"Heat exposes the body, but restraint reveals the soul."
The cabin smelled faintly of cedarwood, charred firewood, and something I could not scrub out no matter how many times I tried: the ghost of last night. My sheets were a wreck, twisted like they had fought a battle of their own, clinging stubbornly to scents I wanted both to keep and to forget. Heat. Desperation. And threaded through all of it the undeniable storm of Alaric's presence.
He was not here, and instead, on the bedside table sat a folded piece of parchment. Neat, sharp handwriting stared back at me, each line cut with precision, like a blade honed by arrogance itself.
Show up at the castle.
That was all. No apology, no signature, not even a flourish. Just a command, stamped invisibly with the weight of an Alpha who never needed to explain himself.
I read it once. Twice. Then I threw my head back and laughed. Not politely. Not delicately. This was a laugh so rough it shook my ribs and made my throat ache.
