Chapter 12: The Watcher Behind the Flame
2091 Words
The war chamber still echoed with the ghost of Aramis’s laughter long after he’d gone.
But Dominic wasn’t laughing.
He stood silent before the cold hearth, his hands braced on the stone mantle, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
Cazriel hovered nearby, waiting for orders, but there was nothing left to say. Nothing to command. Not when every part of Dominic burned with one truth:
She was mine.
And they all want to see her fall.
He didn’t care what Aramis thought.
He didn’t care what the court whispered.
But what chilled him now wasn’t fear of losing control…
It was knowing he already had.
Because ever since that little omega came into his life, nothing had made sense.
And now she had him unraveling over imaginary lovers, biting down jealousy like it was blood in his throat.
He’d come undone in her hands.
And she hadn’t even tried.
With a snarl, he turned from the hearth and stormed back to his quarters—every step echoing with the fury of a king whose leash was slipping.
But when he pushed open the door, ready to confront her again—
She wasn’t in the bed.
She wasn’t hiding behind the curtains or sulking beneath the covers.
She was in the bath chamber.
And the door was cracked open.
Steam curled through the air like smoke, carrying the soft scent of lavender and heat.
And inside—
He saw her.
Bathed in candlelight.
Her bare back arched slightly above the water’s surface, skin glistening, droplets trailing down her spine like pearls spilled from heaven. She leaned her head back against the tub’s edge, eyes closed, lips parted, unaware—or uncaring—that she wasn’t alone anymore.
Dominic froze.
The rage drained from him in an instant, replaced by something far darker.
Need.
Primal.
Ferocious.
He should’ve looked away.
Should’ve turned and slammed the door shut.
But he didn’t.
He watched.
Like a beast in the shadows.
His eyes followed every curve of her, every slow drag of the sponge across her collarbone, the way her thighs shifted beneath the cloudy water. His hands clenched at his sides—torn between restraint and instinct.
Mine.
His wolf snarled the word in his head like a drumbeat.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Dominic dragged a hand down his face, turning from the door before he lost what little control he had left.
But she spoke—
Casually.
Softly.
Knowing he was there.
“You keep staring like that, Alpha…” she murmured, “and I might think you want to join me.”
He stiffened.
Didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
She peeked at him through the mist, a smug little grin playing at her lips. “But then again,” she continued, “you’re too proper for that, aren’t you? Wouldn’t want your precious pride slipping into the water.”
He growled.
Low. Dangerous.
And still—he didn’t enter.
Not yet.
Because she was playing a game.
And he didn’t know if he could win this one.
She tilted her head, hair slick and damp over her shoulder. “No threats this time? No warnings? What happened to carving my stare off my face, hmm?”
Dominic turned his back to her, fists tightening.
“Get out,” he muttered.
Thalia arched a brow. “Of the bath?”
“No,” he growled. “Out of my head.”
She laughed. Light. Carefree.
He hated how much he liked that sound.
Dominic didn’t stay to listen.
He stormed out again, slamming the outer door behind him—and this time?
He didn’t look back.
But the image of her?
Of that soft body in flickering candlelight?
It haunted him long after.
Dominic didn’t sleep.
Didn’t even try.
He stood on the balcony long after the candles died, letting the cold wind lash across his skin, trying to silence the memory of her voice… her skin… her breath.
But she was everywhere now.
In his veins.
Under his skin.
Inside his damn soul.
And the worst part?
She knew it.
She knew what she was doing when she smiled at him over her shoulder in that bath, knew how to wrap herself around his mind without lifting a finger. She knew the exact pitch to drive him mad—and she wielded it like a dagger.
By dawn, he was done waiting.
The moment his guards sent word that Aramis and his wolves were still in the court hall—waiting, watching, stirring whispers—he sent orders without hesitation.
“Ready her,” he told Cazriel through the mind link. “Bring her to the throne chamber. No arguments. No delays.”
Cazriel hesitated.
“She won’t like it.”
“I didn’t ask what she liked.”
“She might fight.”
“Then drag her.”
And with that, the command was law.
Thalia’s first warning came as a knock.
Then another.
Then the door flung open without waiting for permission.
Cazriel entered like a shadow. “You’re wanted.”
Thalia blinked from where she sat cross-legged on the rug, brushing out her wet hair in a simple robe. “By who?”
“The Alpha.”
Her brows arched. “Tell him I’m unavailable. Or better—dead.”
Cazriel didn’t smile.
Didn’t move.
“You can walk… or I can carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He raised a brow. “You clearly haven’t seen Dominic when his patience breaks.”
That did it.
She rose with a scowl, letting the brush fall to the floor. “Fine. But if one of those overdressed jackals stares at my chest, I’m biting someone.”
Cazriel’s lips twitched. “Try not to start an international incident.”
The throne hall doors groaned open.
And every gaze turned toward her.
Thalia stepped inside, spine straight, chin lifted, wearing the deep crimson gown that clung to her like a second skin. Her hair was damp, wild, falling around her shoulders in loose waves. No jewelry. No collar. Just fire in her eyes.
She looked like a wolf without a leash.
And that made them nervous.
The lords whispered.
The ladies sneered.
The warriors watched with poorly hidden hunger—or disgust.
Dominic sat on his throne, cloaked in black, a single silver ring gleaming on his hand.
He didn’t rise.
Didn’t blink.
Just watched her walk.
She hated that.
