MATED TO TWO RIVAL ALPHAS

The Eyes That Knew My Name

CHAPTER THREE - The Eyes That Knew My Name

SHERRY

The eyes do not blink.

I press myself tight against the oak tree, my fingers bent enough to cause a painful bite through the bark. I still feel that pain from breaking the bond in my chest that makes me so tired all the time, but now it is not so strong, and I am beginning not only to notice but also to feel other sensations again. For instance, the wet ground on my legs, the humid night air, and also the fact that whatever creature it was that noticed me is still at the same distance from me.

I should be more afraid than I am.

“Who’s there?”

My voice comes out thinner than I want. The trees give nothing back at first. Then the undergrowth shifts and the eyes move forward into the broken moonlight.

It is a man, not a wolf.

He stops a few more paces away, leaving enough room for me to run, should my legs cooperate, which they are not really doing. He is tall enough that the moonlight touches merely the lower half of his face. His dark hair lies messy across his forehead with no intention of being straight. The collar of a dark shirt is partially open to reveal one side of the scar, which travels along the shoulder and is covered up by a cloth after a while. He carries a posture with the ground being his, as if he has agreed with the surface.

He draws in a slow breath through his nose. His head tips a fraction, as if sorting through scents.

“You’re bleeding,” he says.

The voice is low and rough, the kind that does not need volume to carry.

“I’m fine.” I push myself up using the tree. My legs protest, but they hold. I wipe the back of my wrist across my face and feel the grit of dirt and dried tears. “You’re on Blood Moon territory. My brother is the Alpha. Leave before the patrols find you.”

He makes a quiet sound that might be amusement. “Your patrols are still celebrating. They won’t notice a single scent this far out for another hour at least.”

He takes one step closer. Not threatening. Just closer. The air around him carries a scent I do not recognize, something dry and sharp, like sun-heated stone and distant rain. It sits differently in my lungs than anything from my own pack.

“I felt the snap from the border,” he says. “Rejection. Fresh.”

Heat climbs my neck. The humiliation is immediate and ugly. “That is none of your business.”

“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

He studies my face the way someone studies a map they did not expect to need. There is no pity in it. No soft concern. Only a steady, almost clinical interest that makes my skin feel too tight.

“You stood up,” he says after a moment.

“Most don’t, the first hour.”

I do not know what to do with that observation. My wolf, still quiet and small after the bond broke, lifts her head a fraction at the sound of his voice. The reaction confuses me more than it should.

“I told you to leave.”

“You did.” He glances once toward the direction of the pack house, then back to me. “Sherry.”

The use of my name stops whatever I was about to say next. I have never seen this man before. He should not know it.

“How do you--”

Footsteps crash through the undergrowth behind me. Viktor’s voice carries through the trees, sharp with worry.

“Sherry!”

The stranger’s attention shifts toward the sound. Something cool and assessing crosses his expression. When he looks at me again, the corner of his mouth moves, not quite a smile.

“Another time,” he says.

Then he is gone. One step backward into the darker trees and the pressure in the air lifts as if it had never been there. The foreign scent fades almost at once.

Viktor breaks through the brush a few seconds later, chest rising hard. Mia is right behind him, hair wild, eyes wide. She reaches me first and pulls me into a hug that is almost too tight.

“I’m so sorry,” she says against my shoulder. “I was inside. I didn’t see until people started talking. I would have--”

“I know.” My voice sounds scraped. I let her hold on a moment longer because the alternative is standing alone again.

Viktor’s nostrils flare. He scans the trees, jaw tight. “Someone else was here. The scent is still fresh. Strong.”

I keep my face turned toward Mia. “A rogue. He ran when he heard you.”

Viktor studies me for a second longer than is comfortable. I meet his eyes and do not look away. Whatever he sees there makes him decide not to push. He sets a hand on my shoulder, careful.

“Father’s waiting at the cabin. We’re going there. Not the main house.”

I nod once. It is the only answer I have left.

The private cabin is located on the verge of the land, very compact, and unobtrusive. When we open the door, I see with pleasure the fire that is already being lit in the hearth. At the sight of me, Albert gets up right away from his leather chair. His eye lines appear even more pronounced since he was at home. Without asking any questions, he approaches me and holds me in an embrace.

He is still wearing the same old-fashioned soap that I have known him to use. For three seconds, I just enjoy its pleasant effect on me, and I let it fill me. The second I feel the tears coming, I move away again because I do not think about crying anymore that night.

“I’m all right,” I say.

“You are not.” His voice is quiet. He notices the dirt on my dress and the scrapes on my palms, but he does not comment on them. “Sit. Please.”

I sit on the edge of the couch. Mia stays close. Viktor remains near the door, still listening to the night outside.

Camilla comes in from the small kitchen carrying a teacup she does not offer to anyone. Her expression is the one she wears for council meetings, composed, already calculating.

“The entire pack saw it,” she says. “By morning the neighboring packs will have heard. An Alpha’s daughter rejected by her own Beta in front of everyone. They will question the strength of this bloodline.”

Albert’s head turns toward her. “Camilla.”

“We need to move quickly. A solid match from a strong pack. An Alpha’s son, or at least a high-ranking Beta. Something that erases the image of weakness before it settles.”

I look at her. The rejection pain is still a dull weight under my ribs, but something sharper sits on top of it now.

“I am not a stain,” I say.

The room goes still. Camilla’s mouth opens, then closes.

“I am not a stain,” I repeat, quieter but clearer. “And I am not going to be handed to the first male who agrees to take the damaged goods.”

Viktor shifts near the door. Mia’s hand finds mine and stays there.

Camilla recovers first. “You will not speak to me that way. You have no idea what this means for the pack’s standing.”

“I know what it means for me.” I turn to my father. “You sent me to the city schools to keep me safe. I want to go back. Not for classes. I want to train. Away from here. Away from him. Away from all of them watching to see if I break again.”

Albert’s face changes. He studies me the way he used to when I was small and trying to convince him I was fine after a fall. Whatever he finds this time is different.

“The rejection trauma--” Viktor begins.

“Will stay with me whether I am here or not,” I finish. “If I stay, I will see Eric every day. I will hear the same whispers. I will keep being the girl who knelt on the floor while everyone watched. I need to leave. Tomorrow.”

Albert is quiet for a long time. The fire pops once in the hearth. Finally, he nods, slow and deliberate.

“The private estate in the city,” he says. “I will arrange retired trainers. The best we have. You will have a year. On your twentieth birthday, you come home. That is the only condition.”

“I promise.”

Camilla starts to speak again. Albert’s look cuts her off.

I sleep in the small second bedroom that night, the door closed, the sheets smelling of cedar and old soap. Sleep comes in short pieces. Every time I surface, I hear Eric’s voice again, calm and final, and then the stranger’s voice under it, quieter, saying my name like he already knew the sound of it.

In the morning Viktor drives me to the edge of the territory himself. The sky is still pale. The bag in the back seat is light. I did not pack much.

As the car pulls away from the last of the Blood Moon markers, I look once more at the tree line we left behind. The stranger is not there. The air carries only ordinary morning scents.

I still cannot explain why he knew my name.

Or why the sound of it in his mouth has stayed with me longer than it should.