Traded To The Cruel Alpha - Chapter 159: Chapter 159
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Serafine POV
I have learnt to see and understand when Xander is angry, I can tell before he even opens his mouth to speak. It's visible in every inch of him, it sits in his shoulders. The way they are squared and rigid, how he stands by the wide window. His eyes are fixed forward on the mist-veiled border of what we now call the Hollow.
His arms are crossed across his chest, and I can see the white in his knuckles from how hard he is clenching his fists. His eyes are the dark colour they come when there's a storm building within them. They stay fixed on the distant line of trees that curve like a scar.
That place became the Hollow after it grew darker, and I felt magic building within it. I haven't dared to venture too far into it, but I do believe no one without magic should take a step into that place. I can't sense danger coming from it, but there is something, and it is always better to be safe and ban everyone's entry than to wait and hope for the best.
I don't need to ask Xander what has him angry, there is only one thing that gets this reaction from him. Eryx. Not in general, but he has a habit of going into the forest. It's within our borders now, since I got Xander to change the lines of the land, so no one will hurt him in there.
Eryx is clever, which Xander knows. Sometimes, though, he's too clever. He has inherited my instincts, and more than a little of Xander's defiance. At just ten, he can easily read the land around him, and always better than men can with maps.
I've drawn wards, cast protective glyphs, and warned Eryx countless times, but the Hollow still seems to pull him in like a song. The border within the pack border means nothing to him, not the way it does to everyone else.
I step forward quietly, making my way further into the room. The morning light is trailing pale through the tall window behind me. I keep my footsteps soft against the stone, but Xander doesn't turn at first or even take his eyes off the spot that he's watching.
"He waited until the guard rotated and changed," he says. His voice is low and tight. "He slipped out just before dawn, we believe, he was careful again not to get caught. Too careful for it to be the first time that he's done it at night."
I move to stand beside him, and let my gaze follow the edge of the trees where the mist still hangs heavy. The forest hasn't always looked like this. Before Gideon's fall, it had been a place of rot and whispers. Rogues would pace the area, looking for anything they could capture. People would do rituals and sacrifices in there.
It had begun to bloom back to life after Gideon, the magic that fed it seemed to ward off the bad, then of course I had Xander make it part of our land.
Now, though, while the rogues no longer wait out there, I do believe something far darker is living there. Even if I'm unable to see what it is or put a word or name to it.
I noticed how the roots had shifted in ways that didn't match the wind, and how the silence within had grown deeper later, not empty, but like it was listening.
“Has he come back?” I ask.
“No. Not yet.”
I don't miss the way that Xander's jaw flexes. Moving, I place a hand on his forearm and try to ground him. Even with my own worry coiling sharp beneath my ribs. Eryx is strong, he's stronger than everyone his age, even some of the betas who patrol the pack. He's gifted in ways that we haven't entirely uncovered yet. The Hollow, though, doesn't forget the blood that once soaked the stones and land, and neither have I.
We agreed that we would give Eryx his space, as he's struggled to find his place among the other children in the pack. Going into the Hollow, however, was not part of that agreement. I didn't like that Eryx found comfort in the Hollow, in something that feels so dark.
“I’ll find him,” I say quietly.
Xander doesn’t move. “He’s crossing lines he doesn’t understand.”
I know that he's right. I turn to face him, studying the lines that have etched into his face over the past few years. He looks tired, but not in body. It's something heavier, the weariness of a man who had known too much war, too much loss, and now feared losing the one bit of peace he had fought to keep.
“He’s still a child,” I remind him. “He’s testing his strength. That’s all.”
Xander’s gaze finally shifts to mine, sharp and steady. “He’s not just a child. He’s ours. And he carries your magic.”
A beat passes between us. I know that he's right, but I don't know what to say to that.
"What if Amelia began to follow him?" Xander asks, and worry coils deeper in my stomach. "What then, she's smaller, younger, weaker. He might be wise for her age, Serafine, but he's not strong enough to face the darkness like you had."
We have said it before, we used different words then. But during sleepless nights, and quiet moments by the fire, we spoke of it. Eryx was born of something ancient and fractured. His blood is not simple, it's not Veyrathi alone, or human, or wolf. He has inherited a piece of something that is older, something that I haven't managed to fully understand myself yet. I shaped the land by saving it, but Eryx, he's shaped by it.
I exhale and turn back to the window.
