THE SCENT OF TREASON

THE SCENT OF TREASON

The blood of a Royal Alpha doesn’t just stain; it burns. It seeps into the wood like acid, eating through the varnish and leaving a scar that refuses to be scrubbed away.

My hands were shaking so violently that the bleach splashed over the rim of the bucket, stinging the raw, split skin of my knuckles. I didn't cry out. Pain was a luxury I hadn't been able to afford for a long time. I just bit the inside of my cheek until the metallic tang of my own blood joined the scent of industrial cleaner and the sweet, copper rot of the body behind me.

Scrub. Pivot. Breathe. Repeat.

The penthouse was silent, a silence that felt heavy, pressurized, and wrong. It was the penthouse of the Northern Syndicate’s crown prince, a man who, until two hours ago, had been a god in this city. Now, he was just a heavy, cooling weight inside a trunk, wrapped in a rug that cost more than my entire apartment building.

Four minutes, I whispered, the sound jagged and brittle in the vast, empty room.

I looked at the digital clock on the wall. 11:56 PM. The guards were set to rotate at midnight. If I wasn't out by then, I wouldn't just be a cleaner anymore; I’d be a liability. And in the Northern Syndicate, liabilities were erased with extreme prejudice.

I reached for the heavy duty solvent, my movements frantic. I’d been hired for a sensitive cleanup. The payout was enough to clear my debt with the Coven, enough to keep my sister safe for another year, but the job description had conveniently left out the who. Seeing the royal seal carved into the prince's signet ring had been the moment my heart stopped. Seeing the jagged, impossible claw marks across his throat had been the moment I realized this wasn't just a murder; it was an act of war.

I dumped the rest of the chemical solution over the floorboards. The wood hissed, reacting with the residual magic lingering in the blood. My vision blurred. If I didn't get this clean, if the lingering aura of the murder triggered a magical dampener when the guards walked in, they’d smell me. They’d smell my fear, my sweat, and the distinct, cloying scent of the human cleaner who had dared to touch their prince.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the broker.

Get out. Now. The Alpha is coming.

My blood turned to ice. The Alpha. Kaelen.

I scrambled backward, slipping on the damp wood. My boots skidded, and I went down hard on one knee. Panic surged, white hot and blinding. I couldn't leave. The trunk was too heavy to move alone, and if I left it here, they would find him, trace the magic, and find me.

Below me, the massive iron gates of the estate groaned open.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Run. That was the rational thought. Stay and finish. That was the only thought that kept my sister’s face from my mind.

I grabbed the rug, bunching it up to mask the gap in the floorboards, but the front door was already clicking open. It wasn't a rush of heavy boots or the shouting of guards. It was a single, measured click of a latch.

The air in the room plummeted. The temperature dropped so fast my breath hitched in a white plume. An unnatural pressure slammed into the space, a weight that pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to hunch.

I knew then that it wasn't the guards.

He didn't announce himself. He didn't need to. He simply arrived, a predator stepping into a den. I froze, my hands still hovering over the floorboards, wet and stained. I didn't dare look up. I just stared at the tips of his polished leather shoes as they crossed the threshold.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The silence was absolute. No weapons were drawn. No threats were barked. There was only the sound of his breathing, slow, rhythmic, and terrifyingly calm.

He was walking a circle around me. The scent hit me next: dark pine, ozone, and the sharp, dangerous tang of cold steel. It was the smell of a storm about to break.

He stopped directly behind me. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a physical wall of power. He was close. Close enough that the hair on my arms stood up, reacting to the sheer proximity of his Alpha aura.

I held my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. Don’t shake. Don’t look. Just be a shadow.

You missed a spot, a voice rumbled. It was dark and smooth as crushed velvet, vibrating straight through my spine.

Slowly, his large, calloused hand came into my peripheral vision. He didn't reach for my throat. He didn't draw a blade. He reached for the floorboards, swiping a single, long finger over a microscopic c***k in the wood that I had failed to seal.

When he lifted his hand, his fingertip was coated in a faint, glowing red film.

I closed my eyes. This is it.

But the fatal blow never came. Instead, the Alpha King dropped to one knee in front of me, forcing me to look at him. His face was a mask of cold, chiseled perfection, but his eyes, those lethal, glacial eyes, were swirling with molten, predatory gold.

He brought his bloodied finger to his own lips, his gaze locked dead onto mine, tracking the erratic, terrified pulse fluttering at my throat.

My brother's blood, Kaelen whispered, his voice dark with a terrifying possessiveness as he leaned in until our noses almost brushed. And yet... all I can taste is you.

He reached behind my back, his hand wrapping around the spelled trunk hiding the corpse.

Should I open it, little liar? Or are you going to tell me exactly how you're going to repay me for your life?

Before I could form a single word, the iron lock on the trunk shattered with a sickening c***k, and the lid groaned open, revealing the jagged ruin of his brother's throat.