The Scorned Luna-Chapter 69: Perceive

​Suddenly, Alaric’s ears twitched, his predatory instincts catching the rhythmic, heavy tread of boots on the stone floor outside. The air in the room shifted as Damien’s scent—sharp, angry, and metallic from the blood on his arm—neared the door.

​"Damien is coming," Alaric announced.

​Sofia’s eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated terror. Her body began to shake so violently she nearly couldn’t stand. The thought of Damien seeing her in this state—and the scent of Alaric’s heat clinging to her skin—sent a jolt of ice through her veins.

​"Don’t be scared," Alaric whispered, but it was too late. Sofia turned and bolted toward the en-suite bathroom, her thick thighs brushing together as she scrambled inside and clicked the lock just as the main door swung open.

​Damien stepped into the room, his face a mask of tension. He didn’t say a word at first; he just stood there, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep, aggressive breath of the air.

​Alaric didn’t move. He stayed leaning against the bedpost, looking as calm as a winter lake, despite the fact that his pulse was still racing from the woman hiding behind the tile.

​"Sofia," Damien growled, his voice a low threat.

​"What is wrong?" Alaric asked, his tone bored, though his emerald eyes were sharp.

​"Sofia..." Damien repeated, his head tilting as he sniffed the air again. "I can perceive her. She’s in here."

​Alaric let out a dry, dismissive chuckle. "Of course you can perceive her. She was just here." He pointed lazily toward the tray on the table. "She brought the juice you ordered her to bring. Are you so paranoid that you’ve forgotten your own commands, Damien?"

​Damien’s shoulders slumped slightly as he remembered. "Right. The water."

​He walked further into the room, sitting heavily in a leather armchair, but he didn’t relax. His wolf was clawing at his insides. The scent of the room was... wrong. It was heavy, saturated with a musk that went beyond spilled juice or sweat. It was the thick, unmistakable scent of sex.

​"I’m sorry for injuring you earlier," Alaric said, trying to bridge the gap. "I told you, I was distracted."

​Damien barely nodded, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door. He couldn’t concentrate. Sofia’s scent was everywhere—sweet, floral, and panicked—but it was intertwined so deeply with Alaric’s powerful, dominant pheromones that it made his head spin. It felt like a physical weight in the room.

​Alaric watched his nephew, his jaw tight. He knew Damien was on the edge of a discovery that would shatter the pack. The scent of his own climax was likely clinging to the very air Damien was breathing, and if his nephew took one more deep breath, the secret would be out.

​"You seem... unsettled, Damien," Alaric said, his voice dropping into a warning growl. "Is there something else you need, or can I have my privacy?"

​Damien stood up abruptly, his eyes flashing gold. He walked toward the bathroom door, his hand reaching out. "Why can I hear her heart? It’s beating like a drum."

​Alaric watched the handle of the bathroom door. His muscles were bunched, ready to launch himself between his nephew and the woman hiding behind that wood. Part of him—the old, brutal Alpha who had never answered to anyone—wanted to simply rip the truth into the open. He wanted to snarlingly claim her right then and there, to tell Damien that he wanted Sofia. But he looked at the door and realized that Sofia would be the one crushed in the crossfire of their egos.

​"I see you’ve become obsessed, Damien," Alaric said, his voice cutting through the tension. "You’re stalking her heartbeats now? For a man who claims she’s nothing, you’re acting remarkably like a mate in heat."

​Damien froze, his hand inches from the bathroom door. He turned, his face contorting into a mask of pure, defensive spite. "Obsessed? With that murderer?" He spat the word out, though his eyes lacked their usual conviction. "Never. I don’t love her, Alaric. I’ve told you—she is just a good fuck. A warm body to soak up my rage. That is all she is, and all she will ever be."

​Inside the bathroom, Sofia slumped against the cold tile. The words felt like a physical serrated blade twisting in her gut. Even after what she had just shared with Alaric—the tenderness, the heat, the way he had worshiped her body—the reality of her life came crashing back. Was she just a "good fuck" to Alaric, too? Was she just a different kind of prize for a different kind of Alpha? Her heart, which had been racing with fear, now slowed into a heavy, sinking throb of pain.

​Damien let out a frustrated huff, the scent of the room still bothering him, but Alaric’s mockery had wounded his pride enough to make him want to leave. "I should just leave," Damien grumbled, clutching his bandaged arm.

​With a final, lingering look at the bathroom door, Damien turned and stormed out, the heavy oak door slamming shut with a bang that vibrated through the floorboards.

​The silence that followed was deafening.

​Alaric closed his eyes for a second, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "He’s gone," he said quietly.

​The bathroom door clicked open. Sofia stepped out, her eyes red-rimmed and her expression hollow. She looked small despite her curvy, ample build, her hands clutching the remnants of her dress. She didn’t look at Alaric. She couldn’t.

​"Is that what I am?" she asked, her voice a mere ghost of a sound. "Just a different ’flavor’ of distraction for you to enjoy while you’re visiting?"

​Alaric winced. He reached for her, his heart aching at the sight of her broken spirit. "Sofia, listen to me—"

"I should go," she whispered, stepping around him with her head bowed. "Before anyone notices my disappearance."

​She moved around him before he could react, brushing past with her gaze fixed on the floor. Alaric turned sharply, but she was already at the door.

"Sofia—" he called after her.

She didn’t stop.

The door swung open, and she stepped straight into the hallway—

—and froze.

Someone was standing there.