There's no signs of movement at the edge of the forest. I can't see the movement of leaves, or any shift in the light. All there is, is mist and the slow pulse of the morning. The thing is, even without sight, I can feel the faint tug of magic in the air, it's like a thread being pulled taut in warning.
The Hollow is stirring. To begin with, it was subtle. There was maybe a new root curling along the path, a sudden silence among the birds, things that shifted slightly. Dreams that seemed to slip away the moment that I opened my eyes, which left me with only the scent of smoke and stone.
I had told myself that it was nothing, and that the land was healing. I was so sure that my magic was stretching further than it had before. But I know I'm wrong, I can feel it in my bones, I can feel it shifting, and now with Eryx and how he's drawn to the Hollow... I don't know. He's begun to shift himself, as if he knew the change as well, and I don't like it.
"I'll call out to him," I say. "He won't ignore me."
Xander nods sharply and exhales, but I notice that his shoulders don't loosen. I touch his cheek for a brief moment, trying to reassure him. It's only a simple, small gesture before I step back.
I move to the center of the room, to where the wards are set up I created long ago. They still shimmer faintly in the floor beneath the stone.
Only I was capable of seeing this now. I kneel slowly and press my hand to one of the old lines and whimper his name.
"Eryx."
The name carries, not in the sense of it traveling through the space, or down the hall. It's more like it's soaked into the brick and the floor, traveling through the walls of the building and seeping into the ground beneath it. I know it will reach the Hollow and that Eryx will sense and hear it.
I feel it the moment he hears it, it's nothing big, just a flicker at the edge of mind, a resistance. Then there's a pulse of reluctant obedience.
He's on his way back now. I stand up and brush my hands against my skirt to clear it. I watch as Xander moves slightly, closer to the door, as if he's waiting to catch Eryx the moment he steps through.
“He’s listening,” I say. “But something out there has his attention. Something I can’t feel clearly yet.”
Xander’s expression darkens, but he says nothing, and he doesn't need to either.
We both know that the Hollow has secrets. I had hoped that I could seal and bury them to ensure nothing more could rise. I couldn't, though. Whatever was in the Hollow was awake and unwilling to go back to sleep.
I've begun to wonder whether we had misunderstood the land's silence, maybe all the silence wasn't peace after all, but something else waiting at the edge?
I have learnt to see and understand when Xander is angry, I can tell before he even opens his mouth to speak. It's visible in every inch of him, it sits in his shoulders. The way they are squared and rigid, how he stands by the wide window. His eyes are fixed forward on the mist-veiled border of what we now call the Hollow.
His arms are crossed across his chest, and I can see the white in his knuckles from how hard he is clenching his fists. His eyes are the dark colour they come when there's a storm building within them. They stay fixed on the distant line of trees that curve like a scar.
That place became the Hollow after it grew darker, and I felt magic building within it. I haven't dared to venture too far into it, but I do believe no one without magic should take a step into that place. I can't sense danger coming from it, but there is something, and it is always better to be safe and ban everyone's entry than to wait and hope for the best.
I don't need to ask Xander what has him angry, there is only one thing that gets this reaction from him. Eryx. Not in general, but he has a habit of going into the forest. It's within our borders now, since I got Xander to change the lines of the land, so no one will hurt him in there.
Eryx is clever, which Xander knows. Sometimes, though, he's too clever. He has inherited my instincts, and more than a little of Xander's defiance. At just ten, he can easily read the land around him, and always better than men can with maps.
I've drawn wards, cast protective glyphs, and warned Eryx countless times, but the Hollow still seems to pull him in like a song. The border within the pack border means nothing to him, not the way it does to everyone else.
I step forward quietly, making my way further into the room. The morning light is trailing pale through the tall window behind me. I keep my footsteps soft against the stone, but Xander doesn't turn at first or even take his eyes off the spot that he's watching.
"He waited until the guard rotated and changed," he says. His voice is low and tight. "He slipped out just before dawn, we believe, he was careful again not to get caught. Too careful for it to be the first time that he's done it at night."
I move to stand beside him, and let my gaze follow the edge of the trees where the mist still hangs heavy. The forest hasn't always looked like this. Before Gideon's fall, it had been a place of rot and whispers. Rogues would pace the area, looking for anything they could capture. People would do rituals and sacrifices in there.
It had begun to bloom back to life after Gideon, the magic that fed it seemed to ward off the bad, then of course I had Xander make it part of our land.
Now, though, while the rogues no longer wait out there, I do believe something far darker is living there. Even if I'm unable to see what it is or put a word or name to it.
