Chapter 13 What He Knew

Chapter 13: Chapter 13 What He Knew

Talia’s POV

The bathroom door closed, and my shoulders came down by a degree I did not want to admit. It was strange, the way his presence had weight—even standing still, even saying nothing, the room leaned toward him. With the door shut between us, the air finally sat flat again.

I stared at the tray.

My stomach growled, and I ignored it the way I always did. Hunger was an old friend by now. It came, it went, and it reminded me I was still alive. I knew from long practice that if I ate tonight, tomorrow I would want more, and there might not be more tomorrow. That was how hunger worked in Cresswood, and that was how I had survived it.

The soup was still steaming.

That was the problem with it. The kitchens lay half a fortress away and two flights down, and no soup stays hot across that distance unless someone carries it fast and straight and sets out before being asked. The man who had told me he did not care had kept my soup hot the whole way.

I still did not eat. I could not decide which frightened me more—the cruelty I had grown up with, or the kindness in this room.

So I crossed to my mother’s trunk and knelt in front of it.

My hand hovered over the lid. I thought about the fire, and about the last time I saw her face, and her words, which still rang in my head fifteen years later, clear as struck iron.

Wait for me.

I was still waiting.

And what if the trunk held answers I did not want to know? Or nothing at all? I had imagined a thousand versions of what was inside—a letter, a map, a weapon, her wedding ring—and in every one of them I was braver than I actually was.

I pulled my hand back. Not yet.

But as I stood, I felt it again—warmth, low and patient, rising off the side of the wood that faced the black door. Steady, like a heart that refuses to stop. My mother’s secrets and his, in the same room, each keeping its own time.

The bathroom door opened.

Kaelen walked out in a dry shirt and loose pants, his hair still damp, his feet bare. He looked younger without his boots and jacket. Less like an Alpha and more like a man.

He went to the wardrobe, took out a blanket, crossed to the hearth, and spread it on the stone floor. Then he lay down on top of it, with his back to me.

I stared. "You said you would be gone tonight."

"The rain."

Two words. Flat, final, and answering nothing. I let them hang there, and he let them hang, and neither of us picked them up.

"The bed is yours," he said to the floor. "Do not make me say it twice."

I did not move. "Why the floor?"

He turned his head until he could see me, and his gray eyes were unreadable. "Because you are scared of me."

My heart pounded. "I am not scared."

"Your hands are shaking."

I looked down, and truly they were.

I climbed into the bed without another word and pulled the blanket to my waist. The sheets were soft, softer than anything I had ever slept under, and the pillows smelled like him—pine and cold air, and something beneath I could not name. I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe on the floor.

He was not asleep. I could tell by the way he shifted every few minutes.

"Alpha Kaelen?" I whispered.

He did not respond.

"Are you awake?"

"No," he answered.

I smiled. Just a little. "You just answered me."

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you want?"

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you are my Luna."

"You do not even know me."

"I know enough."

I turned my head to look at him. He was lying on his back now, an arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling, and the firelight moved across his face and found no expression there.

"What do you know?"

He was quiet for a long, long moment—so long I was sure he would not answer, and the silence filled the room like water rising. I could hear the rain. I could hear the fire. I could hear my own heart beating too fast, and I could not have said why.

Then he said it.

"I know you are not ugly. I know you are not weak, and I know you are hiding something."

My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"

He turned his head to look at me, and his gray eyes locked onto mine across the firelight.

"I mean exactly what I said."

Then he turned back to the ceiling.

I lay there frozen as the words went through me again and again. Not ugly. Not weak. That was more than anyone in Cresswood had ever granted me. And then—hiding something. Which was true. Which he knew. Which he had known while he watched me ride and bleed and starve and pretend, and not once—

"Sleep," he said, in the voice he used for orders. "You meet my grandfather in the morning."

"Your—what?" The word came out before I could catch it.

But in the darkness his breathing had already slowed, even and deep, and whether he was asleep or pretending, I could not tell, and I knew better than to ask a second time.

A grandfather. I had no idea he had one. I had no idea what kind of man had raised a man like this, or what kind of eyes would look at me tomorrow.

I lay there for a long time after that, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain.

His words kept circling. He had looked at me when he said them, and his eyes had been the way they always were lately—like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve, and like he already knew the answer.

There was something in his gaze that I could not name. It was not kindness, and not cruelty. It was something in between—something that made me want to run and stay at the same time. I had never felt that way about anyone. I did not know if it was the bond or something else, but it terrified me more than Vivienne ever had.

I touched my necklace. The glamour charm was still there, still working, still hiding me.

But he knew. Somehow, I felt he knew.

I did not know what would happen tomorrow. I did not know if he would confront me, or ignore it, or hold it over me. But I knew one thing—he was watching me. And it was possible he had been watching me since the beginning.

The fire crackled low. The rain tapped against the glass. And somewhere in the darkness, Kaelen breathed—slow, steady, and present.

I did not know if I would ever feel safe in this room. But for this one moment, with the fire burning and the rain falling, there was food within reach of my hand, I was not cold, and no one was hurting me.

That had to count for something.