ADAM
She stopped.
Not abruptly, not startled—but with a asured stillness that made the night lean closer, as if the world itself had paused to watch what would happen next.
I halted too, my grip tightening unconsciously around her hand.
For a breath, I simply stared at her.
At the angle of her face as she turned slightly toward . At the way moonlight softened the sharpness of her cheekbones.
At her hair—dark, glossy, falling in a way that didn’t quite sit right in my mind, as though so instinct deep inside was whispering that this wasn’t its true shade.
Her eyes troubled more. Too vivid. Too deliberate. As if she’d chosen them rather than been born with them.
And yet none of that mattered. Because the feelings didn’t stop.
They hadn’t stopped since the mont I’d been waiting in her living room, restless, irritated with myself, when she had walked in wearing that casual confidence like a second skin.
They hadn’t stopped when she teased , slow and deliberate, her voice wrapped in silk and thorns. They hadn’t stopped when I’d taken her hand, telling myself it was only a test, only strategy.
Now they surged.
Looking down at her, standing so close I could feel the heat of her body through the cold night air, an urge slamd into —violent, sudden, consuming.
I wanted to close the distance.
Wanted to drag her into my arms, bury my face in her neck, press kisses to those full, maddening lips.
Lips that, the longer I stared at them, felt disturbingly familiar. As if I’d known them in another life. As if they had once whispered my na.
They beckoned to .
The feeling wasn’t desire alone. It was obsession—sharp, invasive, territorial.
She cocked a brow at , sassy, knowing, clearly aware of the storm tightening behind my eyes.
I cleared my throat and looked away. What in the goddess’ na was wrong with ?
I was supposed to be in control. This was supposed to be a ga—one where I held the reins, where I unraveled her secrets, not the other way around.
I could not afford to fall for soone who might drive a wedge between and my brothers.
A scoff sounded in my head, low and unmistakably amused. She is our mate, my wolf said. Not your brothers’.
I ignored him.
I couldn’t stop thinking of Noah. Of Daniel. Of how history had a cruel way of repeating itself. Of how sharing had once felt natural—and how this ti, it didn’t.
"Cat caught your tongue?" Sage teased.
The sound that left was a snort—short, surprised, almost startled out of . It didn’t even sound like .
"Yes," I said, more roughly than intended. "We’re going to the caves."
Her brows pulled together.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She blinked, clearly not expecting the question. "Yes."
But her gaze searched my face. "Why the caves? That’s what I asked the first ti. Didn’t you hear?"
I shrugged, forcing casual into my posture, easing the tension coiled tight in my chest. "I wanted to show you more of the pack. You’ll be staying here from now on afterall.."
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then she nodded. "Alright."
Relief spread through . I tightened my grip on her hand and resud walking, allowing myself the small, selfish pleasure of her beside , of our steps falling into sync.
The caves rose before us monts later, ancient and unmoving.
And the mont we crossed the threshold, sounds were swallowed, the night behind us thinned into a mory, replaced by damp stone and a hush that felt reverent, heavy, alive.
The air changed—cooler, denser—carrying the mineral tang of ancient rock and sothing sharper beneath it: herbs, blood, smoke, old magic.
The path sloped downward, uneven, carved not by tools but by ti and ritual. Torchlight clung to the walls in trembling halos, shadows stretching and collapsing as the flas breathed. Water dripped sowhere deep within, a slow, patient sound that echoed like a pulse.
So things never changed.
I had walked this path as a child, my mother’s voice guiding through stories older than mory. I had stood here as a boy, as a prince, as a king.
Generation after generation had passed through this cavern, leaving fragnts of themselves embedded in its walls.
And now she walked beside .
Sage’s steps slowed, her fingers tightening briefly around mine—not in fear, but awareness. She was taking it in. asuring. Reading the place the way one reads a living thing. That alone told she understood more than she let on.
The goddess’ moon shone through the jagged opening overhead, pale and watchful, as if She herself had bent close to witness this mont.
I felt it then—the strange weight of being seen. Judged. Rembered.
I shook it off.
Inside the main chamber, the priest and the doctor were hunched over sothing.
They stood with their backs to us, shoulders bent, heads close together in murmured concentration.
The doctor’s hands moved thodically, precise and practiced. The priest traced symbols in the air, faint light flickering at his fingertips before sinking into whatever lay between them.
I couldn’t see what it was.
But they had been working for hours, I knew. On sothing important. They would let know once the ti was right, I knew.
I wondered if it was about Sage.
When we took another step, both n froze.
The doctor was the first to turn. His eyes lifted—and widened.
Not at . At her.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of the torches and the slow drip of water.
The priest turned next, his expression smoothing into careful neutrality that fooled no one. His gaze followed the sa path as the doctor’s—over Sage’s face, her posture, the quiet confidence in the way she stood.
Too long.
A flicker of irritation rose in my chest, sharp and unwelco. What were they doing?
I cleared my throat.
The doctor startled visibly, blinking as if shaken from a trance. "Ah... King Adam," he said quickly, straightening.
Then, turning to Sage with a polite nod, "Congratulations on your victory today. Remarkable skill."
The priest inclined his head a fraction. "Indeed. The goddess’ favor is... evident."
His eyes lingered again.
My jaw tightened. At this rate, they might as well spill the truth!
At my silent prompting, the doctor shifted, stepping slightly aside, gesturing to the walls. "This chamber has served the pack for centuries," he began, voice slipping into explanation, as though giving a practiced tour.
"Healing, judgnt, rites of passage. The markings you see were etched long before the first king."
Sage listened, unreadable. As usual.
Her gaze moved—not just following his hand, but mapping the space. The carvings. The ritual circle worn smooth by countless knees. The stone slab partially obscured behind them—the one they’d been working over.
I watched her instead of the cave.
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