Chapter 11- Blane
2630 Words
She knocked twice.
Small knocks. Careful ones.
Ares surged forward so fast I nearly felt the scrape of claws under my skin.
Mate.
“Calm down,” I muttered internally, already moving for the door. “You’re embarrassing both of us.”
He ignored me completely.
I got the pants on.
The shirt was negotiable.
I opened the door.
And there she was.
Annabelle stood in the corridor with a dark green cloth-bound book pressed to her chest like she’d carried it all the way here just to keep her hands occupied. Her curls were loose around her shoulders, slightly wind-tossed from outside, cheeks pink.
Her eyes dipped immediately.
Straight to my bare chest.
A slow blink.
Back to my face.
Then right back down again.
I leaned one shoulder against the frame and waited.
Her breath caught softly.
“I—” She cleared her throat. “Pearl said you might know something about this.”
She lifted the book slightly between us like it could save her now.
“It was behind the astronomy texts. In the library. She thought maybe you’d…”
Her words trailed off when she looked at me again.
Ares practically preened.
I was enjoying this far more than I should have been.
“You found a book,” I said.
“Yes.”
“In the library.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Only a little.”
That earned me a look.
A real one this time.
There she is.
“You could’ve asked Jackson,” I said.
A small pause.
“I know.”
But she’d come here instead.
That landed low in my chest before I could stop it.
Not the bond.
Not instinct.
Her.
The choice.
I stepped back from the doorway.
“Come in,” I said quietly. “Give me a minute.”
She walked past me into the outer sitting room and warmth followed her in like she’d brought it with her.
The den was dim this time of day, gold light spilling across the thick carpet and dark wood shelves. She moved slowly, taking things in the way she always did. The coffee bar. The books stacked beside the sofa. My laptop left open on the desk.
Home seeing home.
Something about that thought settled strangely deep.
“Sit,” I said.
She tucked one leg underneath herself on the camel-colored sofa, fingers still tight around the book. Her sweater rode slightly up her wrist when she adjusted it and I caught the soft inside of her skin there.
A stupid thing to notice.
I noticed it anyway.
I pulled the shirt over my head.
Her breathing changed.
Tiny shift.
Barely there.
But Ares caught it immediately.
Oh, he’s unbearable now.
I crossed the room and held out my hand for the book.
Her fingers brushed mine when she passed it over.
Warm.
Too warm for how brief it was.
I flipped it open.
Dark green cloth.
No title.
Handwritten notes in the margins from generations of readers.
I knew the text immediately.
My attention sharpened.
“Where exactly was this?”
“Third alcove from the left. Behind two astronomy books.”
“Someone hid it there.”
“Is that bad?”
I looked up.
Her lower lip was caught lightly between her teeth.
Worried.
About a book.
About me.
About whether she’d done something wrong.
The corner of my mouth pulled before I could stop it.
“In a we-should-probably-read-it-carefully way,” I said.
“That’s not comforting.”
“No,” I agreed. “But it’s accurate.”
She huffed a quiet laugh.
God.
Every time she relaxed around me it felt like winning something I hadn’t realized I wanted.
I sat across from her and opened the book again.
“Maera will want to see this.”
Her fingers tightened slightly against her knee.
“She’s really coming because of me.”
“Yes.”
She absorbed that quietly.
No dramatics.
No panic.
And I saw her trying to fit another impossible thing carefully into herself without breaking around the edges.
“Okay,” she said softly. Then: “ Dominic, thank you. For telling me things.”
The honesty of it hit harder than it should have.
I held the book out to her again.
Our fingers overlapped briefly on the spine.
Her breath caught.
Her small fingers soft and warm.
“Careful, little wolf,” I murmured. “You keep looking at me like that, I’ll start thinking I’m in danger on this sofa. ”
Her entire face went pink.
Catastrophically pink.
Ares nearly howled with delight.
I let her suffer for exactly three seconds before relenting slightly.
“You brought me a question, didn’t you?”
My gaze dropped deliberately to the book in her hands.
“Or did you come all this way to forget it?”
Her eyes widened.
“I found the book in the library,” she said with tremendous dignity.
“Mm.”
“That was the question.”
“Was it?”
She looked at me then.
Amusement playing in the smile on her lips.
And for one suspended second the room went strangely quiet around us.
Her eyes dropped briefly to my mouth before she caught herself.
