Logan’s expression darkens at the implied criticism. “The Enclave, you mean. Or the doctor.”
“Both,” I confirm. “Her entire life has been a lesson in how those with power use pretty words to justify ugly actions. You can’t blame her for being skeptical of your sudden change of heart.”
“It’s not sudden,” Logan argues, a flash of the old defensiveness surfacing. “And it’s not just about her. It’s about all of us. About what kind of Alpha I want to be. What kind of king.”
I study him, trying to gauge the sincerity behind the words. Logan has always been skilled at presenting the version ofhimself most likely to achieve his objectives. It’s what makes him such an effective politician, such a dangerous opponent.
And such a complicated friend.
“What kind of Alpha do you want to be?” I ask, genuinely curious about his answer.
Logan looks away, his gaze fixing on some middle distance as he considers the question. “One who leads through respect, not fear,” he says finally. “One who earns loyalty rather than demanding it. One who protects without controlling.”
Noble aspirations, especially for someone raised as he was—taught from birth that Alphas command, Omegas submit, and the natural order of things is as immutable as the rising sun. The fact that he’s questioning these fundamental beliefs at all is remarkable.
Whether he can actually change them is another matter entirely.
“And Maya?” I press, watching his reaction carefully. “What kind of Alpha do you want to be to her?”
His jaw tightens, emotion flickering across his features too quickly to identify.
“The same kind of Alpha I should have been to you.”
Logan leans forward, closing the distance between us with deliberate slowness, giving me time to pull away if I want to. His golden eyes hold mine, searching for permission or rejection, for some sign of what I’ll allow.
I should move back. Should reject this intimacy that feels far more dangerous than the sex we’ve already shared. But I remain frozen, caught in the gravity of his gaze as he draws closer.
“I’ve never been good at putting others before myself,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips. “But I’m trying to learn.”
Then his mouth is on mine, gentle in a way I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. Not demanding or possessive, but questioning—a request rather than a claim.
I respond before I can overthink it, returning the kiss with a hesitance that quickly gives way to something warmer. His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as the kiss deepens. There’s a tenderness in his touch that makes my chest ache, a vulnerability I’ve never felt from Logan before.
It’s too much—this closeness, this connection that feels nothing like the physical release we’ve shared in the past. My heart hammers against my ribs, panic mingling with desire as I pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly.
Logan doesn’t chase me, doesn’t try to recapture my mouth with his. Instead, he studies my face with those perceptive golden eyes, reading the confusion and fear I can’t quite mask.
“Too much?” he asks quietly.
I nod, unable to find words for the turmoil inside me. Sex with Logan is one thing—a physical need, a biological imperative I can rationalize away. But this—this gentleness, this care—feels like something I can’t so easily dismiss.
“I understand,” he says, and I think he actually might. “It’s different, isn’t it? When it’s not just about bodies.”
“I didn’t expect—“ I start, then stop, unsure how to continue. Didn’t expect what? His tenderness? My response to it? The way kissing him felt more intimate than anything we’ve done before?
“Neither did I,” Logan admits, a rueful smile touching his lips. “For what it’s worth, it scares me too.”
That confession—so at odds with the confident Alpha I thought I knew—catches me off guard. “You? Scared?”
“Terrified,” he confirms, his voice dropping lower. “Of how much I want this. Of how much it would hurt to lose it.”
I should offer reassurance, should meet his vulnerability with my own. But the words stick in my throat, old fears andfresh doubts tangling into silence. Instead, I shift away slightly, putting physical distance between us to match the emotional walls I’m struggling to maintain.
“I should check on Maya,” I say, the excuse flimsy but necessary. “Make sure she’s settling in alright.”
Logan nods, accepting the deflection without comment. “Of course. I need to track down Poe.”
I rise from the bed, ignoring the stab of guilt at the carefully neutral expression that has replaced the openness in his eyes. This is for the best, I tell myself. We’re in the middle of a rebellion, balancing on the knife’s edge of survival. Now isn’t the time for... whatever this is becoming.
