Alessandro had faced war councils without blinking.
He had watched men bleed on stone and ordered silence where screams belonged.
Yet her scent—
That was what nearly ruined him.
It lingered in the corridor long after she had passed, soft as candle smoke and just as dangerous. Not sweet. Not tempting.
Familiar.
"Shit," he muttered, pressing his palm to the cold wall.
The wolf stirred, offended by restraint.
Mine, it whispered.
Too close.
He shut his eyes. "Go to hell," he hissed under his breath—not to her, not to the pack, but to himself.
He had loosened the cage.
That had been mercy.
This—this ache clawing under his skin—was consequence.
A servant bowed as he passed. "My Alpha."
"Leave," Alessandro snapped, harsher than intended.
The man fled.
Alessandro stood alone, breath uneven, jaw tight. He could still feel her presence like a bruise beneath the bond—quiet, observant, dangerous in her stillness.
She was adapting again.