Ares went very still.
I leaned back slightly before I did something unwise.
“Third alcove,” I said instead. “I’ll check the others tomorrow.”
She nodded.
But neither of us moved immediately.
I could feel the warmth of her in the room.
The shape of her attention.
The pull of her sitting six feet away trying not to stare at me while absolutely staring at me.
“I should go help Chloe,” she said finally, though she didn’t stand yet.
“You should,” I agreed.
Another pause.
Neither of us moved.
Then finally she stood, clutching the book to her chest again.
At the door she glanced back over her shoulder.
“Dominic?”
“Mm?”
A small smile tugged at her mouth.
“You should probably put a shirt on before answering doors.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Real laughter.
The sound startled both of us a little.
Her smile widened.
Then she disappeared down the corridor.
I stood there for a long moment afterward staring at the empty doorway.
Ares stretched lazily inside me.
Mate likes us shirtless.
“You are a plague.”
He sounded deeply unrepentant.
I finally went to get the shower.
Blane arrived two hours later.
Three black cars rolled up the drive at exactly eleven in the morning.
Calculated.
Measured.
Political.
I stood at the front steps already dressed in dark charcoal and silver, Jackson on my right, Merrick on my left.
Ares sat close to the surface beneath my skin.
Watching.
Waiting.
Blane stepped from the second vehicle with the smooth confidence of a man who had the catastrophic bad luck to inherit power for personal greatness sometime around adolescence—and never quite recovered from believing it made him special.
Silver at the temples.
Overdone Elegance
Not enough control, nose in the air like a hunter trying to sniff out his prey.
Dangerous.
“Dominic,” he greeted warmly, taking my hand with both of his.
I hated when he did that.
“Blane.”
Not uncle.
Never uncle.
“I wasn’t expecting you until Thursday.”
“The delegation moved ahead of schedule.” Easy smile. “I hope it isn’t inconvenient.”
Lie.
“Of course not.”
His gaze drifted past me toward the grounds.
Calculating.
Then stopped.
Annabelle stood at the garden gate.
Not hidden behind the wall.
Not watching from safety.
At the gate.
Facing the drive directly.
The green book tucked under one arm.
Her chin lifted.
Blane looked at her too long.
One.
Two.
Three seconds.
Cold slid through my chest.
I was already moving before thought caught up.
I crossed the courtyard and stopped beside her close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
“The cars arrived,” I said quietly.
“I noticed.”
Her voice was calm but I felt the slight hitch in her breathing.
She was nervous.
Still standing her ground anyway.
Brave girl.
“I wanted to see him,” she admitted.
I looked at her.
Something fierce and painful moved unexpectedly through my chest.
Not fear.
Not pride.
Something worse.
Blane approached us slowly.
His expensive cologne hit first.
Underneath it came the familiar sourness.
Annabelle reacted instantly.
Her hand rose unconsciously to the center of her chest.
A small movement.
Barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
Ares snarled low.
“Annabelle,” Blane said smoothly. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“I’m sure,” she replied pleasantly.
Nothing given away.
Nothing offered.
His eyes moved over her carefully.
Assessing.
I shifted half a step closer to her without thinking.
Not touching.
Just there.
Close enough she could feel I was there.
“SilverMoon has been kind enough to offer safety,” Blane said.
“SilverMoon has been home,” Annabelle answered softly.
The smallest flicker crossed his face.
Gone immediately.
I almost smiled.
“Shall we go inside?” I asked.
Blane looked at me.
Then at her once more.
Making a note.
“Of course.”
The second the doors closed behind him Annabelle exhaled slowly.
He smells wrong,” she whispered, her nose scrunching softly before she could stop it, like her whole body had rejected him on instinct alone.
The corner of my mouth pulled.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “That’s the smell of old money, bad intentions, and a man who’s never once been told to shut the hell up.”
Her smile escaped anyway.
Small and bright.
And Goddess, I was already learning I’d do almost anything to keep being the reason for it.
Her fingers still rested lightly against her sternum.
She looked up at me.
“Am I allowed to dislike him immediately?”
“You’d concern me if you didn’t.”
That startled a laugh out of her.
Mine answered before I could stop it.
Walking back together, I matched my stride to hers. In the quiet, her fingers slipped into my palm, tentative and warm, and the soft brush of her arm against mine sent a steady heat through me.
