The Sarge is Here!

Luko had always known Allora was scheming.

From the moment he met her, she had been plotting something.

And now?

Now he was certain of it.

Because for the past few days, he had been watching her.

Watching the way she lingered too long in the healer's wing.

Watching the way she drank from the same cups as the sick Canariae.

The way she used their plates, their utensils.

Touching them.

Getting too close.

Too deliberate.

Too reckless.

And now?

Now he had to make a choice.

Did he help her?

Or did he betray her?

Allora had not gotten sick yet.

Not yet.

But she watched.

She waited.

Hoping for the first signs of the Cotard-Virus.

A fever.

A rash.

A cough.

Anything.

Because if she could just get infected, then she could force Malec's hand.

She could become the cure.

And she could finally leave this world.

But she had to be careful.

She couldn't let Malec suspect.

So she did what she had to.

She distracted him.

Malec had been watching her closely.

So she gave him something else to focus on.

"Teach me your language," she said one evening, sitting in his dimly lit study.

Malec had raised an eyebrow at first.

But then—

He had agreed.

And to her surprise—he had enjoyed it.

He corrected her pronunciation, smirked when she made mistakes, chuckled when she got frustrated.

And for a while—he let his guard down.

For a while, he forgot about his obsession with keeping her locked away.

And Allora?

Allora played along.

She laughed.

She leaned in when she needed to.

She let him believe she was softening.

That she was becoming his.

And then, once she had him relaxed, comfortable, trusting…

She struck.

"When will you take me back to the Capitol?"

Malec stilled.

His tan eyes flickered with something unintelligible.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her like she was a puzzle he had yet to solve.

Then, finally—

"Soon," he said.

Perfect.

She had won.

Or so she thought.

Luko had seen enough.

This was not a coincidence.

This was not an accident.

This was a calculated move.

And Malec, fool that he was, had fallen for it.

Luko could not let this continue.

So he did what he had to.

He went to Malec.

"She's been trying to expose herself."

Malec's expression darkened instantly.

"What?"

"Allora," Luko said firmly, his golden eyes filled with concern. "She's been drinking after the sick. Eating with them. Getting too close. She's trying to contract the virus."

Malec rose from his chair, his muscles tensing, his tan eyes burning.

"You're certain?"

Luko nodded.

"She's trying to force you to give her the cure."

Malec's entire body went rigid.

His jaw clenched.

His hands curled into fists.

And then—

He growled.

A low, dangerous sound that sent a chill down Luko's spine.

"She doesn't even know if it will work on her," Luko pressed. "She isn't like the others. She isn't like the Canariae we know. She might not survive."

Malec's breathing deepened.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

His blood boiled.

She had tricked him.

Again.

She had played him.

Again.

She was trying to risk her own life.

For what?

To escape him?

To leave him?

To return to a world that was already lost?

No.

No, he wouldn't let her.

She was his.

His little dove.

And she was going to stay alive.

Stay with him.

Whether she wanted to or not.

That night, Malec made his choice.

He wasn't taking her back to the Capitol to set her free.

He was taking her back to keep her under control.

To keep her away from the virus.

To keep her from dying.

He had been too soft on her.

Too patient.

That would end now.

If she wanted to play games with her life, she would have to do it under his watchful eye.

Because from this moment forward—

Allora wouldn't take a single breath without him knowing about it.

She had tried to outplay him.

Now it was his turn.

Allora knew she was running out of time.

The longer she stayed here, the more control Malec gained over her life.

The more he tightened his grip.

The more he made her his.

She couldn't let that happen.

So she tried one last time.

One final, desperate attempt to get infected.

She waited until the guards were distracted, until the halls were clear.

And then—

She slipped into the sick ward.

She picked up a half-finished cup of water from a feverish man's bedside and drank from it.

She touched their hands, their faces, their blankets.

She was so close.

So damn close.

And then—

A cold voice sliced through the room.

"Allora."

Her stomach dropped.

She turned slowly, heart hammering.

Malec stood in the doorway.

His tan eyes were unreadable.

His hands were at his sides, but his entire body radiated tension.

And worst of all—

He looked calm.

Which meant he was beyond furious.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Allora tried to play it off.

Tried to shrug, to act unbothered.

"I was just—"

"Enough," he snapped.

He crossed the room in three strides before she could react.

Before she could run.

His hand locked around her wrist, his grip like steel.

And then he was dragging her out of the room.

Through the halls.

Up the stairs.

She struggled, snarling in protest, but it was useless.

Malec was too strong.

