Allister stood by the heavy oak door separating his room from Sunflower's temporary prison, his jaw tight enough to crack a nut. Down his hallway, sitting perfectly still by the entrance to his wing, was Celeste. She looked poised and perfect, a picture of pure-blood excellence, and her presence was a loud, physical reminder of Elder Maeve's calculated distrust.
"Alpha," Celeste's voice was smooth, almost sickeningly polite, as he walked past. "May I get you anything? Maybe a cup of calming tea? You seem… worried."
"I am perfectly fine, Celeste," Allister replied, his voice flat. "The door to my room stays shut, and the door to the prisoner's room stays locked. You will tell me immediately about any sound louder than a whisper."
He knew she was taking in the heavy, unfamiliar smell that filled the air the strange mix of ozone and sun-warmed earth that clung to him since they met. Celeste, the physical example of his pack duty, was now a constant guard, and it felt like being unable to breathe.
He went into his room, took off his dirty hunting jacket, and spent five minutes fighting a losing battle against the mental echo of Sunflower's emotions. He felt the lasting wave of her loneliness, not as his own, but as a chilling reminder of how deeply alone she was.
He went back to the joining room and unlocked the door, going back into the small space where Sunflower waited.
"We need rules," Allister said, standing over her. He kept a distance of several feet, trying to maintain the professional boundary he had nearly broken minutes earlier. "First rule: Complete silence. No singing, no walking back and forth, and no more attempted sarcasm."
Sunflower, who had been lazily inspecting the iron bolts on the door with a surprising lack of fear, looked up. The light caught her purple-gold eyes, giving her an odd, captivating quality.
"Silence?" she repeated, tilting her head. "How exactly do you expect me to obey that when your brain is screaming at mine every time you look at me? It's very loud, Alpha. Like a broken alarm clock stuck on 'Danger! Mate is Damaged!'"
He gripped the back of the chair they'd used for the questioning. "That communication will stop if you stop engaging the connection. Focus on not fighting. Focus on stillness."
"I am still," she argued, her voice a low murmur, "but you're the one who dragged me into your private area and slapped a spiritual connection on me. That's your issue, not mine. Also, second rule: you need a better guard. Celeste is outside. She smells like ambition and failure."
Allister felt a flash of frustrated heat in his chest she was too smart, too perceptive. She saw the pack politics instantly. He shifted his weight, and in that moment of distraction, he inhaled too deeply. The air in the small room was now dominated by her scent. It wasn't merely the lingering smell of her struggle; it was the soft, underlying smell of her, the woman, now mixed with the heavy scent of his own lingering male hormones. It was a suffocating feeling of being too close.
"I am making the rules, not you," Allister clipped out, trying to take back control. "You will give me details about where you came from. What you were trying to get at that wall. And why your name is a flower."
Sunflower's lip curled into a cynical smile. "You seem to be more worried about my name than the fact that you almost had a massive headache when you tried to use mind control. And yes, my name is Sunflower. My parents had a unique sense of humor. What's the matter, Alpha? Too sweet for a creature who can probably rip your throat out?"
The contradiction the fierce aggression barely contained by the gentle, almost childish name was striking. It was unexpectedly effective at throwing him off balance.
Allister deliberately changed the subject, his gaze falling on the small, silver-tipped tool she had used at the wall. It was lying beside her on the bed.
"That tool," he commanded. "Hand it over."
She paused only for a moment before obeying. As Allister took the object, he noticed a faint, almost unnoticeable coating on the silver tip a fine, dry powder that smelled faintly of copper and smoke.
"What is this substance?" he demanded, holding the tool up to the dim light.
Sunflower looked away, the sarcasm finally fading into genuine reluctance. "Just a little something my grandmother taught me. It covers my scent. Helps me move without being noticed."
Allister looked from the tool to her. She wasn't just hiding; she was actively trying to stop the smell of her true nature. If that had been used when he was chasing her, he might never have found her. The thought sent a chill down his spine. She was far more clever and skilled than a simple lone wolf.
"You are a planned threat," he judged, dropping the tool into his pocket.
"And you are an easily distracted Alpha," she shot back. "We both have our problems."
The conversation was broken by a loud, official knock on the outer door. Allister opened it to find a kitchen helper, looking nervous, holding a tray.
"Alpha, Elder Maeve told me to bring… food for the prisoner."
Allister took the tray a simple plate of stale bread, thin soup, and a single, overly ripe apple. The presentation was clearly meant to be insulting.
He took the tray back into the small room and placed it on the table.
Sunflower eyed the meal, then picked up the apple. She weighed it in her hand, her purple eye twinkling with dark mischief.
"Ah, a feast," she remarked. "The apple, I guess, is for dramatic effect? Did Maeve want to make sure I got one last bite before I was locked away forever? I appreciate the morbid touch."
Allister stared at her, caught completely off guard. The ridiculousness of the situation the high-stakes political drama reduced to a stale piece of bread and a symbolic apple hit him. A faint, uncontrollable twitch touched the corner of his mouth. He instantly stopped it, fighting the brief, foreign urge to smile.
"Eat," he ordered, his voice rough, his guard back up. He turned toward the door, his heart pounding not from fear, but from the terrifying discovery that she could access his humor, his duty, and his desire all at once.
He paused at the door. "You will be questioned by the Elders tomorrow at sunrise. Until then, you will remain silent."
He slammed the door and shot the heavy bolts home. He walked over to his own bed, but he didn't lie down. He stood in the suffocating silence of his room, his hand instinctively touching the wall that separated him from the mixed-blood. He could hear nothing, but his mind was overwhelmed by the sudden, intense knowledge that on the other side of the stone, the woman who was either his destiny or his destruction was calmly taking a bite out of the symbolic apple.
Allister closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. This is going to destroy me.