Lt. Massen

The next few days were carefully measured.

Every interaction.

Every moment.

Every look from Malec was a silent test.

Would she comply?

Would she listen?

Would she prove herself worthy of reward?

Malec never said what the punishment would be if she failed.

He didn't have to.

It was in the way his tan eyes tracked her movements.

In the way his jaw tensed whenever she strayed too far from his side.

In the ghost of a smirk he gave when she chose to submit.

She played along.

A perfect act.

Smiling when he touched her.

Lowering her gaze just enough when he spoke.

Following when he led.

All to reach the festival.

But she wasn't the only one playing a game.

Surin's Warning

"Careful, little dove."

Allora froze.

She had been walking through the stone corridors alone when Surin's voice slipped into her mind.

Smooth. Controlled. Dangerous.

"He is setting a trap for you."

She turned, slowly, toward the dimly lit hall—

And there he was.

Leaning casually against a column, his long white hair draped in a beautifully decorated braid, woven with pearls that glimmered in the soft torchlight.

His white and gold tunic flowed elegantly over his form, the fabric light yet regal, the sleeves long and cuffed with delicate embroidery.

His white pants contrasted against the polished brown boots that rested effortlessly against the stone floor, as if he had all the time in the world.

And on his hand, a silver ring glinted under the flickering flames.

Watching her.

Always watching.

Allora kept walking, kept her expression neutral as she responded in her thoughts.

"What kind of trap?"

"One you won't see until it's already snapped shut."

A slow smirk played on his lips.

"Malec is no fool, Allora. You think you've won him over?"

His blue eyes gleamed with amusement.

"He is watching you just as closely as you are watching him."

Allora didn't break stride, but her pulse quickened.

She knew that.

But hearing it from Surin made it feel more real.

More dangerous.

"So what do you suggest?" she asked.

Surin chuckled.

"Win."

And just like that, his presence vanished from her mind.

Leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Two days before the festival, Malec took her to the countryside.

To his aunt's great estate.

Allora had expected another cold, suffocating fortress.

Instead, she was met with rolling green fields, towering fruit trees, and a grand white stone manor.

The air smelled fresh. Alive.

Malec seemed more at ease here.

A rare thing.

"Come," he murmured, guiding her up the steps.

"I want you to meet someone."

Allora nodded, hiding her curiosity.

Inside the estate, they were greeted by Lady Mae Yara.

Lady Mae Yara stood tall and regal, her golden eyes gleaming with quiet intelligence.

Her hair, a rich blend of white and brown streaks, was pulled into a loose but elegant style that framed her strong, aristocratic features.

She wore a long, flowing gown in a deep yellow-gold, the fabric shimmering subtly in the warm light.

It was a dress befitting a woman of her station—graceful, dignified, yet tailored for comfort rather than vanity.

There was no extravagance, no unnecessary jewels—just the quiet confidence of someone who knew her worth and had no need to prove it.

She was a woman who commanded respect without ever needing to demand it.

Unlike most Awyans Allora had met, Mae Yara didn't look at her with disdain.

Or fear.

Or hunger.

Instead, she simply tilted her head in mild curiosity.

"Ah, so this is the infamous dark Canariae," she mused.

"You must tell me… is it true your kind make those strange gestures with their hands?"

Allora blinked.

"Gestures?"

"Shaking hands," Mae Yara chuckled. "Such a curious thing."

Before Allora could respond, someone stepped forward.

A Canariae man.

Tall. Broad-shouldered.

With warm brown skin, dark eyes, and neatly tied-back curls.

A handsome face, but it was his expression that caught her attention.

Something knowing.

Something testing.

And then—

He extended his hand.

For a handshake.

Allora froze.

A quiet moment stretched between them.

The other Canariae—the feral ones—had never done this before.

None of them had.

She had even tried once, back at the palace.

And every single one of them had looked at her with confusion.

But this one?

This one knew.

This was a test.

Or perhaps…

A message.

Allora reached out slowly.

And as their palms met, he spoke.

"Zumaro of the House of Errydain. Formerly known as Lieutenant Oliver Massen of the U.S. Army. Pleased to meet you."

Allora's blood ran cold.

What. The. Fuck?

____________________________________________________________________________

Allora blinked.

Her mind raced, but her body moved on instinct.

She quickly extended her hand, grasping his firmly.

"MAJOR Melodie Jaxxon of the U.S. Army," she said, her voice strong, steady—sharp.

For the first time in weeks, she spoke her true name.

Her real name.

The name that belonged to a woman with purpose. With power. With freedom.

A name that didn't belong in this world.

And then—

A sound.

A low noise.

Not loud, not demanding.