Too angry.

She had pushed him too far.

He threw open his chamber doors and shoved her inside.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows against the walls.

"From now on," Malec growled, "you eat, sleep, and bathe with me."

Allora froze.

Her blood ran cold.

"What?"

Malec closed the door behind him, his broad frame blocking any chance of escape.

"If you cannot be trusted to keep yourself safe," he said, voice low, dangerous, "then I will do it for you."

His eyes burned with something raw, something unhinged.

"You are mine. And I will not let you throw yourself away."

Fury erupted in her chest.

She lunged at him, her fists swinging.

But Malec was faster.

He dodged her easily, catching her wrist, spinning her, trapping her arms against his chest.

"You're angry," he murmured against her ear, breathing steadily while she struggled in his grip.

"But you're letting your emotions cloud your movements. You fight better than this, little dove."

Damn him.

Damn his control.

Damn his calm, unshakable arrogance.

She thrashed, but it was pointless.

He was stronger. He was trained. He knew her every move before she made it.

And worse—he wasn't even trying.

He was toying with her.

Restraining her like she was nothing more than an unruly pet.

"I only want what's best for you," Malec said, his voice lower, softer now.

She stilled.

For a moment, she almost believed him.

Almost.

And then—

"Tell me," he murmured. "Are you trying to contract the virus so you can leave me through death?"

She sucked in a sharp breath.

His grip on her tightened.

"Is that it?"

She clenched her jaw.

She didn't answer.

She couldn't.

She wouldn't give him that.

Wouldn't let him see her breaking.

So instead—

She lifted her chin, and with cold, sharp precision, she spoke the words she knew would wound him most.

"My name is Melodie. Not Allora."

Malec's entire body stiffened.

His hands flexed against her wrists.

His breathing hitched.

She felt the moment the words struck him, the moment they sank in.

And for the first time—

She saw him hurt.

Not angry.

Not possessive.

Not furious.

Just…

Hurt.

Malec didn't speak.

Didn't argue.

Didn't strike back.

He just… let her go.

And without another word, he turned, walked to the door—

And locked her inside.

The cold night air bit at Malec's skin as he strode toward the stables, his boots crunching against the frost-kissed ground.

He needed to clear his head.

Needed to breathe.

Because right now, all he could hear was her voice.

"My name is Melodie. Not Allora."

His jaw tightened.

His heart ached.

He had been angry before. Furious.

But this?

This was different.

This cut deeper.

Because for the first time…

It wasn't just defiance.

It was rejection.

Malec ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the roots.

Why was she like this?

Why didn't she understand?

He had given her more freedom than any Canariae would ever dream of.

He had let her speak to him as an equal.

He had let her defy him in ways that would have gotten any other Canariae punished beyond reason.

And yet…

She still looked at him like he was the enemy.

Like he was just another captor.

Did she not see that he was trying?

That everything he did—everything—was to protect her?

That he would do anything for her…

Except let her destroy herself?

He reached the stables, inhaling deeply, letting the crisp air cool the fire raging in his veins.

His horse huffed softly, sensing his unrest.

Malec stepped closer, running a hand along the animal's mane, grounding himself.

But his thoughts wouldn't stop.

Wouldn't let him rest.

Wouldn't let him deny it anymore.

He sighed, tilting his head toward the sky, watching the stars flicker against the dark canvas above.

"The gods are playing a sick joke on me," he muttered to himself.

Because he knew.

He knew.

He had fallen hopelessly, helplessly, dangerously in love with her.

With his little dark Canariae.

And nothing in this world would ever change that.

He should have been angry.

He should have been furious that she continued to fight him.

But all he felt was an unbearable ache.

Because no matter how much she denied him, fought him, hated him…

It didn't matter.

He wouldn't give up on her.

Not now.

Not ever.

She was his.

And he would protect her.

Even if it meant protecting her from herself.

Malec left the stables, his mind still a storm of emotions he wasn't used to feeling, let alone understanding.

His body was tense, his jaw tight, but his steps were steady as he made his way toward Luko's quarters.

He needed to think.

He needed to talk to someone who wouldn't just tell him what he wanted to hear.

And Luko?

Luko was the only person he trusted to do exactly that.

Luko sat at his cluttered desk, scribbling notes under the glow of a single candle.

When Malec entered, the golden-eyed scholar didn't even look up.

"So, are you here to talk about how your little dove bit your hand again?"

Malec scowled, folding his arms.

"She's reckless."

"She's smart."

Malec's frown deepened.

