Alpha of Hell

Chapter 7: Feverish Confessions

I returned to the palace after my meeting with Klaus, who didn't forget to remind me of the importance of preparing for the test.

"I won't miss the chance to watch you dazzle everyone,"

he said with a hopeful smile. Reaching the palace gates, I raised my hands with childish joy, whispering, "Finally!" The guards opened the gates and welcomed me in unison.

I returned the greeting and hurried to my room. I took a quick shower, feeling my eyelids grow heavy.

I put on comfortable clothes—red shorts and a shirt—and threw myself onto the bed. "So comfortable," I murmured,

"Why can't life always be like this?"

I fell asleep, thinking about everything that had happened to me. But my peaceful slumber didn't last long.

The maid woke me with her calm but firm voice:

"The Alpha wants you in his office immediately."

I raised my head slowly, my eyes refusing to open.

"Can't the meeting be postponed?"

I looked at her and found only signs of strict refusal on her serious face.

"Fine, I'm coming,"

I said, surrendering. She nodded and left. I got out of bed, my wet hair dripping onto my shoulders.

The cold air hit my face, reminding me that I had forgotten to close the window. "I'm going to get sick now," I muttered.

I put on my slippers and walked out swaying, heading toward his cursed office, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible.

I pushed the door open, rubbing my eyes and stumbling toward the center of the office. "What is it?" I asked.

My voice sounded as if I had spent the whole day drinking until I was drunk. I heard a faint murmur, "How cute," coming from Aryn.

I waved "hello" to him and looked for Knight. I found him staring at me intensely before his expression shifted from calm to pure rage, pointing at my clothes:

"How could you come out looking like that?"

he said nervously.

What? Really? Is he jealous now? And why would he be jealous anyway? I think he’s mentally ill or something; his actions make no sense.

I replied indifferently:

"These are pajamas. What’s making you so angry? Are you jealous?"

I said, pointing my finger at him.

I sighed with boredom and turned toward the sofa, sitting down to wait for him to speak.

"Not much time has passed since your arrival, and you've already caused trouble,"

he said in a cold voice, though anger was evident in his features.

"Oh, did the news reach you that fast?"

I said sarcastically, "Or was that handsome guy with the huge muscles the first to complain?"

I saw Aryn hit his forehead in frustration, realizing I had said something stupid.

"I think my brain stops working when I'm sleepy" I added foolishly.

He gritted his teeth firmly and closed his eyes, trying to control himself.

He exhaled slowly, then said in a low, cold voice:

"The penalty for attempted murder is not to be underestimated."

I looked at him in shock.

"Murder? I didn't try to kill her. It was just a fair duel, and I ended it quickly."

I was about to add something, but he interrupted:

"My follower was there, and he saw everything."

I blinked several times. "Is he spying on me?" Anger flared within me.

"Look," I said sharply, "I didn't try to kill anyone. They provoked me, and I only responded to their provocation."

I crossed my arms in annoyance and added:

"They deserved what happened to them."

I saw him watching me, arms crossed in an 'X' shape, with an eerie calmness.

The calm before the storm, I thought, but I’m ready.

He hummed, remaining in that mysterious posture. I glared at him with resentment, ready to accept any punishment.

"After tomorrow's test, I will think of a punishment that suits you,"

he said in a tone not devoid of malice.

I huffed in annoyance, and he was about to say more when a series of consecutive sneezes interrupted him.

I realized then that tomorrow would be a difficult day. I finally stopped sneezing, trying to catch my breath and holding my head tightly, murmuring:

"Damn, this doesn't bode well at all."

A wave of dizziness washed over me, so I closed my eyes tightly, trying to stop it.

I calmed down a bit and exhaled; the air was hot.

I removed my hands from my head and opened my green eyes to see Aryn beside me, concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay?"

he asked. I nodded to him, grateful for his concern. He placed his hand on my forehead and said in horror:

"Damn, your temperature is high."

He glared at me with increasing concern while my vision grew blurrier.

I looked ahead, trying to hold myself together, and saw him approaching me slowly.

For a moment, I glimpsed a flash of worry in his eyes that quickly vanished. I must be hallucinating, I thought.

I stood up, trying to stay steady, wanting only to leave.

"I have to get out of here. I don't want anyone to see me this weak."

I almost made it out, but the dizziness intensified to the point where I could no longer hear anything around me.

I leaned my hand on the door so as not to fall, but my legs failed me.

I prepared to hit the ground and lost consciousness completely—except I felt his hands catch me before I touched the floor.

