Chapter 8: His Undoing

Kael’s POV

The hallway was quiet as I ascended the final staircase, the scent of old paper and wood polish growing stronger the closer I got to the top floor. The library door stood slightly ajar, golden light spilling into the corridor.

She was still up here.

I should’ve known.

I had hoped for the sanity of both of us, that she would have left unannounced.

I swallowed and pushed the door open gently, prepared to see her hunched over a volume, nose-deep in some philosophical tome, plotting some innocent scheme to unravel me.

Instead, I found her curled up on the divan beneath the arched window, fast asleep.

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. I allowed myself to look at her. And I did.

Her legs were tucked beneath her, the hem of her dress sliding scandalously high up her thigh, exposing skin I had no business looking at. Pale white skin, firm and tempting.

One arm cradled a book to her chest, covering up the spill of her breast, and her head rested on the pillow like it belonged there.

My tongue licked between my teeth. My breath quickened.

Goddess help me.

She looked like she belonged here. In this room. In my space. In my…

No.

I shut that thought down before it could form completely.

But still, I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The moonlight slanted across her face, casting silver shadows over her cheeks, highlighting the curve of her lips, slightly parted in sleep, ripe and soft, and the delicate fan of her lashes.

Even now, my body responded to her presence. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, restless and impatient.

I took a step back, needing distance.

Then another.

But she shifted in her sleep, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and that small sound reached into the part of me I’d buried deep for decades. The part that remembered what it felt like to crave touch… to want more than power and duty.

And for a split second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to lie beside her. To wake up to her tangled in my sheets. To press my lips to her neck and…

I clenched my jaw, hard enough to make it ache.

No. She’s too young. Too soft. Too untouched by the darkness that lives in me.

And yet she’s my mate.

The moon goddess had a cruel sense of humor.

I moved forward again, this time with purpose. No hesitation.

“Maeve,” I called softly.

Nothing.

She didn’t stir.

D@mn girl.

I knelt beside the divan and touched her shoulder gently.

Still nothing.

A smile tugged at my mouth despite myself. Stubborn even in her sleep.

Carefully, I slipped the book from her hands and set it aside.

I bit back a groan, looking anywhere but her chest. Then, in one smooth motion, I scooped her into my arms.

She fit perfectly.

Too perfectly.

Her head nestled against my chest, and her scent overwhelmed me, jasmine, old pages, and something purely Maeve. It wrapped around me, wrapping chains around every instinct I’d spent years mastering.

She sighed, content, her fingers brushing against my collar.

My pulse jumped.

“Control,” I muttered under my breath.

I carried her out of the library and down the quiet hallway toward the nearest guest chamber. The door creaked open, revealing the room I usually reserved for diplomats and visiting nobles. Elegant, clean, distant.

Exactly what I needed it to be.

I laid her on the bed gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. She murmured again but didn’t wake.

Just once, I wished I could be selfish.

I stood over her for a long moment, arms at my sides, fists clenched.

She didn’t even know what she was doing to me.

Or maybe she did.

That dress she wore tonight… designed to test every fiber of my self-control. The way her eyes gleamed with secrets when she walked into my study. The curve of her mouth as she asked me about love like she already knew the answer.

I lingered beside the bed longer than I should have. The logical thing, the wise thing, was to walk away, shut the door, and forget how soft she looked curled up on these sheets.

But my feet refused to move.

She shifted slightly, her brow furrowing, a soft sigh escaping her lips. One hand reached out, blindly, like she was searching for something in her dream.

Or someone.

My breath caught in my throat. What would she say if she woke now and found me standing over her like this? Would she smile? Startle? Would she reach for me again?

Would I have the strength to pull away?

I reached out slowly, brushing my knuckles across her cheek. Her skin was warm. Too warm. It branded my hand like a scar I’d never heal from.

"Sleep, little flame," I murmured. "Dream of nothing dangerous."

Dangerous like me.

For years, I’d lived by discipline. War, politics, duty, all of it came easy because I’d buried the parts of me that hungered for softness. For vulnerability. But Maeve... she was unraveling everything with a single look, a careless laugh, the barest graze of her fingers.

And she didn’t even know it.

Or perhaps she did. Goddess help me, perhaps she did.

My hand hovered above hers, close enough to feel the warmth of her pulse. I didn't dare touch it.

Instead, I stepped back, cold air sweeping over my chest where her scent still clung.

This wasn’t just a crush or a passing temptation. This was a curse I would carry for the rest of my days.

I turned on my heel and crossed the room, gripping the doorknob so hard it groaned under my fingers.

I looked back only once.

Her hand rested above her heart, fingers curled as if holding on to something invisible.

She looked peaceful. Safe.

And in some twisted way, I was glad I’d been the one to find her.

Even if I didn’t deserve to be near her.

Even if touching her again might ruin me.

I slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind me, sealing her away from the storm she didn’t know she’d awakened.

I’d protect her from it.

Even if I had to protect her from myself.