Zaya
I couldn't look Alpha Ryan in the eye.
Not after what had happened. Not after the way my body had betrayed me, answering to his touch like I had no control over myself. The memory alone was enough to make heat rush to my face. My hands twisted in my lap, my nails digging into my palms as if the sting could drag me out of my thoughts.
And there he was, sitting right across from me like nothing had happened at all. His posture was perfect, shoulders straight, jaw set, his expression as flat and cold as stone. The signature frown was there too, carved into his face like it belonged to him more than his own skin.
He was calm. Detached. Almost bored.
How could he be so unaffected when I was drowning in the aftermath?
It made no sense. I didn't know how to bring it up, or if I even should. Did he expect me to? Did he want me to? Or was I supposed to pretend it had never happened, just like he seemed to be doing?
My chest tightened. The silence between us stretched until I felt like I might choke on it.
"What is it?"
I startled, my whole body jerking as I blinked at him. "What?"
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and unrelenting. "I asked what the problem was."
My throat felt dry. I shook my head quickly, avoiding his eyes. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong."
He folded his arms across his chest and just stared. The weight of his gaze pinned me in place. I felt like he was stripping me open, reading everything I didn't want to show. His eyes seemed sharper today, bluer, almost glowing in the light streaming in from the window.
Had they always been that blue?
I found myself noticing every detail about him that I had somehow missed before. The faint line of a scar at the edge of his brow. The curve of his mouth that was usually pressed into a firm, irritated line. The nose that wasn't perfectly straight, slightly crooked, but instead of ruining his features, it only added to his beauty. It was unfair. He looked unreal. Too perfect, but also flawed in a way that made him even harder to look away from.
And here I was, staring like a fool.
His lips twitched with irritation. "Why are you staring at me like I owe you something? If you have something to say, say it."
Panic spiked in me. I shook my head again, too fast, my voice stumbling out. "No. There's no issue."
And that was it. My chance slipped right past me, swallowed by my own cowardice.
He cleared his throat, the sound dragging my attention back to him. "About that night…"
My eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" My voice was shaky, thin. My heart thudded so hard I was sure he could hear it.
What was he about to say?
But then I froze. That hadn't even happened at night. It had been in broad daylight.
Still, he continued, unfazed. "I did not feel comfortable taking you just like that, especially since it was your first time. So I will give you a month to prepare yourself before we try again. This time there will be no excuses."
Oh. That.
Relief and dread collided in me at once. I nodded stiffly, my head moving like it wasn't my own. "Noted."
He stood, sliding his hands into his pockets. Something about the motion, the small casual shift, made him seem like an entirely different man than the one who had touched me before.
That Ryan had been untamed, raw, almost feral in the way he moved against me. He had been fire and hunger and danger wrapped in one. But the Ryan standing in front of me now was calculated, stiff, every move controlled, every word measured. He was the Alpha who had bought me from my old pack. The Alpha everyone feared.
Two versions of the same man. Same face. Same voice. But it felt like two different people lived inside him.
"You're staring again," he said, his voice loud enough to get me out of my haze.
I jumped, heat burning my cheeks. "Sorry."
His expression didn't soften. "Would you like to come out for dinner, or should Martha bring it here?"
I swallowed, my throat tight. "Here. Please. I'd rather eat here."
"Fine." And with that, he turned and left the room.
The door clicked shut. I let out a strangled sound and collapsed forward, burying my face in the pillow.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered against the fabric. My voice was muffled. If I had just asked him, if I had just found the courage to face him, I wouldn't be left with this storm of confusion.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open again. Martha stepped inside, balancing a tray. Her movements were careful, quiet. She set the tray on the table, and the scent of warm chicken soup drifted through the air. Beside it, a small loaf of bread. Simple, comforting.
I blinked at the food. Gratitude swelled in me.
It hadn't been long since I arrived here, though I wasn't sure how much time had really passed. Days blurred together in this house, stretched long. But already, they remembered. They remembered that I preferred lighter dinners. Something small, something easy.
I couldn't decide if that made me feel seen or trapped.
Before I came here, I had heard endless rumors about Alpha Ryan. That he was cruel. That he was merciless. That anyone who fell into his hands was doomed. I had believed it so fiercely that I thought I wouldn't survive my first week here.
Cold, yes. He was cold. That part was true.
But cruel? The longer I stayed, the more I doubted it.
I cut myself off from that thought immediately. No. I couldn't start thinking like that. He hadn't gotten what he wanted from me yet. A child. That was the only reason he had me here. And once he had that, what would stop him from turning into the monster everyone whispered about?
The only thing I could do was wait. Play my part. Buy myself time.
"Madam."
I looked up to see Martha bowing her head slightly.
I stood quickly, shaking my head. "Please, don't do that. And call me Zaya. There's no need for formalities."
She hesitated, her lips pressing together. "I couldn't—"
"You can," I said softly but firmly. She was older than me, and I couldn't bear to see her lowering herself to me. Housekeeper or not, I was still a captive here.
She sighed, then nodded reluctantly. "Very well, Zaya. But there is something I must tell you. It is about the Alpha."
My heart skipped. "What is it?"
Her eyes flicked toward the door as if making sure we were alone. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, careful. "The Alpha suffers from a kind of mental illness."
"Mental illness?"
"Please, lower your voice," she said quickly, her eyes wide with fear.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm down. "I'm sorry. Please, go on."
She nodded and leaned closer. "He has what the healers once called a double personality. At times he may seem very different from the man you see now."
My breath caught.
It explained so much. The cold, calculating Alpha. The wild, reckless man who had touched me. It was like puzzle pieces sliding into place.
Still, I stayed quiet, listening.
"The important thing," Martha said, her voice low, "is that you must never mention to him what he does when he is not himself. He does not remember. To bring it up would be dangerous."
"Why?" My voice cracked.
Her expression darkened. "Because the last person who did… it ended terribly. For everyone. Please, Zaya. For your own safety, do not remind him."
The air felt heavier than before. My hands shook slightly as I clasped them in my lap.
I forced a small smile, though my lips trembled. "Thank you for telling me."
"Be careful," she said simply. Then she bowed her head once more and left.
I stared at the soup on the table, my stomach turning. My appetite was gone.
How had I ended up here? I knew the answer. My old Alpha had sold me like cattle. That was how. But sitting here now, in this room, in this house, it felt unreal. Like I had been swept into someone else's story.
If I had spoken up earlier, if I had asked Ryan about what happened, what would he have done? Would I have triggered the very disaster Martha warned me about?
A shiver ran through me. Thank the goddess I had stayed silent.
Still, the knowledge left me restless. My wolf stirred uneasily inside me, pressing against my consciousness, sharing in my fear.