Chapter 23
Rami POV
I roll my shoulder and crouch near the edge of the crater. The air is heavy with the scent of ash and magic. The aftermath of Mirelle's dramatic exit. Again.
I press my palm to the ground, and the mana hums through my veins like blood remembering its way home. The earth obeys me. Soil rushes forward, groaning and grinding, collapsing the crater inward with purpose and grace. Greenery sprouts from the newly settled ground, not wild but deliberate—neat, orderly patches of moss and creeping ivy, bright with morning dew. Life replacing violence. Nature erasing drama.
Across the crater, Thieran and Niall sit on a bench, their heads close together in unmistakable scheming posture. I can see the light in Thieran's eyes from here, that sparkle he gets when he's gossiping, the curl of his fingers as he leans toward Niall.
Mirelle's retreating figure hobbles in the distance, bruised and limping.
I nearly laugh.
Nearly.
The unshakable, steel-boned, eldest Alden child finally looking like she lost a round. There are maybe three people on this planet who could make her look like that. One of them gave birth to her.
Pregnant. With a Langston.
Stars above.
If I thought for more than a second about the kind of child that union would create, I might scream.
Still, I'm not one to judge. My own bloodline isn't exactly made of saints. Ramek Veer is still alive, unfortunately.
Niall gets up and walks away, his gait as lazy as ever, probably headed for a certain curly-haired omega. I don't envy him. I—
Wait. My spine stiffens.
Another head of curls.
Dark, glossy curls and a grin that should be illegal.
Adrian.
Of course. Mirelle is on the island. The whole crew's assembled, which means Adrian is here too, waltzing around in his sleeveless hoodie and easy charm like he owns the place.
I watch, unblinking, as he strolls right up to Thieran. He doesn't even hesitate. Just slides behind him, arms slipping around Thieran's shoulders like they were made for it.
Thieran leans into him.
Leans.
Fucking leans.
Looks up at him with those big mismatched eyes, lashes fluttering, lips curved in that perfect teasing smile.
My jaw clenches.
I hear Adrian laugh. "You smell good, little troublemaker."
Thieran hums. "I always smell good."
There is no immediate explosion. No detonation of jealousy. It starts as a heat behind my ribs. A slow burn, like molten rock cracking through stone.
They're just friends.
They grew up together.
They're like siblings, they say.
But he's an alpha. And Thieran's an omega. That bond, that pull, it exists. It has to. Biology demands it. Nature sharpens it.
And me?
I can't even smell his pheromones. Every alpha or omega that gets within five feet of me tells me how thick Thieran's scent clings to me. How obvious it is. Like he's staking claim. But I can't smell a thing. Nothing.
Just air.
It feels like a punishment.
I turn away, ashamed of my thoughts.
Of course Adrian doesn't like him. Not like that.
I tell myself that, over and over, all the way back to my room.
---
The shower is blistering. I let it burn the skin off my back. I want to feel something else. Anything else.
When I step out, a towel slung around my waist, the scent of someone else's cologne hits me.
Adrian is sprawled across my bed like he lives there.
He looks up, grinning. "Took you long enough. Thought you drowned yourself."
I don't answer. Just rub the towel through my damp hair. My movements are slow, practiced.
"Ugh," he groans dramatically, waving a hand in front of his nose.
"Your room reeks. It's like walking into Thieran's nest."
The jealousy twitches again.
Of course it does. Thieran's scent. Everyone feels it. Everyone but me.
I try to breathe deep. Nothing. Empty.
Adrian stands and pulls something from his pocket. A small glass vial. Clear liquid inside.
My heart skips.
"Look at that," he says, amused.
"The stoic one finally reacts. Must be important, huh?"
He tosses it to me.
I catch it.
"That should last you a while, you junkie."
He leaves before I can speak.
I stare at the vial for a long moment. My pulse is still racing.
With a sigh, I move the bed.
It slides easily.
I crouch, press the hidden button beneath the floorboard. A compartment pops open. Inside, rows of empty vials gleam like little glass corpses.
Only one of them still has something left in it.
Now there are two.
I add the fresh one. Close the compartment. Slide the bed back.
The floor looks untouched.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.
I don't need them. I do.
I hate this.
I hate that it's not enough.
I hate that he looks at Adrian the way I want him to look at me.
I hate that I keep pretending.
I'm a sick bastard.
And I'm in love.