I felt him lightly slap my cheek, and I barely heard his troubled voice calling my name, begging me not to lose consciousness.

I tried to open my eyes to catch a glimpse of his worry and confusion spread across his handsome face.

I smiled at my thoughts, and heard his shout to "wake up" before blackness engulfed me.

I relaxed in his arms, enjoying his warmth, and felt him carrying me as I lost all my senses.

I felt myself gradually returning to life, not through light, but through the coldness of water invading my body.

I opened my eyes slowly to find myself in my underwear, in his arms, with cold water flowing over my body.

He was holding me, and his proximity drugged me, preventing me from moving any of my limbs.

Feelings of shame and anger clashed inside me, while the numbness kept me from resisting.

After opening my eyes with confusion, I looked at him. His hands were framing my face, and his closeness confused me.

"Are you okay?"

he said in a low voice, his face leaning closer to mine, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Do you feel any pain?"

he asked, and I could feel his warm breath on my face.

My feelings were racing, but I couldn't move.

His closeness was numbing, and my breath quickened.

I was shivering under his hands from the cold water, and at that moment, I realized he was shirtless.

Water droplets were falling from his hair, and his body was strong and striking.

My cheeks flushed, and I closed my eyes, cursing myself for my straying thoughts.

"Is the heatwave back?"

I heard him ask. He placed his hand on my cheek and said,

"Strange, you are fine, so why are your cheeks red?"

he said in wonder.

Then he understood that the reason for my flushed cheeks was my shyness around him.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, took me out of the water, placed me on the bed, and wrapped me in a towel that smelled of him.

I realized I was in his room, so I closed my eyes, trying to sleep.

I hate being sick, I thought.

My temperature began to rise, and I started murmuring unintelligible words. He approached and sat beside me, feeling my fever.

"This isn't good,"

he said in a worried voice.

Moments later, I heard the palace doctor's voice.

I felt a prick in my arm and heard him say:

"When the IV is finished, she will be fine."

The doctor prepared to leave, while he returned to sit beside me.

I smiled inwardly, unable to believe I mattered to him, before surrendering to sleep.

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling dizzy. The sun was piercing through the curtains, filling the room with a faint light.

A strange scent filled the place—a scent I could never forget: Knight's scent.

I felt warm, but also confused.

I remembered what happened last night—how I lost consciousness and how he carried me.

I felt shy, but also relieved. I was in his room, on his bed, under a heavy blanket, and I felt a warm body beside me. I tried to move, but I felt weak.

I felt the warmth of his body surrounding me. He was sleeping beside me, his hand around me, his scent filling my nose.

Feelings of shyness took over, but I couldn't move. I felt him move slightly, then I felt his heartbeat increase.

I sensed that he had woken up, but he was trying not to show it. It was a strange moment of silence, but a silence full of meaning.

Knight's Point of View:

The cold truth flowed like a basin of ice over my head.

This truth was something I could never have imagined, a truth I couldn't accept. The masks had fallen, and the image of the "strong Cera"

was gone, revealing a reality I didn't know: she was human—weak, breakable.

In that moment, I didn't hate her; instead, I felt fear.

Fear for someone I thought was invincible. I saw her stagger, and her last words—"Damn, this doesn't bode well at all"—were enough to confirm my fears. Her strength was fading, and I felt something was wrong.

Her body was falling slowly, as if she would collapse at any second.

My eyes couldn't accept this sight—the sight of her collapse.

I rushed to her without hesitation and caught her before she touched the ground.

She was light, lighter than I expected. The lightness of her body symbolized her fragility, a weakness I hadn't realized.

"Cera, don't lose consciousness!"

I shouted her name, but I didn't know what to say.

Thoughts were racing in my head as I held her in my arms. I was carrying my mate whom I didn't accept, yet I cared about her.

The fever was exhausting her, and I had to do something fast. Time passed slowly; every minute felt like an eternity. Her life was in my hands, and I was responsible for her, even if my feelings toward her were contradictory.

This experience shattered all the barriers I had built between us. it was a shock to me, but also a moment of revelation—a moment I realized that Cera isn't just a strong mate; she is a human being who needs someone to care for her.

My hands were shaking, not out of fear of her, but out of fear of myself. That truth was harsher than a fever gnawing at a slender body.

I hated her, yes, I hated her, but those same feelings were swaying on the edge of suppressed desire, like a sharp blade I couldn't grasp.