Hated the way his gaze followed her like a brand.
Hated that even after last night—after the kiss, the bath, the raw tension in the air—he looked like nothing touched him.
Like she hadn’t touched him.
Cazriel led her to the step below the throne, then stepped back.
She didn’t kneel.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Thalia,” he said, voice low but echoing, “you’re late.”
“You didn’t give me a time,” she replied sweetly. “Just a threat.”
A few nobles gasped.
Dominic’s mouth twitched.
“She speaks,” Aramis said lazily from his spot by the pillar, wine in hand, eyes trailing down her body like a predator. “And beautifully, I might add.”
Thalia didn’t look at him.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
But Dominic saw the way her jaw tightened.
He rose from the throne slowly.
The room silenced.
“Thalia of no pack,” he said, loud enough for every corner of the court to hear. “The one you mock. The one you question. The one I claimed before the stars.”
Aramis’s smirk faltered.
Dominic turned.
“Let this be a reminder.”
He snapped his fingers.
A pair of guards dragged a trembling noble forward—the same one who’d been laughing too loudly moments before.
The man fell to his knees.
“Lord Braegon has been spreading rumors,” Dominic said coldly. “Calling my mate unworthy.”
The man whimpered. “I meant no offense, Alpha. It was—just gossip.”
Dominic didn’t look at him.
Didn’t touch him.
He simply raised a hand.
Cazriel moved forward—and drove his fist into the man’s gut so hard he collapsed.
Another hit.
And another.
Until blood painted the stone.
Until the court fell into deathly silence.
Dominic only spoke when the man coughed on the floor, clutching his ribs.
“Next time,” he said softly, “I remove the tongue.”
He turned back to Thalia.
And for just a second…
He saw it.
The flicker of something in her eyes.
Not fear.
Not horror.
Something hotter.
Darker.
Possessive.
Because he’d done that… for her.
Not out of kindness.
Not from mercy.
But because she was his.
And he’d bleed kingdoms dry before he let anyone humiliate her again.
She didn’t speak.
But her hand brushed the hem of her skirt—slowly, quietly—like a silent claim.
Mine too.
Dominic saw it.
Felt it.
And it only made the hunger burn deeper.
The moment settled like dust.
Too heavy.
Too dangerous.
Dominic turned back to the court, his voice clipped and cold. “Let the meeting begin.”
But Thalia didn’t fall into silence like the others.
She stood.
Tall.
Proud.
Unclaimed in every way except the one that mattered.
And then, as one of the lesser nobles—an oily, pale-faced advisor with too many rings and not enough spine—stepped forward to question her lineage, she tilted her head and said sweetly:
“I was raised by wolves. Not cowards dressed in velvet.”
The hall broke into shocked laughter.
Sharp. Sudden. Scandalous.
Even Aramis let out a bark of delight, clapping once. “Oh, I do like her.”
But Dominic—
He growled.
Loud enough to drown the laughter.
Low enough to make every wolf in the room stiffen.
Possessive didn’t begin to cover it.
Thalia glanced at him over her shoulder.
Smirking.
She knew what she was doing.
Dominic’s hands flexed over the armrests of the throne, the silver ring on his finger biting into his flesh.
“Speak again,” he said in a voice like crushed gravel, “and I will gag you.”
That smirk curled wider.
“Careful, Alpha,” she whispered. “You might enjoy that more than I do.”
Cazriel made a choking sound beside the throne, half-swallowed and horrified.
Dominic stood.
Like a storm rising from stone.
His gaze locked on hers, silver flames licking through the cracks of his control.
The court went dead silent again.
She just stared back.
And for a heartbeat longer…
The whole damn kingdom held its breath.
Thalia didn’t flinch.
Didn’t lower her eyes.
Didn’t bow.
And Dominic?
He didn’t look away.
It was war—silent, blazing, intimate.
Only when Aramis shifted—breaking the stillness with the lazy swirl of his wine glass—did Dominic finally move. He stepped down from the dais, boots echoing sharply against the stone as he descended toward her.
The court held its breath again.
A ripple of unease whispered along the marble walls.
“Why is the worthless mate still alive?” a voice murmured behind a fan of peacock feathers.
“Has she bewitched him?” another hissed.
“Or worse—has he fallen?”
The rumors slithered like snakes, but Dominic heard every word.
And Thalia did too.
She straightened more.
Lifted her chin like a crown.
Dominic stopped before her—close enough to smell the lavender still clinging to her skin. Close enough to remember how she’d looked in the bath. In his mind. In his veins.
Her voice was too low for the others to hear when she whispered, “You going to punish me now, Alpha?”
He should’ve.
For the comment.
For the insolence.
For existing like a flame inside his ribcage.
Instead—
He leaned in.
Slow.
Dark.
Dangerous.
And whispered back, “I haven’t decided if I’ll punish you… or beg you.”
Thalia’s breath caught—but she recovered fast. “What makes you think I’d let you do either?”
That grin he wore wasn’t a smile.
It was a warning.
He stepped back and turned to the crowd.
“Court is dismissed.”
One sentence.
And panic scattered like birds from a flame.
Chairs scraped.
Skirts swished.
Voices hissed low behind sleeves as nobles hurried to escape the tension choking the air.
Only Aramis stayed.
Only Thalia remained rooted beside the throne.
And only Dominic looked satisfied as the chamber emptied—leaving behind nothing but heat.
And her.
- Writer
