My stomach twisted into a tight knot. I pressed my palm to my belly, trying to suppress the urge to vomit while orange spots from the single brazier swam before my eyes. Outside, the wind hurled handfuls of rain against the tent's canvas. The roar of the camp—the clatter of metal, the neighing of horses, coarse laughter—seemed distant, as if I were underwater.
The heavy flap stirred. I jerked back, pressing my shoulder blades into the hard frame of the camp bed.
"It's me," the voice was barely louder than the rustle of fabric.
Tom froze at the entrance, clutching a mallet for the tent pegs. His leather vest had darkened from the dampness, and his fair hair clung to his forehead. He didn't look at me; he glanced furtively at the swaying curtain.
"You shouldn't be here. Cale... the Alpha will kill you, Tom."
"The pegs came loose. The wind is strong," he stepped closer, his voice trembling. "I'm just doing my job."
"Leave. Please."
I could smell fresh hay and rain on him. It was a normal, human scent, not soaked in blood and rage like everything else in this camp. For a moment, I wanted to just grab his jacket and beg him to take me away from here.
"Madam Isabelle..." he fell silent, hearing the heavy footsteps of a patrol outside.
Tom dropped to his knees, pretending to fiddle with the fastenings at the threshold. I held my breath. A warrior's shadow slid across the tent fabric and vanished. The youth rose quickly and covered the distance to me in three strides.
"She asked me to pass this on. Said time is almost up."
He held out his hand. Between his fingers gleamed a tiny, tightly rolled scrap of parchment.
"Isabelle is taking a risk," I didn't dare touch the paper, as if it were a red-hot coal. "Why?"
"She sees what others don't. Take it. Quickly."
I snatched the note. My fingers shook so violently I nearly dropped it into the road dust.
"Is it about Damian?" my whisper broke into a rasp. "Tom, what is he planning?"
"Trust no one, Lady Alina. Especially those who smile the widest. I must go."
"Thank you," I stuffed the scrap of paper into the folds of my skirt, right under the waistband, feeling my heart drumming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"If he finds out..."
"He won't," I clenched my fingers on the fabric. "Go. Run."
Tom nodded, his eyes flashing with sympathy for a moment—that unbearable sympathy that makes you want to howl. He turned toward the exit but froze.
The air in the tent changed. The temperature didn't drop, but a chill ran over my skin. The scent of rain and hay was instantly smothered by the heavy, stifling aroma of burnt wood, wet fur, and old steel. Cale.
The flap flew up, letting in a cold whirlwind. Cale filled the entire space, his massive figure in leather armor blocking the light of the torches outside. Water droplets glistened on his hair; in the gloom, his eyes looked like two pits full of smoldering fire.
Tom collapsed to his knees, nearly striking his forehead against the ground. His shoulders shook slightly.
"Alpha," the boy's voice turned into a squeak.
Cale didn't move. His nostrils flared. He inhaled slowly, like a beast, turning his head from side to side.
"Why is this pup here?"
"The fastenings," I stood up, trying to keep my voice steady despite the rising nausea. "The wind is tearing at the tent."
Cale shifted his gaze to me. Heavy as a tombstone. He ignored my words, taking a step toward Tom. The youth pressed himself even harder into the ground.
"You."
"Yes, my lord... I was just finishing..." Tom didn't dare raise his eyes.
"Why do I smell her on you?"
"I... I was just fixing..."
"Out," Cale's growl was quiet, but it made the brazier in the corner ring.
Tom didn't wait. He practically rolled out of the tent without looking back. I remained standing, clutching the folds of my dress, feeling the parchment dig into my skin through the thin fabric.
Cale approached. Heat and danger radiated from him. I could see every scratch on his breastplate, every drop of rain on his stubble.
"You've grown even paler."
"The road was hard. The smell of campfires makes me sick."
"Only the campfires?" he reached out.
I didn't flinch when his fingers, rough and calloused, gripped my chin. He forced me to tilt my head back. His gaze roamed over my face, searching for the slightest shadow of a lie.
