The Alpha's bedroom was less of a sleeping chamber and more of a gilded cage. Ancient stone walls were draped in heavy, dark velvet, and the air carried the sharp, intoxicating scent of sandalwood mixed with something wild.
Elara sat at a small ebony table, her fingers tracing the rim of a silver goblet. Inside was a deep crimson wine, potent enough to make a normal human's head spin after two sips. To an assassin trained in toxic resistance, it was little more than flavored water.
But she needed to be "drunk."
"You're not drinking, little bird," Kaelen's voice came from the balcony. He stepped into the room, the moonlight catching the scars on his forearms.
Outside, in the shadows of the stone gargoyles, Elara knew Ren was watching. She could hear the faint, rhythmic scraping of leather—he was cleaning his daggers, waiting for her to make a move that justified a kill. And somewhere in the corridors, Sophia would be counting the minutes, waiting to see if Elara succumbed to the subtle sedative she had likely slipped into the wine bottle.
"It's... it's too strong," Elara whispered, letting her head loll slightly to the side. She forced her eyes to lose their focus, the sharp, calculating glint replaced by a hazy, vulnerable shimmer.
Keep your pulse irregular, she reminded herself. A drunk heart doesn't beat like a soldier's.
Kaelen walked over, his presence overwhelming the small space. He reached out, his hand hovering near her throat before settling on the back of her chair. "Most humans would use this chance to beg for their lives. You? You just stare at the moon."
"The moon doesn't ask me for secrets," Elara murmured. She stood up, wobbling purposefully. She let her foot catch on the hem of her long silk robe—a garment Kaelen had insisted she wear—and stumbled forward.
She didn't fall to the floor. She fell into him.
Her palms hit his broad chest, feeling the terrifying heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. She could hear his heart—a slow, powerful thrum that felt like a war drum. For a second, her assassin brain calculated: Three inches to the left. A sharp strike between the fourth and fifth ribs. He'd be dead before he could shift.
Instead, she curled her fingers into his shirt, burying her face in his shoulder.
"I'm so tired of being afraid," she sobbed, the sound muffled against his skin. It was a masterpiece of a performance—the voice of a woman seeking anchor in a storm. She looked up at him, her lips parted, her eyes roaming over his face with a desperate, simulated longing.
"Kaelen... the Moonstone said I belong here. Maybe... maybe I don't want to run anymore."
She leaned in, her breath ghosting over his lips. She was inviting him to take the bait, to lose himself in the "weakness" of a human woman so she could gain access to the keys at his belt or the map she suspected was hidden in his inner pocket.
Kaelen's hand came up, his fingers tangling in her hair. His grip was firm, almost painful. For a heartbeat, Elara thought she had won. She felt his body stiffen, his wolf scent flaring with a sudden, dark intensity.
But then, he laughed. A low, dry sound that vibrated against her chest.
With a move as fluid as water, Kaelen stepped back. He didn't push her; he simply ceased to be there. Elara, caught in her own momentum, stumbled toward the bed, catching herself on the silk sheets.
"A beautiful performance, Elara," Kaelen said, his golden eyes glowing in the dark. He wasn't touched; he was amused. "But you're a bit too eager for a girl who was 'trembling' in the mud forty-eight hours ago."
Dammit, Elara thought, her face buried in the pillow to hide the flash of cold frustration in her eyes. He's playing with me.
From the balcony, she heard a faint, derisive snort. Ren. He had seen her "failure."
"Sophia warned me that human women use their bodies when their tongues fail them," Kaelen continued, walking toward the door. He paused, looking back at her. "Rest, little bird. You've had a long night of pretending. Don't worry about the door—Ren will be outside to make sure no 'slavers' find their way in."
The heavy oak door slammed shut, the lock clicking with finality.
The moment he was gone, Elara sat up. The "haze" in her eyes vanished instantly. She wiped the fake tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, her expression turning into a mask of ice.
She moved to the window, staying in the blind spot of the balcony. She needed to communicate with the Organization. Her sister's time was running out, and Kaelen was a much harder target than the dossiers suggested.
She pulled a tiny, transparent strip from her inner thigh—a micro-transmitter disguised as a skin patch.
Entry confirmed, she typed with steady fingers. Target is highly suspicious but hasn't moved to kill. Two obstacles: a shadow guard and a witch. Proceeding to phase two: Location of the Moonstone vault.
As she sent the message, she felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck.
In the laboratory three floors below, Sophia stared at a crystal bowl filled with shimmering water. The water was turning a murky, bruised purple.
"She didn't drink enough of the wine to sleep," Sophia whispered to the empty room, her violet eyes narrowed. "And her shadow... her shadow doesn't move like a human's when she think she's alone."
Sophia picked up a small silver dagger and sliced a rare, black root into the water. "If the Alpha won't let me kill her, I'll just have to make her reveal herself. Nobody survives the 'Dreamer's Breath' without showing their true face."
Back in the bedroom, Elara lay back on the bed, staring at the canopy. She could hear Kaelen's footsteps in the hallway—he wasn't going to his own room. He was heading toward the North Tower, where the elders kept the records.
He's checking my story, she realized.
The game was no longer just about stealing a stone. It was about who would break first. Kaelen wanted a "distraction" to fool his enemies, and Elara wanted a "shield" to reach her goal.
But as she felt the lingering heat on her palms from where she had touched him, a stray thought flickered through her mind. His heart... it didn't just beat steady. It beat like mine. Like someone who has lived in the dark for too long.
She shook the thought away. Focus, Ghost. He's just a target.
Outside the window, a lone wolf howled, and the hunt continued.