KIERAN'S POV
I've never believed in fate.
I believe in strength. In strategy. In instinct. I believe in the raw mechanics of survival—the way bones break, the way wars start, the way leaders rise from blood and ash. Fate has always sounded too much like an excuse for weakness. Something people whisper to make sense of chaos. Fate and romance Is for fools…or so I thought.
Ever since Layla stepped into our world, chaos has begun to take form. And now... I'm starting to wonder if maybe….just maybe—fate isn't so fictional after all.
I remember the way the Elders reacted to her. I remember the words they said. Their words weren't just warning bells; they were prophecies. And I've never seen Elder Veyron look afraid. Not until that day.
Who is Layla?
Not just the girl fate says is mine. Not just the omega who somehow managed to bond with all three of us. No. There's something deeper. Something we haven't uncovered yet. So, I start to watch her—not as a mate, not even as a woman—but as a mystery.
She's like a puzzle to me.
She walks through the palace like a ghost sometimes. She seems quiet and unsure, but always with her head slightly lifted, like she's daring the world to push her down again. There's fire in her, even when she doesn't realize it.
Killian ignores her.
Kaiden acts like she's beneath him.
But me?
I'm cold. Distant, maybe. But I'm never cruel. I was raised to treat women with respect, and even if Layla complicates things I've spent my entire life trying to simplify, she doesn't deserve my silence. So I speak, when I have to. I nod when our eyes meet. And I never look at her with irritation even though I probably should—because she scares me in ways I can't explain.
-
It's late afternoon when I head into the woods. This clearing has always been my space. My escape. I sit on a smooth rock beneath a tree and pull out my knife and a block of wood.
Carving keeps my mind steady.
Right now, I'm working on a wolf. The carving has strong shoulders, a lifted head and the wolf is in mid-howl. I run the blade along the grain with steady hands, not thinking about the council, or the pack, or even Layla. I focus on just the rhythm of motion, the scrape of blade on the wood and the shavings falling to the ground.
Then I hear a rustle behind me.
Before I even turn, I smell him. It's something tiny, curious, and definitely excited.
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.
It's the pup.
Her pup.
The same tiny wolf cub I helped rescue not long ago. His silver coat is fluffier now. He lets out a high-pitched yip and runs toward me like we're best friends.
"You again?" I mutter, not unkindly. I set the sculpture down.
He presses his face against my leg, wagging his little tail furiously.
I chuckle and reach out to scratch behind his ears.
"You're not supposed to be out here, you know." I say.
I barely finish my sentence when I hear hurried footsteps behind me.
"King!" Layla's voice calls out. "There you are, you little brat—"
She stops abruptly when she sees me. Her chest rises and falls from running. There's a few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. She blinks like she didn't expect to find me here.
"Oh. I—sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." She says softly. .
"It's fine," I say quietly, already going back to my carving.
Layla takes a cautious step forward, brushing hair from her face. The pup plops down at my feet, tail still wagging, clearly refusing to leave. She sighs.
"He really likes you," she says with a smile that softens her whole face.
I grunt. "Apparently."
She watches me for a second, then her eyes move to the wooden figure in my hand. "What are you making?"
I hesitate. Usually, I don't share. Carving is personal. Private. But something in her gaze—it isn't mocking or dismissive—it's genuinely curious. So I turn the piece toward her.
"A wolf," I say simply.
Her eyes light up. "It's beautiful."
"Not finished."
"Still," she murmurs, stepping closer, "there's something about it. It looks proud… and lonely."
I look at her sharply. She isn't wrong. That's exactly what I was going for.
"I take inspiration from what I see. What I feel," I admit.
She kneels beside me. She's surprisingly graceful for someone so small. Her eyes don't leave the carving.
"Do you make a lot of these?" she asks.
"Enough to keep my sanity."
She laughs softly. It's a gentle, melodic sound. Real.
"Can I watch?"
I pause, then nod.
Nobody has ever watched me carve before.
The silence between us stretches, but it's not awkward. It's… full. She watches every movement of my knife with fascination. I keep glancing at her from the corner of my eye, the way her lips part slightly in focus, the soft curve of her jaw, the flutter of her lashes. The bond between us is strong under my skin. It feels like a thread pulling us closer with every passing second.
"You're really talented," she says after a while. "It's… calming. Watching you."
I stop.
No one's ever said that to me.
"It helps calm me, you know. I do it a lot when I have too many thoughts in my head" I ramble "It's the only thing that keeps me sane"
And that's when I realize….that I've been rambling nonstop.
"I didn't realize I was talking so much," I mutter, suddenly aware of how much I've said.
"Don't stop," she says quickly. "I like hearing your thoughts."
I turn to look at her fully. And she's close.
Too close.
Our faces are just inches apart. I can see the redness in her cheeks, the nervous hint in her eyes. I feel the pull—the damn bond—tugging harder now, roaring through me like wildfire.
"I shouldn't," I whisper.
"Then don't," she whispers back.
And then I kiss her.
Gods help me—I kiss her.
Her lips are soft, but then she leans in. Her fingers brush my jaw, and something inside me snaps. The kiss deepens. It gets hungry, messy, real. I pull her closer, one hand in her hair, the other on her waist, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel alive.
My control, my silence, my coldness—all of it melts in her touch.
But then we hear it.
A small gasp.
We break apart instantly, breathless and wide-eyed.
Standing at the edge of the clearing is a young maid. Her eyes are huge as she takes in the scene.
Layla is the first to speak. "Janet!"
The girl bows quickly, flustered. "Forgive me—I… I didn't mean to—uhm… Greetings Alpha. The head cook sent me. She's looking for you in the kitchen."
Layla's face turns red. "Right. Thank you."
Janet practically runs away.
Layla turns back to me. Her lips are still slightly swollen from our kiss. Her eyes are filled with disappointment.
"I should go." she whispers.
I nod, though part of me wants to tell her to stay. I have damn authority over the whole pack. I can tell her head maid to go to hell. But…I don't. I hold myself.
King, however, refuses to move. He stays stubbornly curled on my feet, clearly refusing to follow.
I smirk. "He can stay. If you're okay with it."
She looks at the pup, then back at me. Her smile returns.
"I guess he's made his choice." He says.
She waves gently. "See you later, Kieran."
And just like that, she disappears through the trees.
I look down at King.
"Traitor," I mutter affectionately, reaching down to ruffle his fur.
But truth be told?
I'm glad he stayed. Because something tells me this little pup is going to be the tether that keeps her coming back.
And damn it…I want her to come back.