"She's stubborn."

"So are you," Luko countered.

Finally, he set down his quill and looked up, arching a brow.

"So? What's your plan? Because right now, I think you're just standing in my doorway brooding for dramatic effect."

Malec exhaled sharply, ignoring the jab.

"I need your thoughts. Should I take her back to the Capitol?"

Luko leaned back in his chair, studying Malec carefully.

"Yes. But you already knew that."

Malec's eyes darkened.

"It's what she wants."

Luko nodded.

"It is."

Malec clenched his jaw.

The idea of giving her what she wanted, letting her believe she was winning…

It irritated him.

But at the same time—he wanted her to be happy.

Damn it all.

"You should still take her," Luko continued, voice softer. "Not because it's what she wants. But because it's what you need to do."

Malec sighed, running a hand through his pale hair.

"And what do you think I should do about her?"

Luko tilted his head.

"That depends. How do you truly feel about her?"

Malec didn't answer right away.

Didn't know how to answer.

Because if he said it out loud, it would be real.

Unavoidable.

He looked out the window, toward the frozen forests of the North.

He thought about the first time he saw her.

The way she fought.

The way she challenged him like no one ever had before.

And then he thought about last night.

The way she felt beneath him.

The way she whispered his name.

The way he fell apart in her arms.

His mate.

His mate for life.

"She is not my pet anymore," Malec admitted quietly, still looking out at the trees. "She is my mate."

Luko let out a slow breath, his golden eyes flickering with amusement.

"Well, it's about time you figured it out."

Malec finally looked at him.

Luko smirked.

"I couldn't pick a better half for you. She matches you perfectly."

Malec snorted.

"You mean she argues with me endlessly."

"Exactly."

Despite himself, Malec chuckled.

Then, his smile faded.

"What if she never accepts it?"

Luko shrugged.

"Then she'll spend the rest of her life being a stubborn little dove. And you'll spend the rest of your life loving her anyway."

Malec let the words settle.

And for once—

They didn't scare him.

They felt right.

Malec pushed off the wall, his decision made.

"Thank you, Luko."

Luko raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"For always being my friend."

Luko snorted.

"Don't get soft on me now, Silver Fox."

Malec smirked.

"Too late. My little dove has already made me soft."

Luko laughed.

And Malec?

Malec turned toward the door.

"I'll take her back to the den of lions," he murmured.

"And I'll never let her go."

____________________________________________________________________________

The air inside the caves was still.

Too still.

No wind. No movement. Only the faint dripping of water from the jagged stalactites above.

A military officer moved steadily, his boots crunching against the damp stone.

The place was familiar.

Too familiar.

And that only made his stomach tighten.

Because he had been here before.

Not in this world.

But in his.

In his world, these caves had been a place of death.

A place where they had found the last remnants of hope.

A place where he had last seen his sister.

And now?

Now he was standing in a ghost of that same place, in a world that smelled clean, untouched.

Like Earth before the Cotard-Virus.

Like a place where humanity hadn't yet fallen apart.

"Sergeant, over here!"

The Sergeant turned, striding toward one of his men.

The soldier was kneeling near a small, still pool at the edge of the cavern.

A pool of glowing water.

The same kind that his sister had disappeared into.

His's jaw tightened as he crouched beside it.

"We're in the right place," he muttered.

He reached out, dipping his gloved fingers into the strange luminous water.

The light rippled. Pulsed.

Like the aftershock of something—or someone—having passed through.

A portal.

The same damn portal that had stolen Melodie away.

"She came through here," he said, his voice resolute.

His men exchanged glances.

"That means she's alive, sir," one of them said.

The Sergeant's jaw clenched.

"She better be."

Because if she wasn't—

Then whoever was responsible for this place would burn.

"Sergeant!"

He turned at the sound of another voice, this one coming from deeper inside the cave.

One of his officers had his scanner out, eyes narrowed at the fluctuating readings.

"Something's wrong with the portal."

He strode over, glancing at the unstable pulses of light flickering across the cave walls.

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"

The soldier hesitated before speaking.

"It's destabilizing. The readings are fluctuating—whatever's keeping this portal open, it's not stable. If it collapses—"

"We're stuck," The Sergeant finished for him.

The officer nodded grimly.

He exhaled sharply.

They needed to move.

Find Melodie.

Find a way back.

"What's your orders now Sergeant Jaxxon?" one of the men asks.

Jaxxon turns to his team and smiles as he walks straight into the pool his men close looking nervously at each other but knowing they would follow him to Hades.