The Alpha's Slave

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE COUNCIL

The morning is quite gloomy, but my thoughts are still reeling from last night. Confusion swirls in my mind like a ticking bomb. However, I refuse to dwell on it, Jaxon seems fine, at least outwardly.

He acts as if our conversation never happened, which I find unsettling. I lack the courage to ask him directly. I need to respect our boundaries, even though we're close. I must remember he's the Alpha, the ruler of this town.

He sits at the table, flipping through the newspaper. I pour him tea, remaining silent. I should act as if last night was insignificant.

I sit beside him, about to eat, when he speaks. “The council will have a party later,” he says, eyes still on the newspaper. He lifts his teacup and sips, a faint smile playing on his lips.

I frown, confused. He mentioned the council last night, but what about the party? Why are they holding one? Is it related to the attack two weeks ago? The timing feels...odd.

“Why are they holding a party?” I ask, my confusion evident. “Is it a belated celebration for the successful attack two weeks ago? Or is there something else?” I look down at my plate, trying to hide my nervousness.

Jaxon looks at me; his eyes are captivating, but there's a strange glint in them today, something guarded. He stares back, then returns to the newspaper. “Maybe?” he mutters uncertainly, his voice barely a whisper. Then, he adds, almost as an afterthought, "It's at the stadium. They're saying it's going to be... extravagant. Lots of decorations, music, even fireworks."

The description of the party piques my interest. Fireworks? That's unusual for a council gathering. It sounds more like a lavish celebration, not a simple gathering.

“Anyway, everyone’s invited to have some fun at the stadium downtown, you can come too.” He adds with a slightly forced cheerfulness.

“Are we both going?” I ask. He nods quickly and stands, a little too abruptly. I’m delighted, I thought I’d go alone. I immediately searched for an outfit. I have many dresses to choose from, but I want to choose something that will make a statement. Something that will show Jaxon... and everyone else... that I'm not to be underestimated.

I'm excited, but also worried about Jaxon's earlier behavior. A subtle unease lingers, a feeling that something isn't quite right. The party... It feels like a distraction, a carefully orchestrated one. And the fireworks... they feel ominous, like a final, explosive flourish before something significant happens.

********

The party’s glittering facade had crumbled, leaving behind a silence thick with unspoken tensions. I found Jaxon on the veranda, a solitary figure silhouetted against the moonlit gardens. He wasn't merely still, he was rigid, his body a taut spring coiled tight with barely suppressed energy. His usual relaxed posture was gone, replaced by a stiffness that spoke of inner turmoil. He stood as if bracing himself against an unseen force, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. A strange calmness emanated from him, a stillness that felt more like a carefully constructed mask than genuine peace.

This was my chance.

I approached cautiously, my footsteps muffled on the stone. He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge my presence. The silence stretched, a taut wire strung between us, vibrating with unspoken anxieties. The night air, usually a balm to my nerves, felt thick and suffocating, mirroring the pressure I sensed radiating from him.

“Jaxon,” I breathed, my voice barely audible above the night’s whispers.

He turned slowly, his face etched with a weariness that went beyond simple fatigue. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were shadowed, dulled with a bleakness that chilled me to the bone. Dark circles underscored their intensity, evidence of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his usually strong features seemed almost gaunt.

“Aurora,” he said, his voice a low rasp, devoid of his usual warmth. The words were strained, each syllable a visible effort. “I… I didn’t expect you to still be here.” The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications, a palpable sense of dread clinging to them.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart. “About tonight. About your… performance.” The word hung in the air, a deliberate choice, a subtle accusation that hung heavy in the perfumed night air.

He hesitated, his gaze darting away from mine, as if avoiding something he couldn't bear to look at. The moonlight illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the deep lines of worry etched around his eyes – lines carved not by age, but by stress, by a burden that was visibly crushing him. He looked older, wearier, haunted, than I’d ever seen him. His usually impeccable grooming seemed neglected; his hair was disheveled, his normally crisp shirt slightly rumpled.

“I told you, I was overwhelmed,” he said, his voice tight, defensive. The words were a flimsy shield against the truth, a desperate attempt to maintain control. His hand moved involuntarily to his collar, a nervous tic I’d never noticed before.

“Overwhelmed?” I echoed, my voice edged with disbelief. “Jaxon, you’re the Alpha. You’ve faced down entire packs, navigated treacherous political landscapes, and yet, a party at Dawnsville Manor leaves you ‘overwhelmed’?” My voice rose slightly, the sarcasm dripping, but beneath the sarcasm was a genuine concern.

He finally met my gaze, his eyes filled with a turmoil that mirrored my own unease. A flicker of something – fear, guilt, or perhaps something far more sinister – crossed his features before he quickly masked it with a practiced, but unconvincing, calm. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed hard. He looked away again, running a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying his inner turmoil. His breathing was shallow, rapid, a clear sign of his anxiety.

“It’s not just the party,” he said, his voice a low growl. “There’s… something else.” The words were clipped, each syllable pregnant with unspoken dread.

“Something else?” I pressed, my patience fraying. “What is it, Jaxon? You’ve been acting strangely all night. Distracted, secretive… almost… complicit.” The word hung in the air, a pointed accusation. His silence was a confirmation.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his secret. The carefully constructed facade he’d maintained throughout the evening finally cracked, revealing the raw fear beneath. His whole body seemed to tremble slightly, a barely controlled shudder that spoke volumes.

“I can’t tell you,” he said, his voice a strained whisper. “Not yet. It’s… too dangerous.” The words were laced with a desperate urgency.

“Dangerous?” I repeated, my voice sharp with alarm. “Dangerous for who? For you? For me? Or for something… bigger?” The last words were a question, but also a statement, a recognition of a threat that extended far beyond us.

He looked at me, his eyes pleading, desperate. “For all of us,” he said, his voice thick with a raw emotion that transcended fear. “Please, Aurora, just trust me. For now. Because if you don't… we might not have a future to talk about.” The threat, unspoken but chillingly clear, hung in the air between them. The weight of his words, and the unspoken danger they alluded to, left me breathless.

He paused, then added in a low, almost inaudible voice, "Because, Aurora... I am the danger." His eyes flickered, revealing a cold, calculating glint that was utterly alien to the man I thought I knew. He wasn't overwhelmed; he was orchestrating everything. The ‘threat’ wasn't external, it was him.