I noticed how the roots had shifted in ways that didn't match the wind, and how the silence within had grown deeper later, not empty, but like it was listening.
“Has he come back?” I ask.
“No. Not yet.”
I don't miss the way that Xander's jaw flexes. Moving, I place a hand on his forearm and try to ground him. Even with my own worry coiling sharp beneath my ribs. Eryx is strong, he's stronger than everyone his age, even some of the betas who patrol the pack. He's gifted in ways that we haven't entirely uncovered yet. The Hollow, though, doesn't forget the blood that once soaked the stones and land, and neither have I.
We agreed that we would give Eryx his space, as he's struggled to find his place among the other children in the pack. Going into the Hollow, however, was not part of that agreement. I didn't like that Eryx found comfort in the Hollow, in something that feels so dark.
“I’ll find him,” I say quietly.
Xander doesn’t move. “He’s crossing lines he doesn’t understand.”
I know that he's right. I turn to face him, studying the lines that have etched into his face over the past few years. He looks tired, but not in body. It's something heavier, the weariness of a man who had known too much war, too much loss, and now feared losing the one bit of peace he had fought to keep.
“He’s still a child,” I remind him. “He’s testing his strength. That’s all.”
Xander’s gaze finally shifts to mine, sharp and steady. “He’s not just a child. He’s ours. And he carries your magic.”
A beat passes between us. I know that he's right, but I don't know what to say to that.
"What if Amelia began to follow him?" Xander asks, and worry coils deeper in my stomach. "What then, she's smaller, younger, weaker. He might be wise for her age, Serafine, but he's not strong enough to face the darkness like you had."
We have said it before, we used different words then. But during sleepless nights, and quiet moments by the fire, we spoke of it. Eryx was born of something ancient and fractured. His blood is not simple, it's not Veyrathi alone, or human, or wolf. He has inherited a piece of something that is older, something that I haven't managed to fully understand myself yet. I shaped the land by saving it, but Eryx, he's shaped by it.
I exhale and turn back to the window.
There's no signs of movement at the edge of the forest. I can't see the movement of leaves, or any shift in the light. All there is, is mist and the slow pulse of the morning. The thing is, even without sight, I can feel the faint tug of magic in the air, it's like a thread being pulled taut in warning.
The Hollow is stirring. To begin with, it was subtle. There was maybe a new root curling along the path, a sudden silence among the birds, things that shifted slightly. Dreams that seemed to slip away the moment that I opened my eyes, which left me with only the scent of smoke and stone.
I had told myself that it was nothing, and that the land was healing. I was so sure that my magic was stretching further than it had before. But I know I'm wrong, I can feel it in my bones, I can feel it shifting, and now with Eryx and how he's drawn to the Hollow... I don't know. He's begun to shift himself, as if he knew the change as well, and I don't like it.
"I'll call out to him," I say. "He won't ignore me."
Xander nods sharply and exhales, but I notice that his shoulders don't loosen. I touch his cheek for a brief moment, trying to reassure him. It's only a simple, small gesture before I step back.
I move to the center of the room, to where the wards are set up I created long ago. They still shimmer faintly in the floor beneath the stone.
Only I was capable of seeing this now. I kneel slowly and press my hand to one of the old lines and whimper his name.
"Eryx."
The name carries, not in the sense of it traveling through the space, or down the hall. It's more like it's soaked into the brick and the floor, traveling through the walls of the building and seeping into the ground beneath it. I know it will reach the Hollow and that Eryx will sense and hear it.
I feel it the moment he hears it, it's nothing big, just a flicker at the edge of mind, a resistance. Then there's a pulse of reluctant obedience.
He's on his way back now. I stand up and brush my hands against my skirt to clear it. I watch as Xander moves slightly, closer to the door, as if he's waiting to catch Eryx the moment he steps through.
“He’s listening,” I say. “But something out there has his attention. Something I can’t feel clearly yet.”
Xander’s expression darkens, but he says nothing, and he doesn't need to either.
We both know that the Hollow has secrets. I had hoped that I could seal and bury them to ensure nothing more could rise. I couldn't, though. Whatever was in the Hollow was awake and unwilling to go back to sleep.
I've begun to wonder whether we had misunderstood the land's silence, maybe all the silence wasn't peace after all, but something else waiting at the edge?
End of Traded To The Cruel Alpha Chapter 159. Continue reading Chapter 160 or return to Traded To The Cruel Alpha book page.