claim.My wolf, which has been pacing under my skin with a low, possessive growl ever since I saw those crossbow bolts, is purring for a change. Lately it only settles when I have my prince in my sights.I love seeing him like this. Wound up, flushed, and so f

AlexeiThe night is so cold it has a sound. A high, thin ringing in the ears, the sound of stone contracting and stars burning holes in the black sky. It’s a clean, honest cold. I prefer it to the suffocating, perfumed air of Silvercrest’s halls.Out here, you know exactly where the threats are.Beside me, Tarek shifts his weight for the tenth time in as many minutes, his armor scraping against the boulder we’re using for cover. He’s a terrible sentinel. He’s trying so hard to be silent that he’s overthinking every movement, making him twice as loud.“Stop fidgeting,” I hiss, not taking my eyes off the dark ridge opposite us. “You’re breathing like you just ran up the mountain. Relax. Listen.”Tarek freezes, his face a mask of pure, desperate concentration in the moonlight. “I don’t hear anything, Alpha Basov.”“Exactly,” I clip out. “Now keep it that way. And stop calling me Alpha. It’s weird.”“Yes, Al- Yes, sir. Alexei.” He nods, so eager to please he practically vibrates.I let it

Alexei The slip.The image of it is burned into the back of my eyelids. One second, Kieran was there, a stiff, proud, furious line of aristocratic grace against the grey sky. The next, he was just... gone. A heart-stopping void where he was supposed to be.I’ve been in a hundred fights. I’ve killed. I’ve been half-killed. I’ve never felt terror like that. It was a cold, absolute emptiness in my gut. The split second it took for my arm to find his waist felt like a lifetime.And he felt me tremble. I know he did. He felt the tremor that racked my entire body, the proof that my carefully constructed, cocky facade had shattered. He’d almost died. He’d almost been taken from me before I’d even had a chance to properly claim him. A-fucking-gain. He’s away from Vorlag and his scheming, but this isn’t exactly the safest place for him either. Locked in his bedroom, his body under mine, is the only place he should be. Safe. Loved. Cared for.The accidental touches and constant needling sudde

AlexeiWaiting is its own kind of war.The cold up here isn't just cold, it’s a living, malicious thing. It chews through armor, through wool, through skin, and settles right in your bones. It’s a patient cold, and it’s been our only companion for six agonizing hours.We lie on our bellies in the snow on the high ridge, a hundred yards above the tunnel mouth. The sun has bled out behind the western peaks, dragging all the light and warmth from the world. Now, there’s only the high, thin cry of the wind and a razor-thin sliver of a moon that casts everything in a pale, ghostly blue.Tarek is a shivering lump of misery to my left, his teeth chattering so loud I want to stuff a glove in his mouth. Marcus is a statue to my right, the only one of them, besides me, who seems to understand what stealth and patience actually means.And then there’s Kieran.He’s a statue of a different kind. He lies beside me, his fur-lined cloak pulled tight around him, his head resting on his arm. He hasn't

KieranThe world has been reduced to this. A tight, dark, suffocating space that smells of fur, cold, and him.Outside, the storm is a screaming banshee. In here, there’s only the sound of our breathing.My breaths are short, shallow, shuddering gasps. His are slow and steady.I’m rigid, a block of ice pressed against a furnace. The ‘survival’ part is easy to cling to. It’s a logical, clean excuse. My body is cold. His is hot. This is a practical necessity. It’s not a choice. Or an indulgence. Or some kind of surrender. It means nothing.I repeat this to myself, a silent, frantic mantra, as the heat from his skin begins to seep into mine.At first, it’s a painful, searing shock. I flinch, a violent, full-body tremor, and try to pull away. His arm, locked around my torso like a band of steel, doesn't let me.“Stop fighting it,” he grunts, his voice a low vibration that I feel in my teeth. “Breathe, Kieran. I’ve got you.”His words are not a comfort. They’re a command. My body obeys hi