Her presence, helpless in my arms, awakened buried, contradictory feelings—feelings I never dared admit to myself.

I removed her shirt and shorts, leaving her in her underwear, with her innocent features I wasn't used to.

I feared losing control of myself, of this desire creeping stealthily through the cracks of my hatred for her.

Her temperature was high, and cold water was a harsh necessity. I held her and lowered her slowly into the water basin.

I felt the cold hit her body, and I felt her shiver in my hands like a small, weak bird. Her eyes were closed, but I knew she felt the cold, just as I felt the turmoil raging within me.

And when she heavily opened her eyes and looked at me with confusion, my feelings were clashing, but reality was stronger than any emotion.

I looked at her and found myself in an intimate situation with her. She was in her underwear, while I was shirtless, and the cold water submerged our bodies.

I felt shame, confusion, anger, and every negative emotion imaginable. But after taking her out of the tub, her comfort was the priority.

I placed her on the bed slowly, trying to control myself—my desire to get closer to her, and my fear of losing control.

Her words came from her lips like disconnected threads, fragments of scattered memories.

She was delirious, the fever gnawing at her body mercilessly. I didn't hesitate to call the palace doctor to examine her.

He gave her an IV and told me she would improve when it was finished. I lay down beside her after making sure her fever had dropped, watching her intermittent breaths.

Every breath she took was enough to reassure my heart, until I fell asleep without realizing it, as if her weak body possessed the power to silence my internal conflict.

From the room's window, the first rays of dawn were slowly creeping in, but they weren't enough to dispel the darkness hanging over my heart.

She woke up slowly, as if trying to gather the scattered pieces of her soul. Her face was pale, exhausted, and her eyes held a confused look—a look reflecting the pain she had lived through.

I felt my heart tighten, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it. This wasn't real physical pain, but another kind—the kind that told me I had begun to care for her. This truth was difficult, one I didn't want to admit.

"Cera, are you okay?"

The words left my lips in a faint voice, as if I feared breaking this fragile silence between us.

My words were simple, but they carried an implicit admission of care—care I didn't know existed.

She looked at me with a gaze full of doubt and curiosity, perhaps wondering why I was here, beside her, in this situation.

I realized I was in a difficult position, one that would change our relationship forever. I didn't know what would happen, but I knew I no longer saw Cera the same way.

She was no longer just a mate; she had become something more complex—something I feared and desired at the same time.

The flush on her cheeks wasn't just a result of recovering from the fever; it was like a brand that revealed her feelings and her memory of that intimate moment we spent together.

Her face was still pale from illness, but that shy blush rising to her cheeks was stronger than any evidence of her recovery. It told me she remembered—she remembered everything.

I pretended not to notice and turned my face toward the window. When our eyes met, I felt my heart tighten—not from fear, but because it realized the moment it dreaded had come.

"Please... put something on."

I felt shame wash over me—a shame I had never known before. I realized I was wearing nothing but my trousers, and my presence beside her like this was a violation of all the boundaries I had drawn for myself.

I stood up slowly, feeling the weight of her gaze following me. I didn't dare look at her; instead, I moved toward my clothes slowly, as if avoiding reality.

Features of coldness settled on my face—the coldness that was a mask I had mastered wearing all my life.

I turned my back to her as I walked out of the dressing room, ignoring the blush of shame I felt rising to my cheeks.

I ignored her look of confusion and headed toward the door, intending to leave, intending to escape this situation that had become more complicated than ever.

And at the moment my hand was on the doorknob, before I left her behind, I heard her calm voice—a voice I didn't know could be this peaceful.

"Knight... thank you for taking care of me."

I froze in my place, as if her voice had bound me with invisible chains. I hadn't realized my care for her was so obvious.

Her thank-you wasn't just a thank-you; it was an acknowledgment—an admission that she had noticed my concern, a concern I didn't want anyone to see.

I felt shame, confusion, and a desire to escape, but at the same time, I felt something else: a kind of satisfaction I had never known before.

I didn't know how to answer, so I turned to her slowly and looked into her eyes.

It was a look full of thanks and gratitude. I looked at her for a long time, my eyes contemplating her pale face, which was slowly regaining its health.

I tried to gather my scattered thoughts, but her calm voice and simple words "thank you" were still ringing in my ears.

"You won't take the test until you get better."

My words were cold, brief, and devoid of emotion. I said them as if speaking about something unimportant, ignoring everything that had happened between us. But in truth, this decision was difficult for me.

I turned my back to her and prepared to leave.