Chapter 18: The Edge of Loyalty
1234 Words
POV Zane
The chamber was cold despite the fire in the hearth. That was always the first thing I noticed in rooms like this — how heat never reached the walls when decisions like these were made. The council sat in a half-circle of stone chairs, each carved with the crest of their lineage. They looked like judges. Executioners. Priests of old gods with no mercy left in their bones.
Elder Morek spoke first. Always the one to strike without hesitation.
“She’s becoming too powerful.”
The others didn’t nod, but the silence that followed was agreement enough.
“She hasn’t harmed anyone,” I said, though the words sounded too thin in a room this thick with suspicion.
“Yet,” Morek answered. “You’ve seen the signs. The prophecy. The way she silenced a room full of Alphas without lifting a claw.”
“She didn’t silence anyone,” I said. “They just listened.”
“That’s more dangerous than if she’d ripped out their throats,” another elder muttered.
My jaw clenched.
“You want to punish her for existing.”
“We want to prevent a war. Or worse — a new hierarchy we don’t control.”
Control. That was always the word they circled back to, dressed up in concern and tradition.
“She’s just a girl,” I said.
“She’s not,” Morek snapped. “She was never just a girl. And you know it.”
I did. That was the problem. I knew it every time I looked at her. Every time she spoke and something in the room shifted — not toward fear, but gravity. As if the world tilted around her.
“She hasn’t chosen a mate,” one of the councilwomen said, softer. “That’s important.”
Morek nodded. “Which means she’s still in flux. Still open to influence. And if that influence turns against us…”
“You want me to kill her,” I said flatly.
No one flinched.
“You are Beta to the Alpha. Trusted. Close enough to reach her without raising alarm.”
They didn’t need to say more.
“I won’t kill an innocent.”
“You will follow orders,” Morek said. “Or we’ll wonder where your loyalty lies.”
I met his eyes. “With the pack. Always.”
“Then do what’s necessary. Before it’s too late.”
I left without bowing. I didn’t run, but my legs wanted to. Not from fear. From fury.
They wanted me to be a knife. Clean, silent, quick.
But I wasn’t a knife.
Not anymore.
And I didn’t know what I’d become if I let them sharpen me again.
I didn’t go back to the barracks. Not to the war room. Not even to the courtyard where most would expect to find me training, sweating out the weight of impossible orders. Instead, I walked past the outer watch, into the woods, where the trees were older than the council and the silence didn’t feel like judgment. Just space. Breathing room.
The path wasn’t one I planned. My feet moved on instinct, like they knew where I needed to go before I did. Maybe some part of me hoped she’d be there. Maybe I wasn’t surprised when she was.
Béatrice stood near the creek, her boots sunk slightly into the mossy edge, eyes locked on the water that shimmered between the rocks. Her hair was loose again, unbound and alive in the wind. She looked like something wild that hadn’t yet decided if it wanted to be seen.
I didn’t make a sound, but she turned anyway.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
I blinked. “You were waiting?”
“No,” she said, then tilted her head. “Maybe.”
I stepped closer, slow enough not to disturb the quiet between us. “Did Dorian send you out here?”
“No,” she said again. “I needed air. The walls started to feel like they were closing in.”
“You picked the right place.”
She nodded but didn’t look at me. Just back at the water.
“Something happened,” she said after a moment. “You’re different.”
I didn’t answer right away. I watched her fingers toy with the hem of her sleeve, like she was trying not to ask too many questions.
“I spoke with the Council,” I said.
She finally looked at me, and there was something sharp in her gaze. Not fear. Not even suspicion. Just awareness. “And?”
“They think you’re dangerous.”
She let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m starting to think they might be right.”
“They want me to stop you.”
“From what?”
“From becoming what you’re meant to be.”
She went quiet. Not still — never still — but her body tensed in the way prey does before it decides whether to run or fight.
“And what am I meant to be?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I know you’re not the threat they think you are.”
“What if I am?” she said softly. “What if something inside me breaks loose one day and I can't stop it?”
I stepped closer. “Then I’ll be there to catch it.”
Her eyes flickered. “You don’t even know what I am.”
“I don’t need to.”
She stared at me for a long time. The wind picked up again, pulling strands of her hair across her face, and I reached out without thinking — not to move it, just to be close. My hand brushed hers where it hung at her side. She didn’t pull away.
The contact was small. Barely a touch. But it grounded something in me I hadn’t realized was spinning out of control.
Her fingers shifted slightly, brushing back.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” she whispered.
“I don’t,” I said. “But I’m drawn to you anyway.”
That made her laugh, a broken sound that tasted like grief and warmth at once.
“I like you,” she said, voice almost too quiet to hear. “And that scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because if I let myself feel it,” she said, “I might never be able to stop. And I’m not ready to belong to anyone.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
She looked at me, and something in her eyes softened. “Then why are you here?”
I didn’t have a good answer. So I gave her the truth.
“Because the only thing more terrifying than being near you… is being far from you.”
We stood there in silence, the wind moving around us, the creek still talking to the stones. And for a moment, it felt like time had stopped. Like all the pressure, all the expectations, all the orders — faded.
Just her. Just me. Just this.
I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t pull her closer. I just let my fingers stay tangled with hers for a second longer than necessary. And when she finally let go, she did it gently. Like she wasn’t rejecting me.
Just holding the line.
Not yet.
But maybe one day.
- Writer
