Chapter 6 – The Quiet Resistance
472 Words
POV: Irian Thal
The air shifted the moment Daelen stepped inside.
Irian could feel it—Alpha energy heavy in the small room, pressing against the walls, pressing against him. He kept his face unreadable, his body still, but his pulse betrayed him, drumming fast beneath his skin.
He hated it.
Not Daelen, not exactly. What he hated was being cornered, the way Alphas thought presence alone was power. Daelen Pryce had always been the loudest of their circle—sharp jaw, sharper pride, never backing down. And now, here he was, uninvited in Irian’s home, his smirk like a blade carving into silence.
“You going to stand there all night?” Daelen’s voice carried that easy arrogance, the kind that expected doors to open and people to bend.
Irian moved finally, crossing to the window. The rain was still falling, soft streaks against the glass. It gave him something to look at besides Daelen’s unrelenting gaze.
“What do you want, Daelen?” His words were quiet, but not weak. He knew how to use silence as a shield, how to make three words heavier than thirty.
Behind him, Daelen chuckled. “Straight to the point. I like that.”
The sound grated on Irian’s nerves, but he didn’t turn. He’d learned long ago that giving someone like Daelen his eyes was the same as giving them ground.
“You didn’t answer me,” Irian pressed.
There was a pause. Then footsteps, slow, deliberate, until Daelen was close enough that Irian felt the heat of him at his back.
“I want to get to know you,” Daelen said, voice low, almost too casual. “We’re friends, right? Or at least… we could be.”
Irian’s grip tightened around the edge of the curtain. Friend. The word was sour in his ears. He didn’t believe it—not from Daelen, not with the way his Alpha energy curled like smoke, invasive and sharp.
Still, he breathed evenly, willed his voice to stay steady. “Friends don’t knock on doors this late. They don’t push their way inside.”
Daelen leaned closer, and though his tone carried a smile, there was an edge underneath. “Maybe I’m not like most friends.”
Irian finally turned, meeting his gaze head-on. The impact was immediate—Daelen’s eyes, dark and burning, collided with his own calm ones. For a moment, silence stretched again, but this time it was charged, the room too small for the both of them.
Irian didn’t flinch. Didn’t drop his gaze.
“Then maybe,” he said softly, “I don’t need friends like you.”
Daelen’s smirk faltered—just a fraction, but Irian saw it. And for the first time that night, he felt something shift.
Not victory. Not safety.
But the faintest taste of control
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