THE ALPHA WHO KNELT

Chapter 12

Elara - Age 17

Four months before my eighteenth birthday, Ronan finally looked at me like I was a woman. I should have known it wouldn't last.

The pack celebration was in full swing downstairs, filling the Alpha house with laughter and music that drifted up through the floorboards. It was the winter solstice festival, our pack marking the longest night and celebrating the promise of spring's return. Luna Helena had outdone herself with the decorations, transforming the main hall into a winter wonderland of ice sculptures and twinkling lights.

I should have been down there with everyone else, fulfilling my duties as future Luna by mingling with pack members and showing my face at important gatherings. But I'd retreated to my room an hour ago, claiming a headache that wasn't entirely a lie. Watching Ronan charm every

unmated she-wolf at the party while barely acknowledging my existence had become more painful than I could bear in public.

You should have stayed, Sapphire said in my mind, her mental voice carrying the frustration I was trying to suppress. You should have reminded them all that you are his mate.

"What's the point?" I whispered to my empty room. "He doesn't want to be reminded."

I'd changed out of my party dress into comfortable pajamas—soft cotton pants and a loose t-shirt that had seen better days. If I wasn't going to be seen, I might as well be comfortable. Through my window, I could see snow falling steadily, blanketing the pack territory in pristine white.

The celebration below grew louder as the night wore on. I could hear Ronan's laugh rising above the other voices, rich and warm and directed at someone who wasn't me. Probably vivica, or vesper, or any of the other she-wolves who'd been competing for his attention lately.

He is making a mistake, Sapphire growled. He does not see what is right in front of him.

"Maybe what's in front of him isn't what he wants," I said sadly.

I was settling into bed with a book when I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my room. Heavy, unsteady footsteps that paused right outside my door. My heart skipped as I recognized Ronan's familiar gait, though something seemed off about it.

A soft knock made me freeze. Ronan never came to my room, especially not this late at night.

"Elara?" His voice was rougher than usual, heavily slurred. "Are you awake?"

I set down my book with trembling hands. "Yes. Come in."

The door opened slowly, and Ronan stepped into my room. The sight of him made my breath catch. He was still dressed for the party in dark jeans and a deep blue shirt, but his hair was disheveled and his eyes were unfocused with alcohol. He'd been drinking heavily, more than I'd ever seen him drink before.

"Ronan? Are you alright?"

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, swaying slightly.

When he looked at me, his amber eyes were bright with something I couldn't identify.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his words slurring together. "My beautiful mate."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Ronan, you're drunk. Maybe you should—"

"Four months," he interrupted, pushing off from the door and moving toward me with unsteady steps. "Four months until you're mine. Really mine."

He reached the bed and sat down heavily on the edge, close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with his familiar pine and leather scent.

"I've been thinking about you," he said, reaching out to touch my face with fingers that trembled slightly. "About us. About what it will be like."

"Ronan..." I breathed, hardly daring to believe he was here talking to me like this.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, his thumb brushing across my cheek. "So pure, so good. I don't deserve you."

"You do," I said fiercely. "You deserve to be loved."

Something shifted in his expression, and suddenly his lips were on mine. The kiss was desperate, hungry, tasting of whiskey and something that felt like years of suppressed longing. I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I kissed him back.

"Elara," he murmured against my lips.

His hands tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss, and I felt like I was flying and falling at the same time. This was what I'd dreamed of for years, what I'd hoped and prayed for. Ronan is finally seeing me, finally wanting me.

But then he pulled back, running a shaking hand through his dark hair.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him, pouring another measure into the glass that sat on my dresser. His movements were unsteady, his usual iron control frayed by alcohol and whatever had driven him to my room tonight.

He moved to stand by the window, a silhouette against the moon-drenched night, the half-empty glass dangling from his fingers. The scent of whiskey, sharp and warm, mingled with his earthy fragrance of pine and wild earth.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers pleating the soft cotton of my pajama bottoms while I waited for him to speak, to move, to do something other than stare out at the darkness. They were my favorite pajamas—worn thin and soft, patterned with tiny blue forget-me-nots. They felt childish and absurdly out of place in the face of the monumental feeling humming between us. Sapphire was a restless storm beneath my skin, pacing and whining with a need so profound it was a physical ache.

Finally, Ronan turned from the window, and his eyes found mine.