Chapter 4

KIERAN'S POV

Nothing makes sense anymore.

The moment I first laid eyes on her at the Mating Ball, something inside me shifted. It wasn't the bond—I've felt the pull of other bonds before. It wasn't desire, though I would be lying if I said I didn't feel that too. No, this was something different. Something deeper. And I hated that I couldn't put a name to it.

Unlike Kaiden and Killian, I don't torment her. I don't play with her like a cat toying with a mouse. I don't test her limits, pushing her just to see how far she'll go before she breaks. They see her as an Omega, a girl forced into our world, an inconvenience. But I see something else. Something beneath the surface. And it unsettles me.

I watch her. I observe her. Not in the way my brothers do, with taunts and cruel games. No, I watch because I need to understand her.

It's just my way of doing things. I blend into the background most of the time, looking, watching, observing.

It's just my style.

Layla moves through the estate slowly, always trying to make herself small, to disappear into the shadows. She walks with her eyes on the floor. But when she lifts her head—when she dares to meet my eyes—there's a fire hidden beneath the softness. From her eyes, I can tell she is strong. It fascinates me.

I notice the way she carries herself, the way she flinches slightly whenever Killian is near, the way her hands tremble when Kaiden speaks to her with that taunting hint in his voice. But with me, it's different. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't cower. She greets me softly, shyly.

"Alpha," she murmurs whenever our paths cross. Her voice is quiet, but not weak. There's a warmth in it, a hesitance like she isn't sure if she's allowed to speak to me at all.

Each time, I nod. I don't push. I don't prod. I just watch.

I find myself drawn to her in ways I don't understand. She shouldn't occupy my thoughts, yet she does. I think about the way her lips part slightly when she's nervous, the way her fingers clutch at the fabric of her dress when she's uncertain. The way her scent lingers in a room long after she's gone—soft, warm, intoxicating. It drives me mad.

One evening, I catch her in the courtyard. She's standing by the fountain, staring into the water as if she's searching for answers. The moonlight catches in her hair, turning it silver. She looks like something out of a dream. She's absolutely gorgeous.

She startles when she notices me. For a moment, neither of us speak.

"Alpha," she greets.

I don't respond right away. I just look at her, searching for the answer to a question I don't yet understand. When I finally speak, my voice is lower than I intend. "You're always up late."

She swallows "I don't sleep much."

"Why?"

Layla hesitates, then shrugs. "Bad dreams."

Something tightens in my chest. I don't ask what kind. I already have a feeling I know.

For a moment, we simply stand there. And then, she does something that surprises me.

She smiles.

It's small, barely there, but it shifts something in me.

"I should go," she says softly. She bows her head before stepping past me.

I don't stop her. I just watch as she disappears into the night.

And for the first time in a long time, I realize something.

I don't just want to understand her.

I want to protect her.

And that? That is dangerous.

-

One evening, I walk down the palace gardens. I tell myself I'm here for no particular reason, yet my feet betray me, leading me toward the source of a quiet, whispered voice.

Layla.

She's crouched on the grass. I notice her fingers are tending to a small, trembling bundle of fur. A wolf pup, barely past the stage of being a newborn with its leg twisted unnaturally. Layla strokes its fur, murmuring softly. I halt, watching. My chest tightens at the tenderness in her touch. She shouldn't be out here alone. She should be afraid of the dark, the unknown, of me. But she isn't.

I take a step closer. A twig snaps beneath my boot.

Her head jerks up. She looks startled. Her wide eyes meet mine. In her eyes, I see a mixture of surprise and something else—something unreadable. Then, as if remembering herself, she bows her head. "Alpha."

I say nothing. My eyes flick to the wolf pup, then back to her. She swallows, hesitating before speaking again. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

A question I can't answer. Because I don't know.

Instead of speaking, I pull out my carving knife, retrieve a small block of wood from my pocket, and begin whittling. The motion is familiar. It calms me. My fingers work on their own, stripping away excess, refining edges. I don't glance up, but I can feel her watching now. Curious. Silent.

Time stretches between us and the night grows darker. I can see the stars emerging one by one. When I finish, a small wooden figurine of the wolf pup rests in my palm. It's not perfect, but it's something. I hold it out to her.

Layla's gaze moves from my face to the carving, then back again. She hesitates, as if unsure whether to accept. When she finally reaches for it, her fingers graze mine. The briefest touch.

Heat flares.

It's nothing. A small brush of skin. And yet, my hand burns from the contact. Her breath catches. Her eyes look into mine, questioning, searching. In the dim light, her pupils are wide, swallowing the color of her irises. My chest tightens. Her scent fills the space between us

She looks at the figurine, cradling it as if it's something fragile, something precious. "Thank you," she whispers.

I nod once. Say nothing.

She looks at me a moment longer before turning back to the pup, resuming her gentle petting. I force myself to step away but my fingers still tingle.

Later that night, in the quiet of my chambers, I stare at my own hand, frowning. The sensation hasn't faded.

I am in trouble