Gathering Storm ( Alexa’s POV )
1040 Words
“Tell me you’re not seriously going after Margaux alone tonight.”
The question ripped out of me the second Zyrus stepped back into our chambers, still wearing the same black leathers from the council confrontation hours earlier. Blood speckled his knuckles—not his. The copper scent hit me before he even closed the door.
He paused, shoulders rolling like he was shaking off a weight he couldn’t quite shed. Moonlight carved harsh angles across his face, making the fresh bruise along his jaw look almost silver.
“I didn’t go after her,” he said, voice low and scraped raw. “She came to me. Or rather—her messenger did. With a very polite invitation to meet at the eastern crypt at midnight.”
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I tasted metal.
“And you’re telling me this casually? Like it’s just another council meeting?”
He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him—anger, adrenaline, something darker. His hand lifted, hesitated, then cupped the side of my face. Thumb brushed the corner of my mouth like he was checking I was still real.
“I’m telling you because Kael already ran his mouth,” he murmured. “And because if I leave without saying anything, you’ll do something reckless. Like follow me.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Damn right I would.”
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips—gone in half a breath.
“That’s exactly why you’re staying here.” His voice dropped, velvet wrapped around steel. “Locked down. Guarded. Breathing.”
I grabbed his wrist—hard. “You think locking me in a pretty cage makes me safe? While you walk into whatever trap Veyra and Margaux set? No. Hell no.”
His eyes darkened—pupils blowing wide. “You’re carrying our child, Alexa.”
“And you’re carrying the weight of every lie they’ve told about us.” I stepped into him until our bodies brushed. “If you die tonight, what happens to me? To us? You think I’ll just… survive that?”
Something shattered behind his gaze—quick, violent, gone.
He leaned down until his forehead rested against mine. Breath hot against my lips.
“I survive you every single day,” he whispered. “Every time I look at you and can’t say the words clawing up my throat. Every time I touch you and have to pull back before I break the only rule keeping you alive. If anything happens to me tonight… you keep breathing. You keep fighting. For him.” His palm flattened low on my belly—possessive, reverent, trembling. “Promise me.”
Tears stung. I hated them.
“I promise nothing,” I choked out. “Because if you walk out that door without me, I’ll tear this palace apart looking for you.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest—half frustration, half something dangerously close to pride.
“You’re impossible.”
“You made me this way.”
He kissed me then—fast, bruising, like he was trying to pour every unsaid thing into the press of his mouth. When he pulled back his eyes were molten silver.
“Stay,” he ordered again. Softer this time. Almost pleading.
I shook my head. “No.”
He exhaled—sharp, defeated—and stepped away. Went to the heavy wardrobe, pulled out a dark cloak lined with silver-threaded wolf pelt.
“Fine,” he said without looking at me. “But you stay behind me. You don’t speak unless I tell you to. And if anything feels wrong—even a whisper of wrong—you run. No heroics. No fate-bending. Just run.”
My pulse thundered. “Deal.”
He tossed the cloak at me. “Put it on. We leave in ten.”
• • •
The eastern tower crypt smelled like wet stone, old blood, and secrets that should’ve stayed buried.
We didn’t take the main stairwell. Zyrus led me down a narrow servants’ passage hidden behind a false tapestry in the armory—steps slick with moss, air thick enough to chew. His hand never left mine; fingers laced so tight it hurt in the best way.
Halfway down he stopped. Pressed me against the damp wall. Leaned in until his lips brushed my ear.
“Heartbeat’s too loud,” he murmured. “Slow it down.”
I tried. Couldn’t.
He pressed his palm over my chest—right above the frantic thudding.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered. In. Out. Slow.
I matched him. Eventually the roaring in my ears quieted to something manageable.
“Good girl,” he breathed against my temple. Then softer—so soft I almost missed it—“I’ve got you.”
We continued.
At the bottom the passage opened into a cavern lit by three iron braziers. Flames burned unnatural blue-white. In the center stood Margaux—gown the color of fresh bruises, hair loose and wild like she’d been running her hands through it for hours.
Beside her: an old woman.
Veyra.
Skin like cracked parchment, eyes milky but sharp. Leaning on a staff carved from what looked like petrified bone.
Zyrus pushed me slightly behind him—half shield, half cage.
“You brought the Luna,” Margaux said. Voice sweet poison. “How… trusting.”
Zyrus’s smile was all teeth. “You invited me to a crypt at midnight. I brought insurance.”
Veyra tilted her head. “The White one is awakening early. I can smell it on her. Moonlight and ozone and destiny.” Her blind gaze seemed to pierce straight through me. “Pity it will kill her before she blooms.”
My blood turned to ice.
Zyrus stepped forward—slow, deliberate. Every line of him screamed predator.
“Speak plainly,” he said. “Or I rip your tongue out and we end this conversation early.”
Margaux laughed—high, brittle. “Always so dramatic, my love.”
He snarled. Actual snarl—low, guttural, promising violence.
“I was never yours.”
- Writer
