Chapter Four: What We Don’t Say Aloud
1177 Words
Elara – POV
Maren doesn’t ask permission to make herself at home.
She never has.
She moves through my small apartment with easy familiarity, opening cupboards, setting water to boil, folding her cloak over the chair by the door like she plans to stay longer than a night. Maybe she does. Maybe she already knows I need her to.
“You’re thinner,” she says again, more quietly this time, handing me a mug. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, because that’s what omegas are taught to say when the truth is complicated.
She doesn’t argue. She just looks at me, really looks—at the faint shadows under my eyes, the way my shoulders stay tense even while sitting, the careful way I keep my scent locked down.
The mark on her neck is impossible to ignore. It isn’t flashy or exaggerated. Just a clear, dark claim at the curve of her throat, placed there with certainty. I wonder if it hurt. I wonder if she was afraid.
I wonder why fate was kind to her and silent with me.
“How long are you staying?” I ask.
She wraps her hands around her own cup. “A few days. My mate needed to return to the Ring Pack for council matters. I asked to come home instead of waiting alone.”
Home.
The word lands heavier than it should.
“You’re lucky,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her gaze sharpens—not offended, just thoughtful. “Luck didn’t keep me safe, Elara.”
That makes me look up.
The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. Outside, the pack settles into night. Familiar sounds. Predictable sounds.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Maren exhales slowly. “I didn’t come back just to visit.”
My fingers tighten around the mug.
She leans forward slightly. “Tell me what happened today.”
I hesitate. Old habits die hard. Keeping quiet is easier than explaining danger that feels unreal even to me.
“Elara,” she says gently. “You don’t smell calm.”
That gets a weak smile from me. “You never miss anything.”
“Occupational hazard of surviving as an omega,” she replies dryly.
I stare into the dark surface of my tea. Then I tell her. Not everything. But enough.
I tell her about work. About the Alpha’s son. About his grip on my wrist and the way he said second mate like it was an offer I should be grateful for.
I do not tell her how helpless I felt.
Her jaw tightens as I speak.
“And the Alpha King?” she asks carefully.
I pause. “He stopped it.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
She studies my face for a long moment. “That’s not all.”
I swallow. “He knew my name.”
That’s when her expression changes.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“Elara,” she says quietly. “You need to listen to me.”
I nod, heart starting to race.
“In the Ring Pack, we hear things,” she continues. “Politics. Alliances. Which packs are stable and which are… hungry.”
My stomach tightens.
“The Moon Pack,” she says, “has been watching this territory for months.”
That surprises me. “Why?”
“Because unclaimed omegas are becoming leverage.”
The word makes my skin go cold.
“Leverage for what?” I ask.
“For power,” she says simply. “For alliances that don’t need consent to justify themselves.”
I think of Darius’s smile. The way he spoke like my future was already decided.
“You’re unmarked,” Maren continues. “Which makes you visible. Valuable. And vulnerable.”
“I work,” I say weakly. “I don’t stand out.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “You do to the wrong people.”
Silence stretches between us.
“There’s more,” she adds.
I brace myself. “Tell me.”
“My mate overheard discussions,” she says. “About omegas being… reassigned. Especially those from respectable families. Quiet ones. Ones who won’t cause trouble.”
I feel sick.
“Elara,” she says softly, “if an Alpha decides to claim you publicly, resistance won’t matter.”
“I know,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “That’s why the Alpha King intervening matters.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t claim me. He just stopped it.”
“That’s enough,” she says firmly. “It means he noticed you. And attention from someone like him can be protection.”
Or danger, I think.
“I don’t want protection that comes with a price,” I say.
Maren’s gaze softens. “Neither did I. But sometimes survival doesn’t give us clean choices.”
We sit quietly for a while after that. Eventually, she stands and pulls me into a hug—tight, grounding, real.
“You’re not alone,” she says into my hair. “Not anymore.”
When she finally goes to rest, I stand alone by the window.
Somewhere out there, plans are being made.
And I am part of them—whether I agreed or not.
Kael – POV
Night sharpens my thoughts instead of calming them.
I stand in my private quarters, maps spread across the table, notes written in my own hand—territory shifts, patrol schedules, names of Alphas who have been pushing boundaries recently.
Darius’s name is circled.
Elara’s is written beside it.
That should not be there.
I scrub a hand down my face and force myself to focus. This is not about instinct. This is about order. About preventing abuse of power within my jurisdiction.
Unmarked omegas are becoming targets.
That will end.
I reach for a fresh sheet of paper, already forming a plan—discreet protection, policy reinforcement, a clear message to ambitious heirs who think silence means permission.
A knock sounds at the door.
Before I can answer, it opens.
Rowan strolls in like he owns the place, hands in his pockets, expression relaxed. “You’re still awake. Figured.”
He glances at the table. “Planning world domination, or just another meeting aftermath?”
“Neither,” I say.
He hums, unconvinced. “You going to tell me why you left the meeting early?”
I look back at the map.
“No.”
Rowan grins. “Then I’ll assume it went badly.”
He pulls up a chair without asking. “You know, when you get that look, it usually means someone crossed a line.”
They did.
And she paid the price for it.
I fold the paper slowly. “Get some rest, Rowan.”
He studies me for a moment, smile fading just slightly. “Whatever it is,” he says, quieter now, “don’t carry it alone.”
I meet his gaze.
If only it were that simple.
- Writer