But unmistakable.

A warning.

She knew exactly who it came from.

Allora's spine stiffened as Malec shifted beside her.

His presence loomed.

He didn't need to say anything—the message was clear.

Her name wasn't hers anymore.

Not in this world.

Not with him.

The weight of the collar around her suddenly felt heavier.

The metal wasn't digging into her skin, but the meaning behind it burned all the same.

Her fingers tightened around Oliver's before she released him.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to say it.

"Allora."

The reminder that she had a chain around her neck.

The word Malec had chosen for her.

The name that marked her as his.

Oliver's gaze darkened, but he didn't react.

Not yet.

But she could see the shift.

He had noticed.

And now the real test would begin.

____________________________________________________________

Malec had known the moment he laid eyes on his aunt's new Canariae companion.

The way he stood.

The same arrogance as Allora.

The same lack of understanding when it came to Awyan customs.

And most importantly—

The marking.

It was etched into his skin, a distinct symbol that meant nothing to Malec's people.

But he had seen it before.

Weeks ago, his aunt had visited the palace and casually mentioned the strange tattoo her new Canariae had.

At the time, Malec hadn't thought much of it.

But then—

He had seen it again.

Smaller, more discreet, hidden behind Allora's ear.

And now, with the two of them standing face to face, that tattoo was no longer just a mark.

It was a connection.

A tie to a civilization he did not understand.

He would ask her about it later.

For now, he would get answers from him.

When Oliver and Allora's hands met, Malec saw it.

The flicker of recognition.

The way Allora instantly stiffened before correcting herself.

The way Oliver's gaze darkened but remained calm, measured.

Malec had no doubt now.

They were of the same people.

Of the same world.

And that meant—

Allora was never alone in this place.

She had an ally.

A threat.

Malec's tan eyes glowed faintly in the candlelight as he watched them.

He wouldn't stop her from speaking with him.

Not yet.

He would let her believe she was still in control.

Because soon, he would have everything he needed to know.

Allora sat across from Oliver, carefully measuring her words.

She spoke casually, lightly, making their conversation appear harmless.

But every glance.

Every subtle shift in Oliver's expression.

Every carefully placed word—

Was a test.

A silent exchange of information.

And all the while, Lady Mae Yara and Malec sat and watched.

Lady Yara, cheerful, entertained, amused.

Malec, calculating, quiet, focused.

Neither of them looked away.

"They seem to be getting along," Lady Mae Yara mused, sipping her wine.

"I must say, Malec, I have heard rumors about you…"

She turned to him with a knowing glint in her golden eyes.

"That you have devoted yourself to a very… unique Canariae."

She tilted her head, openly examining Allora.

"It is true, then. She is certainly the strangest one I have ever seen. I have never encountered one so dark-skinned."

Her voice dripped with fascination.

"The nobles will go mad over her. You do realize that, don't you?"

Malec barely reacted.

Of course, he knew.

Allora was unlike any Canariae before her.

Not only because of her skin.

Not only because of her mind.

But because she had become his.

"So tell me, dear nephew…"

Lady Yara set her wine down, folding her hands in her lap.

"What are your intentions with her?"

Her tone was light, teasing.

"Is she just a passing fascination? Or is it… something else?"

Malec exhaled slowly.

He turned his tan eyes toward Allora—toward the woman who had occupied his thoughts day and night.

Who had tested him, defied him, challenged him.

Who had made him feel rage and desire in equal measure.

Who had made him lose control.

And then, in a low, steady voice, he gave his answer.

"She is mine."

Lady Yara blinked.

Malec's expression didn't change.

"Not as a possession," he clarified.

"Not as a passing distraction."

He leaned back, his fingers lightly grazing the rim of his goblet.

"She is my mate. For life."

There was a long silence.

Then—

Lady Mae Yara laughed.

Not out of mockery.

Not out of disbelief.

But because she recognized the truth.

"Oh, Malec," she chuckled.

"You poor thing."

Lady Mae Yara sighed softly, swirling the wine in her goblet as she studied her nephew.

"Malec, you do realize…" she began, her golden eyes steady, "that they do not live as long as we do."

Malec's jaw tightened.

"You are tying your soul to something that will wither before your very eyes."

She said it gently, not as a warning but as a truth.

A truth Malec already knew.

A Canariae's lifespan was barely a fraction of an Awyan's.

The thought of watching Allora age… while he remained the same—

It twisted something deep inside him.

But then—

His eyes flickered with something else.

Something she didn't know.

Something he wouldn't tell her.

Because Malec knew something she didn't.

He had seen it with his own eyes.

The infected Canariae.

The vaccines derived from his bloodline.

