ZALE's POV;
I stood silently by the door, watching her sleep. Her chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath, her face serene, untouched by the storm of questions and uncertainty that must plague her during her waking hours. She looked beautiful, almost fragile, as if the world outside this room couldn't dare harm her in this vulnerable state.
It was a rare moment of stillness, a sight I wanted to engrave in my memory. I was careful not to disturb her, my every movement deliberate. I didn't trust myself to stay much longer without waking her, but I also couldn't leave—not yet. Something about the way she slept calmed me, reminded me why I was doing all this. She didn't know the weight of it yet, but soon, everything would change. For her. For me. For us.
The memories of the night before lingered, of when I'd quietly left to attend to the matters at the border. Rogues had breached the perimeter, and while Wilder and I had dealt with them swiftly, I knew better than to let my guard down. A single breach today could mean an all-out assault tomorrow. It was my duty to protect everyone here, including her—especially her.
Before leaving, I'd told Zora to take Amora around, to help her adjust. But I had been clear: there were places she wasn't supposed to see, secrets she wasn't ready for. I thought Zora understood that. I thought I could trust her to follow a simple directive.
I returned hours later, exhausted but relieved that the border was secure. I'd prepared everything to finally tell Amora the truth about who I was and, more importantly, who she was to me. She deserved to know, even if I dreaded her reaction. I had rehearsed a dozen ways to break it to her gently, but deep down, I knew it wouldn't matter. This revelation would shatter her understanding of reality, and no amount of preparation would soften the blow.
As I reached the hallway outside my office, I noticed Zora pacing nervously, her brows furrowed and her hands fidgeting. Something was wrong.
"Zora?" I called out, my voice sharper than I intended. "What's going on?"
She froze, turning to face me with wide, anxious eyes. "Brother... the thing is..."
"Spit it out, Zora," I snapped, my patience running thin. "What happened?"
She hesitated, biting her lip before finally blurting, "She went into the sacred room, brother."
My blood ran cold. "What?"
"I... I'm sorry!" Zora stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "I didn't mean to leave her alone, but I had to send something to my professor. When I came back, she was already inside, and—"
"Zora!" My voice thundered, silencing her excuses. "I told you not to let her out of your sight! And the sacred room? How could you let this happen?"
"I didn't think she'd find her way there!" Zora's voice broke. "And, brother, there's something else. There's a portrait in the room. It wasn't there before. A portrait of her."
Her words hit me like a blow. A portrait of Amora? In the sacred room? That couldn't be possible. Those paintings were of our ancestors, meant to preserve the legacy of the pack. No one else had access to that room. How could her likeness be there?
I sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to regain control of my temper. "Where is she now?"
"She's back in her room... I think."
"Go to your quarters, Zora," I ordered. "I'll handle this."
"Brother, I'm sorry—"
"Go," I repeated, softer this time.
Once she was gone, I headed straight for the sacred room, my steps quick and purposeful. My heart pounded as I approached, my mind racing with questions I wasn't ready to face. When I reached the door, I found it slightly ajar. I pushed it open, and there she was.
Amora stood in front of the portrait, her back to me, her figure illuminated by the dim light filtering through the room. She didn't move, her gaze fixed on the painting. I followed her line of sight and froze.
There it was. A portrait of her.
Her features were unmistakable—the same delicate curve of her jaw, the same bright, questioning eyes. But the painting was old, centuries old, the brushstrokes aged and faded with time. It didn't make sense.
"Amora," I called out, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
She turned sharply, startled. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"This room isn't safe," I interrupted, stepping closer. "Come with me."
Her brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms. "If it's not safe, then why keep things like this here? What is this painting, Zale? Why is it here?"
I hesitated, knowing I couldn't give her the answers she sought—not yet. "Some things can't be moved," I said simply. "Let's go."
Reluctantly, she followed me back to her room. I closed the door behind us, steeling myself for what had to come next. The clock on the wall showed that we had less than twenty minutes before her eighteenth birthday. It was time.
"Amora," I began, sitting across from her. "I need to tell you something."
She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her eyes. "Are you finally going to answer my questions?"
"Yes." I took a deep breath. "After that, there's something I need to show you."
Her expression shifted from excitement to confusion. "You know my birthday?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know everything about you, Amora," I admitted. "Now, ask your questions."
For the next several minutes, she bombarded me with questions, her innocence shining through with every word.
"Why can't I go home?"
"Because this is where you belong."
"But I don't even know you!"
"You will," I said gently. "Because you're my mate."
Her eyes widened. "Mate? What's that supposed to mean? You're older than me!"
"I'll explain later," I promised.
She frowned, clearly unsatisfied but pressed on. "Why do they call you Alpha?"
"Because I am their Alpha. Their leader."
"Oh..." Her voice trailed off as she processed my answers, but I could tell she wasn't done.
"Get dressed," I said suddenly, rising to my feet.
"Why?"
"Because there's something I need to show you. Something that will answer all your questions."
The next few moments would change everything. For her. For me. For us.