Chapter 4

One night in the early hours, I heard the sound of the main door being pushed open below the fortress.

Uneven footsteps. The thud of something being knocked over — the weapon rack in the front hall, by the sound of it. Then a low, garbled curse — ancient wolf-tongue, the kind Cyrus only spoke when he was furious or drunk.

I pinched out my cigarette and walked out of my room.

Cyrus was staggering in the front hall. Reeking of alcohol, the clasps on his hide armor half undone, hair stuck in a wild mat across his forehead. He'd probably just wrapped up a bloody territorial dispute — the dark stains on his cuffs told me that hadn't been a pleasant conversation.

"Cyrus?" I walked over. "How much did you drink?"

His eyes were damp and red from the liquor, his gaze unfocused. He opened his mouth and said nothing, then simply fell forward onto me.

I stumbled back a step and caught him. He was more than a full head taller than me, and drunk, his entire weight pressing down at once — my shoulder ached where it took the impact. His arm found my waist as naturally as breathing; he buried his face in the curve of my neck, the sharp smell of pine liquor mingled with his familiar scent of cedar and iron flooding into my senses.

I went rigid.

"Here, let me get you back to your room—"

The arm around my waist suddenly tightened.

Then he kissed me.

Without any warning. His lips came down burning with the heat of alcohol — rough, unyielding, allowing no argument.

My mind was screaming. Push him away. You have to push him away.

But my hand got halfway up and stopped.

His fingers pulled at the ties of my sleeping robe, urgent, rough, the fabric making a sound as it was pulled taut. He pressed me down onto the hide mattress in his bedroom, his fingers hooking around my wrists, pinning them on either side of me, his lips moving from the corner of my mouth and down.

"Aelia…" he murmured against my ear, voice low and blurred. "Is this a dream?"

I knew it was wrong. I knew he'd regret it when he was sober.

But the name on his lips in that moment was mine.

And I had waited too long.

Even if it was only a drunk mistake. Even if come morning everything would be denied.

I hated myself. But I was even more helpless to stop.

"Bang—"

The hide curtain was yanked violently aside.

"Cyrus, I came back to get—"

Vianca's voice cut off.

I lay beneath Cyrus, my clothing disheveled, hair loose, cheeks flushed.

The air froze solid for one second.

Cyrus's body went rigid. He looked down at me, his eyes full of disbelief.

He shoved me off the bed.

My back slammed into the stone floor, the pain radiating out from my spine.

"You—" Vianca's voice went shrill enough to pierce eardrums. She stood in the doorway, pointing at me, her whole body shaking. "Aelia! Are you trying to destroy him? Making an Alpha fall for his own foster sister? Do you know what would happen if this got out? You're disgusting!"

I curled on the stone floor, arms wrapped around my bare shoulders.

"Crawling into his bed while he's drunk—" her voice rose higher and higher. "You have no shame!"

She spun and slammed the curtain behind her.

Only Cyrus and I remained in the room.

He stood at the edge of the bed, his back to me.

I slowly peeled myself off the floor. My legs were unsteady, my knees bruised where they'd hit the stone. I retrieved my sleeping robe from where it had fallen, pulled it on with difficulty, my fingers trembling too hard to tie the strings.

Then I spoke.

I don't know where the courage came from. Maybe there was nothing left to lose.

"Why?" My voice was shaking. "You were calling my name."

Cyrus turned around slowly. His face had gone a terrible white.

"You're talking nonsense," he said, voice low and dangerous.

"You know what I mean." I looked at him, tears blurring my vision. "That night your curtain wasn't fully shut. I heard you. It was my name you were calling, Cyrus. Mine. And tonight too."

Silence.

A long silence.

Then a slap landed on my left cheek.

"Have you lost your mind, Aelia?"

My face turned to the side. My left ear rang. My cheek burned.

I held my head to one side and let the tears drop from my jaw.

Cyrus's hand fell. His lips moved. He said nothing.

He turned and walked out of the room.

His footsteps receded down the corridor, growing lighter, then disappearing into some deep corner of the stone fortress.