"What were you talking about?"
"The pegs, Cale. About the damn ropes that flap at night."
"The boy was trembling. More than usual."
"You terrify people. Does that surprise you?"
He leaned down sharply to my neck. I froze, holding my breath. His nose brushed my skin right by my ear. He inhaled so deeply it felt as if he wanted to pull my very soul out of me. I felt his teeth momentarily touch my pulsing vein.
"You smell of him," he straightened, his eyes narrowing. "Of a strange wolf. Weak, but strange."
"That's ridiculous. He's just a child."
"There are no children in my camp. Only warriors and servants. And none of them should approach my mate."
"Your mate is suffocating here," I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on my jaw. "You see conspiracies in every shadow."
"Conspiracies aren't in the shadows, Alina. They are in your eyes. You are hiding something."
"My hatred for this war? I'm not hiding that."
Cale slowly released my chin. His hand slid down to my shoulder, and he pulled me to him, crushing the dress. My heart raced. The note. If he ran his hand over my thigh, he would feel the rustle of paper.
"Rein says you were eavesdropping by the command tent," he said it almost tenderly, but there was more threat in that tone than in a snarl.
"I was looking for food. Your warriors forget that humans need to eat more than once a day."
"You're lying. Again."
He ran his palm over my waist. I went cold, trying not to breathe.
"Cale, enough. I'm tired. I want to sleep."
"Damian asked about you."
The name hit harder than if he had struck me. I forced myself not to look away.
"And what did you tell him?"
"That you are under my care. In complete safety."
He pressed me to his chest so hard I felt the stiff plates of his armor. His breath scalded my temple.
"Why are you trembling, Alina? If you have nothing to hide, why do you tremble in my arms?"
"Because I'm cold. Because I hate this rain and this camp."
"Or because I'm not the one you were waiting for?"
He shoved me away abruptly. I staggered, nearly hitting the brazier. Cale stood in the middle of the tent, massive, untamable, and in his gaze swirled bile mixed with adoration. It was the most dangerous mixture.
"We move out at dawn. Be ready."
"Are we going to the border?"
"We are going where traitors stop hiding behind other people's backs," he turned toward the exit. "And don't you dare call that pup again. If I see him here once more, I'll feed him to the hounds right before your eyes."
He left without waiting for an answer. The heavy flap fell, cutting me off from the outside world.
I stood motionless for several minutes, listening to his retreating footsteps. Only when the camp noise became a monotonous background again did I sink to my knees right into the mud.
With trembling fingers, I pulled out the note. The paper was damp from my sweat. I unfolded it, squinting in the dim light of the brazier.
There were only three words, written in Isabelle's hurried, jagged hand:
"Trust not everyone."
And a bit lower, almost indistinguishable: "D. is playing a game."
I crumpled the parchment and threw it into the brazier's coals. The paper flared up instantly, turning into gray ash.
"D. is playing a game..." I whispered, hugging my shoulders.
A sharp pain pierced my stomach again. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling how, despite all this madness, a new, completely defenseless life glowed within me. A life that had already become a hostage in a game whose rules I didn't know.
Outside, a wolf howled again—long and mournful. Another echoed it, closer to the edge of the forest. The hunt had begun, and I knew: Cale would not stop until he found blood on his hands. The only question was whose blood it would be.
I lay down on the bed without taking off my dress and stared into the dark dome of the tent. Cale's scent still hung in the air, overpowering everything else. He was everywhere. In my lungs, in my skin, in my future.
I closed my eyes, but I saw only Damian's face and his fake, too-perfect smile.
"Trust not everyone," I repeated to myself, feeling the darkness of the tent closing around me like a trap.
Sleep would not come. Ahead was a dawn that would bring no relief. Only a new road and a new lie. And somewhere out there, among hundreds of swords and thousands of suspicious glances, I had to keep my secret—a secret that pulsed within me with a quiet, barely noticeable rhythm.
A rhythm Cale would eventually hear. And then no Tom and no Isabelle could save me.