Chapter 4
773 Words
Keagan's POV
She’d barely closed the door before the quiet swallowed him.
Keagan stood in the middle of his office, hands braced on the edge of his desk, breathing slower than he felt. The scent of Arya still hung in the air—warm and sharp, like pine and sweat and rain on hot stone. It made his wolf restless.
He swallowed hard and let his eyes drift shut for half a second.
That kiss hadn’t been planned.
Hell, he hadn’t even meant to reach for her. But then she walked in, teasing and sharp-eyed, hands full of coffee like it was nothing, and suddenly the past five years were just gone.
It had felt like being seventeen again.
Like running barefoot through the trees.
Like forgetting how heavy the world was.
And now… here he stood, watching the light shift across the place where she’d just been, his mouth still tingling with hers.
Keagan ran a hand over his face and exhaled.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
But God, he’d wanted to.
She’d been so close. The heat of her, the taste of her—it unmade something inside him. It reminded him who he was before his father died. Before he had to start calculating every sentence, every alliance, every expression like it could become a blade.
Arya never calculated. She just was.
He admired that.
Missed it.
Needed it.
And that scared him more than anything.
Because the Alpha couldn’t need anyone—not like that.
He turned away from the desk and crossed to the window. Outside, the cliffs were draped in mist. The pines were silent. From this view, the Hold looked like a world apart—untouchable.
But Keagan knew better.
The cracks were spreading.
The council still watched him like a wildfire barely contained. Too young. Too unbonded. Too unpredictable. Border packs had begun testing limits—scouts venturing too close, rogues moving like they had nothing to fear.
And now, with the Hunt approaching…
Every step had to be perfect.
Every choice, strategic.
Which was why, when he turned back to the desk and saw the letter still sitting there, his gut twisted.
Black envelope. Silver crest. Vireline Pack.
It had arrived that morning, and he hadn’t touched it.
Not when Arya walked in.
He hadn’t wanted her to see it.
Because deep down, he knew what it meant.
A trade.
A solution.
A girl wrapped in diplomacy and tied off with alliance. The Virelines were offering him everything he’d been told he needed: political stability, trade access, southern influence.
And Selira Vireline was… impressive. Educated. Lethal. Gorgeous in a clinical, curated way.
She would make sense.
Arya didn’t.
Arya felt.
She felt like fire and bruises and loyalty. She bit when she was cornered and kissed like it meant something. She’d grown up bleeding beside the enforcers and laughing in his shadow. And now she walked into his office and made him forget what he owed the world.
But she wasn’t a neutral choice.
Choosing her would come with accusations of nepotism. Of favoritism. Of indulgence.
Worse—what if she wasn’t his mate?
What if the bond never ignited?
What if he bound himself to her, and the connection turned cold halfway through the chase?
What if she hated him for it?
Keagan finally picked up the envelope.
He opened it.
Read it.
Twice.
The words were smooth. Polished. Full of “respectful offers” and “shared destiny.” They called him “a bold and evolving Alpha” and said Selira “would be honored to run the Hunt beneath the Blackridge moon.”
He folded the letter, gently.
Then locked it in the drawer.
Not because he’d accepted.
But because he hadn’t said no.
And that was worse.
He dropped into the chair behind his desk, leaned back, and rubbed the side of his neck. The skin there tingled faintly.
The last time Arya bit him, they were sparring. She’d drawn blood.
He still had the mark.
His fingers drifted there unconsciously now, as if the ghost of it remained.
“I’m not choosing her because she’s easy,” he murmured into the quiet. “I’m choosing her because she fits.”
But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.
Her?
The council?
Himself?
His wolf stirred low in his chest again—unsettled, hungry.
Keagan leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
The Hunt was three days away.
And if he didn’t figure out what he wanted soon, the mountain would decide for him.
And it never chose kindly.
- Writer
