Chapter 2: Garden Deals and Adjacent Doors

The misty council gardens smelled like wet cedar and old grudges. I walked the gravel path with my coffee in hand—black, two sugars—because the bond had spent the whole assembly kicking my ribs like a pissed-off mule.

Elias Voss waited on a stone bench half-hidden by dripping ferns. He checked his vintage watch with that calculated nonchalance that made me itch for a blade. His silver-streaked hair caught the weak sunlight, and his green eyes lit up when he spotted me.

"Yara, darling. You survived the assembly. And Benedict's brooding stare. Impressive." He patted the bench beside him like we were old lovers catching up.

I stayed standing. Steam curled from my cup between us. "Cut the charm, Elias. You didn't forge that summons out of the goodness of your beta heart. What's the price?"

He smiled, all teeth. "Always so direct. I like that about you. The council's rotting from the inside. Bloodlines aren't what they used to be." His gaze flicked to my collarbone, where the mating scar itched under my blouse. "And you... you're the perfect little wrecking ball."

My fingers tightened on the cup. The bond gave a warning throb. "Flattery's cheap. Specifics."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Access to the restricted archives. A few well-placed distractions during the next vote. In return, I feed you dirt on Benedict's late wife. Suspicious little accident, wasn't it?"

The words landed hard. I took a slow sip, letting the sweetness hit my teeth. Benedict's clipped voice from the corridor still echoed—nothing to do with you. My scar burned under my fingertip when I traced it without thinking.

"Why me?" I asked, voice steady.

Elias finished the thought for me, which made my skin crawl. "Because your forbidden rites scare the hell out of the old guard. And because the bond between you and our dear alpha makes you the ultimate wildcard." He checked his watch again. "Tick tock, Yara. The full moon waits for no one."

I wanted to tell him to shove his alliance up his perfectly styled ass. Instead I nodded once. "Fine. But if you screw me over, I'll use those rites to turn your blood to acid. Slowly."

He laughed, delighted. "There's the omega I was promised. Meet me at the eastern archive after midnight. Bring that pretty gold power of yours."

I left him there, steps heavier than when I'd arrived. The mist clung to my coat like it wanted a piece of the deal too.

---

The attendant at the housing desk didn't pretend to be surprised. She slid the key across the polished wood with a pitying smile that made me want to bare my teeth.

"Third floor, east wing," she said. "Right next to Alpha Collingwood's private quarters. The observer suites were... reassigned."

Of course they were. The bond in my chest gave a smug little pulse. I snatched the key before she could see my hand shake and turned away without another word.

My heels clicked too loud on the marble stairs. Each step pulled my shoulders tighter. The loose strand of dark hair kept falling into my eyes no matter how many times I tucked it back.

The room was too nice. Silk sheets, a balcony overlooking the misty forest, and a connecting door—locked, thank the gods—that led straight into Benedict's domain. I could feel him through the wood, a low hum that made my scar burn hotter.

I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and paced. Twenty minutes of that nonsense and I gave up, pulling out my ritual kit. Small blades, a vial of my own blood, the antique key that sometimes whispered when the moon was right.

The circle I drew on the floorboards with salt felt shaky. My hands weren't steady. I sat in the center, legs crossed, and pricked my finger. The drop hit the key and hissed, gold threading through the metal.

Power rose, cool at first, then warmer. Whispers filled my head—my mentor's cracked voice. Careful, girl. It always starts sweet.

I pushed harder, trying to weave a barrier around the bond. The mate pull fought back, yanking so hard I gasped. My skin prickled. The gold under it flickered like hidden lightning.

The pull intensified, dragging me toward the balcony doors. I stumbled up, rite unfinished, and shoved them open. Cool night air slapped my face, thick with pine.

Benedict was already there.

He leaned against his own railing, shirt cuffs unbuttoned, signet ring glinting as he spun it. The connecting balconies were separated by a thin iron lattice that might as well have been nothing. His ice-blue eyes locked on mine instantly.

"Couldn't sleep either?" His voice came out rough. Not quite a question.

I gripped my railing, nails digging into cold metal. The unfinished rite left me raw. "Your ego's showing, Collingwood. Not everything's about you."

He straightened, all six-four of him uncoiling. The five-o'clock shadow looked darker in the moonlight. My body remembered every inch of him under that same moon five years ago. Traitorous bitch.

His fingers flexed on the railing. He stared out at the dark trees instead of at me. "Wife's dead. You threw that in my face last night. Figured you deserved the rest."

The bond twisted in my chest. I traced my scar, the faint ridge hot under my fingertips. He didn't elaborate. Good. I wasn't sure I could handle more without the gold showing.

"She wanted pups," he said after a long beat, words clipped like he resented giving them. "Pure blood. Strong heirs. I gave her everything except what she really wanted."

His jaw worked like he was chewing glass. I felt the echo of his hollow ache through the bond and hated how it made my own breath catch. Five years of wondering if this thing would kill me.

"Convenient stairs," I said. The barb came out softer than I meant.

He turned then, stepping closer to the lattice. Close enough that I caught cedar and rain and his soap. My mouth went dry. The gold under my skin pulsed once. His eyes narrowed at it.

"You think I killed her?" The question was flat, but his shoulders tightened. "Council's full of whispers. Elias feeding them to you?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't. The bond pulled harder, making my sternum throb. I wanted to climb the lattice. I wanted to run. Mostly I wanted to stop feeling like the girl who'd once cried in his arms.

"Stay away from Elias," he warned, voice dropping to that commanding register. "He's using you to get to me. And that power you're playing with... it changes people, Yara. I see it."

"Like you care." The words tasted bitter. I traced the scar again, harder, like spite could erase the bond.

His fingers flexed once more. For a second I thought he'd reach through the lattice. Instead he just watched me, blue eyes darkening with something that looked too much like longing.

"I rejected you to save you from this life," he said, the admission raw and reluctant, like it cost him. "Looks like I fucked that up too."

The words hung there, heavy. My throat tightened. I wanted to scream that saving wasn't his choice to make. That I'd rather have had the pain of being wanted than the clean cut of being discarded.

But the corruption inside me flared hotter, sending a shiver that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Power and poison. They wear the same face.

I turned away before he could see too much. The balcony doors shut behind me with a soft click that felt like surrender.

Back inside I slammed the ritual kit shut and grabbed the cold coffee. Two sugars gone bitter. I drank it anyway, pacing the silk rug until my feet hurt.

The bed looked too soft. I avoided it, choosing the armchair instead. Sleep would bring dreams—his hands, his mouth, the full moon watching us shatter. Better to stay awake.

Hours later, when my eyes burned from staring at nothing, I finally crawled under the covers. The connecting door mocked me from across the room, silent but loud as a siren.

I woke to pale dawn light and the feeling that something was wrong. My wrist burned faintly, the gold mark faded but not gone.

I sat up, pushing hair from my face, and froze.

There, on the pillow beside me, sat the moonstone. Smooth, glowing faintly. Beside it, a folded note in handwriting I would know anywhere.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up. The paper felt warm, like he'd just set it there.

Some things can't be rejected. Sleep well, mate.

The bond in my chest sang, sharp and triumphant. I crushed the note in my fist, but the moonstone stayed warm against my palm, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Benedict had been in my room. While I slept. And the worst part—the part that made my stomach drop and my skin flush—was how much I didn't hate it.

I traced the mating scar, feeling the corruption whisper promises of more. The mark on my wrist caught the light, gold and damning.

What the hell had I started?