The meeting dragged on for two hours.
My office, the fire burned down, the Elders in their corner with the careful stillness of people whose entire function was to see everything and confirm nothing. Blane conducted it the way he conducted all things — every question shaped like courtesy, every courtesy shaped like a question.
He asked about Chloe.
He asked about the diner incident.
He asked about the young woman caught up in it — young woman said with all the contempt he could muster and not cause suspicion.
“She’s recovering well,” I said.
“Glad to hear it. A frightening business.” He folded his hands. “Is she from the territory?”
“She worked in the territory.”
“Her family?”
“She’s under my protection. That’s sufficient.”
The Elders scratched something down. Blane’s cup turned once on the table.
After the formal session Merrick peeled the Elders away with his usual elegant efficiency — charming, with just enough edge to remind them he enjoyed violence. They were through the door before they’d fully decided whether to go. Jackson stayed. Blane remained in his chair.
“She’s not from any known pack,” he said.
“No.”
“Her lineage.”
“Unknown to me. At present.”
“Interesting.” The cup turned again. Slow. “There are talks of raids in your territory—”
“Not my territory,” I said evenly, “further south. As you know, considering the palace gets every scrap of intelligence, plus there are your own personal spies.” Blane’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
“Yes, nephew, it seems old myths and prophecies may be behind it all." He waited. I didn’t supply anything. The cup turned, annoyance crossing his face and gone as quickly.
The calm I was holding cost more than I showed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
He looked at me. For a fraction of a fraction the mask slipped. The man underneath it had been waiting a very long time for something, waiting and hunting.
“Will this stray be accompanying you to the palace?” The word curled like a sneer. Ares bristled in my head. Jackson's jaw locked audibly beside me — he knew as well as I did that she wasn’t a stray at all.
Ares exploded against my ribs.
My claws threatened.
The word stray hung in the room like rot.
I smiled slowly.
“The difference between you and me,” I said quietly, “is that I don’t bring strays home.”
Blane’s jaw tightened.
Then the Elders returned and the mask slid back into place.
Ten minutes later they were gone.
I sat alone afterward staring at the empty doorway.
Thinking about Annabelle’s hand against her chest.
Thinking about her laugh in my rooms.
Thinking about how naturally I had moved beside her today.
As though I’d been doing it my whole life.
Then I went to find her.
She was on the garden bench.
Chloe rose the moment she saw me approaching and vanished with suspicious speed.
Annabelle watched her leave before turning toward me.
Cold October air curled through the stripped trees around us.
She looked tired.
Not weak.
Just… carrying too much at once.
I sat beside her.
The bench was cold stone beneath us.
“Tell me,” she said softly.
I did.
Blane.
The Council.
The danger.
She listened quietly with her hands folded in her lap.
No fear. Her beautiful face showing me all the emotions she was feeling like one of those old movies, the ones without sound.
Annabelle trying to hold impossible things together without letting them swallow her whole.
“And the palace?” she asked carefully. “You’ll go there and I stay here?”
I heard it then.
Saw the tension in her shoulders.
The carefulness in her voice.
The old hurt underneath the question.
Do you leave people behind too?
“No,” I said immediately.
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“You’ll be with me.”
Something in her face shifted.
Relief.
Quick and vulnerable enough it almost hurt to see.
“I won’t leave you behind,” I said quietly. “That’s not what this is.”
Silence settled between us.
Cold air.
Bare branches.
Her warmth beside me.
“If they decide I’m not suitable—”
“They won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Annabelle.”
She stopped immediately.
I lowered my voice.
“They will not decide against you. Trust me on that one thing.”
She studied my face for a long moment.
Then slowly:
“Okay.”
Trust, not blind not entirely at least, trust all the same.
A deliberate offering of it.
The ache of that nearly undid me.
Her shoulder drifted slightly closer to mine without her noticing.
Instinct.
Seeking warmth.
Seeking me.
Ares went silent inside my chest.
Not triumphant.
Certain.
I stood there, eyes on the old stone wall, feeling October’s cool breath weave through her curls against my arm. The breeze was gentle now, but it carried a weight that told me trouble was brewing. I rose and held out my hand. She slipped her fingers into mine, and we headed inside together—warmth pressed to warmth—ready to face whatever storm waited for us beyond my borders.
- Writer
