Alpha Kingsley’s POV”Are you sure that’s all you’re worried about?”
Andrew’s voice still echoed in my head long after he left.
The door had barely stopped shaking from where he slammed it, his laughter fading down the corridor, and yet his words lingered.
I sat there for a moment longer before reaching for my glass again.
I resumed drinking, Andrew’s teasing still ringing in my mind.
Are you sure that’s all you’re worried about?
Is that really the reason?
I leaned back slowly.
A part of me insists it is the natural thing to do.
Keep her safe.
Build a strong public image.
Show stability.
Show responsibility.
Those are the duties of an Alpha.
But another part of me disagrees.
And worse still… my wolf champions that part.
It puts me in a dilemma I do not appreciate.
I don’t have to overthink her.
I don’t have to allow distractions.
With everything happening — the dead guard, the growing unrest, the conference, the strange tension in the air — I cannot afford any form of weakness.
Not even from myself.
I pulled out the documents sent earlier from my senior warrior, Darius, and began reviewing them again.
There is something strange about him.
When I questioned him earlier, I knew he lied.
It was subtle.
A small white lie.
But why lie at all if you have nothing to hide?
That alone unsettles me.
“I will keep a close watch on him,” I muttered, burying myself in the paperwork.
But even as I tried to focus, that other part of me rose again.
Persistent.
Demanding.
Urging me to go back to her.
When I told Olivia to think about how she was going to survive sharing a room with me…
I also meant myself.
How am I going to survive?
Not with this mate bond pulling at me like a leash wrapped around my ribs.
I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face.
And then—”Coward.”
Argon’s voice did not scoff this time.
It rumbled.
Low.
Heavy.
Ancient.
It wasn’t mockery.
It was accusation.
“I am not a coward,” I replied inwardly.
“You call it strategy.”
”I call it control.”
”You call it fear.”
My jaw tightened.
Argon pushed further.
“She is ours.”
”She is unclaimed,” I corrected sharply.
“For now.”
His presence swelled inside me, restless, pacing beneath my skin.
“You felt it at the training grounds.”
I did.
When she stood there.
Unbowed.
Despite the humiliation.
Despite the whispers.
Despite Sophia’s attempt to corner her.
She stood.
And something in the air shifted.
“She does not carry a wolf,” I muttered.
“Yet I smell power,” Argon growled.
That made me pause.
Power?
“She should be ordinary,” I continued.
“Soft.
Fragile.”
”She is not fragile.”
No.
She isn’t.
Her body is full, curved, grounded — not delicate in the way pack women are often described.
She carries herself with weight and presence, not shame.
There is strength in the way she stands, in the way her shoulders refuse to fold inward even when eyes judge her.
And yet—
Argon is drawn to her like she is the only scent left in the world.
It makes no sense.
“She has no wolf,” I pressed again.
“Something inside her answers me,” Argon replied, voice lowering into something almost reverent.
“Something old.”
That word lingered.
Old.
“What happened at the training grounds was not normal,” I admitted.
Her Aura.
The way the air thickened.
The strange energy that sparkled.
The way my instincts flared not just with protectiveness — but recognition.
“She should not have been able to fight back like that,” I murmured.
“She is not what she appears.”
Argon’s certainty unsettled me more than Andrew’s teasing ever could.
I leaned back slowly.
“Olivia…” I whispered into the silence.
Who are you?
What are you hiding?
You do not move like someone powerless.
You do not endure humiliation like someone broken.
My fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the desk.
Something does not add up.
“She is our mate,” Argon growled again, but this time there was warning beneath it.
“She may be more than that.”
That thought lingered heavier than it should.
If she has no wolf…
Then why does Argon respond to her as if she commands one?
Why did the air tremble?
Why did I feel something shift?
Why did even Sophia seemed burned?
“She is ours,” Argon repeated, more forcefully this time.
“Mark her.”
”No.”
”You fear what you cannot control.”
”I will not act on instinct alone.”
”You already are.”
I stood abruptly, pacing once across the room.
This is absurd.
I am Alpha.
I do not chase mysteries.
I control them.
And yet—
My mind drifted again.
To her sleeping in my bed.
To the rise and fall of her breathing.
To the quiet strength in her presence.
To the way she did not beg to be noticed.
To the way she looked at me — not fearful… not submissive…
But observant.
Studying.
As if she were the one measuring me.
A slow unease crept into my chest.
“Why does she watch us like that?” I asked quietly.
That question chilled me.
Because he was right.
She looks at me like she knows something and at the same time nothing.
And I do not like being the one left in the dark.
My gaze shifted back to Darius’s documents.
One senior warrior lying.
One mate who should not exist at all.
One dead guard hung at the border.
And a wolf conference approaching.
Everything feels aligned too perfectly.
As if pieces are moving on a board I cannot fully see.
“Pawns,” Argon muttered darkly.
And for the first time…
I am not entirely sure who is moving them or where I stand in the chess game.
I lowered myself back into the chair slowly.
“Olivia,” I whispered again.
If you are hiding something…
I will uncover it.
And if whatever lives beneath that composed exterior is dangerous—
A slow, dangerous calm settled over me.
Then perhaps I……..
Not the Hunter.