At first, the research was only precautionary—a method to protect the Awyan race should a disease ever cross over to their kind.

But in testing, they found something unexpected.

His blood prolonged and increased the health of the Canariae.

Not drastically.

Not immortally.

But the doses they used were small.

A drop in an ocean.

If a tiny bit of his blood could strengthen them, lengthen them…

Then what if—

What if he gave more?

What if he gave everything?

Malec kept his face neutral, but he couldn't stop his gaze from lingering on Allora.

His Allora.

His mate.

His forever.

Lady Yara's sharp eyes didn't miss it.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, watching him closely.

Malec simply sipped his wine.

"Nothing."

He would never give up such vital information.

Not to his aunt.

Not to his king.

Especially not to his king.

Only Luko knew.

Only a select few trusted researchers knew.

Because this knowledge was dangerous.

And if Allora ever found out—

No.

Malec would never let her know.

Because if she realized what was possible…

If she understood what his blood could do…

She would try to take it.

She would try to leave.

And Malec would never, ever let that happen.

"Does your master speak our language?"

Allora's voice was low, careful, measured.

Her dark eyes flicked to Malec, who was talking with Lady Mae Yara.

But she could still feel him watching.

Oliver smirked slightly.

"No self-respecting Awyan would ever speak our language."

Allora's lips twitched.

"I know at least one."

Oliver's smirk vanished.

His eyes sharpened.

She could see the calculations forming in his mind.

Malec knew more than most.

How much more?

She didn't have time to explain.

She needed answers.

"How did you get here?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.

Oliver glanced at Malec, then leaned in slightly.

"Sgt. Jaxxon's unit came as soon as word got out you disappeared."

Allora's heart jumped.

They came for her.

Her people were here.

She almost let it show.

But as soon as her body tensed, she felt a shift.

A subtle movement.

Her eyes darted toward Malec—

And he was watching.

Not speaking.

Not glaring.

Just watching.

She quickly covered her reaction, relaxing her shoulders, tilting her head with fake amusement.

Oliver caught on immediately.

"Remain calm," he said lightly, as though they were still talking about nonsense.

"Act like we're just asking questions so it doesn't arouse suspicion."

Allora forced a small smile and nodded.

Her pulse still hammered in her ears.

"Do you have the black coin?"

Oliver asked cheerfully, as though they were discussing jewelry.

Allora hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Then she nodded once.

"Good," Oliver said, keeping his voice light.

"Get to the festival. We'll find you."

A pause.

A brief flicker of doubt.

"But if we don't… head for the dog house."

Allora's stomach twisted.

Surian.

She couldn't risk giving her up.

So instead, she tilted her head, pretending to be confused.

"How do you know about that place?"

Oliver didn't miss a beat.

"Because the same Awyan that told you… told me."

Allora felt her breath catch.

Surian had been working both sides.

She was involved deeper than she let on.

Before she could respond, she saw Malec shift again.

Time was up.

Malec stood, brushing off his tunic, his tan eyes gleaming.

"It is time to go."

Lady Mae Yara protested.

"But you only just got here! Stay, enjoy—"

"I need to get items for the festival." Malec's tone was firm. Final.

His eyes never left Allora.

Then, turning to Allora and holding his hand out, he added,

"Say goodbye to your friend."

Allora turned to Oliver, heart pounding.

She had one last chance.

One final message.

"Tell Sgt. Jaxxon I found the cure. It's in my bloodstream."

Oliver's entire body froze.

His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes—

For just a brief moment—

Shattered.

Disbelief.

Hope.

Relief so raw it almost looked like pain.

Then—

He recovered.

Just as quickly, he straightened, nodding politely.

"Goodbye, Allora."

His voice was even. Steady.

But his fingers curled into fists.

Malec's arm slid around her waist, firm, protective.

Claiming.

Guiding her toward his horse, he spoke lowly.

"Did you have a good time seeing another Canariae?"

Allora stopped walking.

She turned to face him, her heart still racing.

Her voice came out sharper than intended.

"What's your angle?"

Malec didn't even flinch.

Instead, he lifted her onto the horse, looking up at her with something dark and unreadable.

Then—

In his native tongue, his voice dropped to something silky, soft.

"I want to see you happy."

Her chest tightened.

He swung up onto the horse behind her, his arms encasing her as he took the reins.

"But you can only be happy next to me."

The words sent a cold shiver down her spine.

As the horse began to move, she stared blankly ahead, her mind spinning.

What did he mean by that?

Was it a threat?

A promise?

A warning?

She didn't know.

But something in Malec's tone…

Something in the way he held her closer than usual…

Made her think he knew more than he was letting on.