Chapter 4 Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Sara’s POV
The night felt heavier inside the Alpha’s private wing, as if the air itself carried weight. I locked the door behind Xenon just as he instructed, but the soft click echoed through the room like a command I wasn’t ready to obey.
Silence fell around me in thick, uneasy layers.
His scent lingered, unsettling and grounding at the same time. Cedar. Smoke. Something darker beneath it. It curled into the corners of the room and wrapped itself around me in a way I did not want to acknowledge.
I pressed my palms against my thighs and forced myself to breathe.
I was safe here. Safe from the intruder. Safe from whatever danger stalked the healer wing. Safe from the hooded stranger with a blade who wanted something inside that room.
But I wasn’t safe from myself.
Not with the memory of Xenon’s voice still echoing inside me.
Not after the way he said that someone getting near me was unacceptable. Not after the way he looked at me like letting me out of his sight was worse than the threat that invaded his territory.
I sat on the edge of the couch, fingers twisting in my uniform.
This wasn’t what I came here for. I didn’t want attention. I didn’t want involvement. I wanted a quiet life, a fresh start. I wanted healing and distance. I wanted nothing to do with a mate bond that chose the wrong man for me.
But the universe had other ideas.
The door remained closed for a long time. Too long. Every few minutes I thought I heard footsteps or voices, but they faded away. The silence inside the room thickened until my nerves buzzed.
Luna shifted restlessly inside me.
He is not alright.
I swallowed. He is the Alpha. He can take care of himself.
That was the truth. Xenon was strong, controlled, trained for danger. He led the most disciplined pack in the region. He didn’t need anyone’s concern, least of all mine.
Still, the image of him walking away with that look in his eyes refused to leave me.
Focused. Determined. Angry.
Not at me. At the threat.
I stood and paced once. Twice. The room felt too quiet, too clean, too filled with someone else’s energy. His clothes were folded neatly on the dresser. A jacket draped over a chair. A faint trail of forgotten papers on the desk. Signs of a man who lived here, but barely.
There was no softness. No warmth. No pieces of a life outside duty.
As if he did not allow himself anything that wasn’t necessary.
I didn’t want to care.
I didn’t want to think about what kind of man slept in a room this empty.
But thoughts crept in anyway.
Why did someone choose the healer wing of all places?
Why the drawer?
What was Xenon hiding?
The questions circled relentlessly.
When the door finally opened, I startled.
Xenon stepped inside quietly, but not calm. His shoulders were tight, his breathing controlled but sharp. He closed the door without looking at me, then leaned against it for a moment as if grounding himself.
Only then did he lift his gaze.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
“I tried.” That was a lie. “Is everything alright?”
He exhaled slowly. “No.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
He pushed off the door and walked farther into the room. The lamp’s soft light cast sharp lines on his face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes carried something heavy. Something dangerous.
He paced once, jaw tight. “The intruder escaped.”
“Did you track him?”
“I did. He was fast. Skilled. He knew how to mask his scent and move through blind spots. He had training.”
A trained infiltrator inside this pack was bad enough.
“What was he looking for in the drawer?” I asked quietly.
Xenon stopped pacing. His back remained to me for a moment too long before he answered.
“It doesn’t concern you.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have.
“It concerns me if he was willing to attack one of your warriors while searching for it,” I said.
Xenon turned slowly. His eyes were darker. “Sara you nearly walked into him.”
“I know.”
“You could have been hurt.”
“I wasn’t.”
“That is not the point.”
My breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. Not loud, not harsh. Firm. Protective. As if the idea alone unsettled him more than the breach of his territory.
He moved closer. Not enough to touch. Enough to make my pulse race.
“You do not understand the danger,” he said.
“You are not telling me anything,” I replied.
“Because some things are better left unknown.”
I shook my head. “You cannot protect people by keeping them blind.”
His eyes flickered. “You think I am trying to protect you?”
The question tightened the air between us.
I couldn’t answer. Not honestly. Not without revealing how the bond still pulsed faintly under my ribs.
He looked away first.
“You should rest,” he murmured. “It is late.”
I crossed my arms, grounding myself. “What about Asher?”
“He is stable. He will recover.”
Relief washed through me. “Good.”
Xenon nodded once, then walked to the window. He looked out at the dark courtyard, jaw set, tension radiating off him in waves.
I watched him for a moment. The rigid posture. The quiet breathing. The weight of responsibility pressing on him like armor.
He didn’t look like a man who rejected his mate.
He looked like a man who feared something much worse.
“Xenon,” I said softly before I could stop myself.
His shoulders stiffened at the sound of his name. When he turned to me, something unguarded flickered across his face before he masked it again.
“What is it?”
“You think the intruder was after me.”
Silence.
He didn’t confirm it.
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t need to.
The truth settled between us like a chilling whisper.
He took a long breath and walked toward me slowly, every step measured until he stood close enough that I could feel the heat of his body.
“When I saw the blood on your hands,” he said in a quiet voice, “it felt like something inside me cracked.”
My pulse raced.
He continued. “I know what I said before. I know the decision I made. But tonight proved something I cannot ignore.”
He paused.
“When danger comes for this pack, it does not miss the ones fate ties to it. Even if it is inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient,” I echoed.
He winced almost imperceptibly. “That was not the right word.”
“No.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. He looked restless. Frustrated. Pulled in two directions he refused to acknowledge.
“Why does it matter to you?” I asked quietly.
He did not answer immediately. His gaze swept over my face, stopping at the place where the bond pulsed most painfully. His voice dropped.
“Because even broken bonds still tie.”
I inhaled sharply.
He looked away again, breathing hard. “You should sleep. The couch is comfortable. I will take the chair.”
“You are not sleeping?”
“No.”
Because he was patrolling mentally. Listening. Waiting. Protecting.
Against something I still did not understand.
He walked to the far side of the room and sat, but his eyes stayed on the door, sharp and alert.
I sat slowly on the couch, the exhaustion washing over me all at once. Not physical. Emotional. Heavy.
Minutes passed.
Xenon didn’t move.
His eyes drifted once toward me, studied me, then shifted away quickly like he didn’t want to feel whatever flashed through him.
“Xenon,” I whispered.
He stiffened. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them, they were softer.
“You are safe here,” he said quietly. “As long as I am breathing you are safe.”
My heart twisted painfully.
Because he meant it.
Because he didn’t want to mean it.
And because deep inside, something told me this danger wasn’t a coincidence.
Someone had entered the healer wing for a reason.
Someone knew what was hidden in that drawer.
And someone knew I was there.
As sleep slowly pulled at me, one thought anchored itself in my chest.
The attack was not random.
