Why is Kieran paying so much attention to me? It’s only been a week since the attack. Three days in the healer’s compound, four days recovering in my chambers, and this is my first day back on duty. Yet somehow, in that short time, everything has shifted. Like the food that has been arriving at my quarters. Rich broths that taste of comfort. Fresh bread still warm from the oven. And the fruits! Exotic things I’ve never seen before, bursting with flavor, each one perfectly ripe.
I can’t make sense of it.
Kieran has never approached me with any intention that would imply he’s interested in me. Not like that. Our interactions have been respectful, if not a little harsh from my end. I’ve been defensive, closed off, suspicious of his motives. And he has been…so very gentle toward me. His touch when he healed me. The quiet concern in his eyes when he visited. The way he speaks to me like I’m something fragile and precious instead of a soldier trained to kill.
But he’s an alpha. Powerful, ancient, with magic coursing through his veins. What could he possibly want with me?
I push off the wall and force my feet to move. The palace corridors stretch before me, familiar yet somehow foreign now. Guards nod as I pass. Servants step aside. They don’t know that everything has just changed, that I’m walking toward something I don’t understand and can’t control.
When I reach Kieran’s chambers, I pause outside his door, my hand raised to knock. My pulse races, and I hate that I’m nervous. I’m a warrior, damn it. I’ve faced enemies that would make most people piss themselves. Why does standing in front of this door make my palms sweat?
Because he saved your life, a voice whispers in my mind. Because every time he looks at you, you feel something move beneath your skin. Because you dream about his penetrating eyes and silver-threaded hair and hands that were so gentle when they touched your face.
I shove the thoughts away and knock.
“Come in,” his voice calls from inside.
I open the door and step into his chambers. They’re larger than mine, befitting an alpha of his status. The main room is elegant but not ostentatious: dark wood furniture, thick rugs, a fireplace that is unlit in the warmth of the afternoon. But I don’t see him anywhere.
“Alpha Kieran?” I call out, glancing around.
His reply comes from an attached room to the right. “I’ll be right there.”
I wait, hands clasped behind my back in a soldier’s stance. Seconds tick by. Then, I hear it: a loud crash, like something heavy hitting the floor.
My training kicks in. I don’t hesitate; I move. I burst through the doorway and stop dead.
Kieran is standing in his bathroom, completely naked, staring down at an iron basket that has clearly fallen over. Water drips from his hair, running in rivulets down his chest, to his stomach, following the lines of hard muscle.
My eyes take him in.
All of him.
Heat floods my face, spreading to my neck. I’ve seen naked men before; in training, in battle, it’s impossible not to. But this isn’t just any man. This is Kieran, and he’s…
“Oh gods,” I breathe, my voice strangled. I spin around so fast I almost trip over my own feet, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “I saw nothing! I saw absolutely nothing!”
His quiet laugh makes something flutter in my chest. “I told you to wait.”
“But I heard a crash!” My words come out too fast, too high. “I thought—I had to check—”
“I was bathing,” he says, amusement threading through his voice. It’s warm and rich and does nothing to tame the inferno raging through my body. “The basket fell. Nothing more dramatic than that.”
“Right. Of course. I’m sorry, I just—”
“Could you hand me my clothes?” he asks. “You’re standing right in front of them.”
I look down. Sure enough, there’s a neatly folded pile of clothing on a bench near the door. My hands shake as I grab them, squeezing my eyes shut so tightly that I see stars.
“Here,” I say, thrusting them in his general direction.
My knuckles meet warm, solid flesh instead of air.
His chest.
My eyes fly open in horror, and I find myself staring directly at him. He’s standing right in front of me, still gloriously, devastatingly unclothed, and he looks thoroughly amused.
“I—You—I didn’t mean—” The words tangle on my tongue. My brain has apparently stopped functioning. All I can process is the warmth of his skin against my fingers, the sight of his broad shoulders, how water still clings to the hair on his chest.
