Into His Room Alone

And yet, she felt like an outsider looking in, the human among wolves.

Her thoughts drifted before she could stop them. Adolphus. He was nowhere to be seen.

She hated that she noticed.

Hated that her heart sank at his absence, that the corners of her mind insisted on conjuring his image—his intense eyes, the way his presence filled a space, the rare moments when his lips curved into something close to a smile.

The more she tried to ignore it, the louder her thoughts became.

Where was he?

Why wasn’t he here with the others? Did he avoid her deliberately, or was he dealing with something else entirely?

“Seraphina?”

The voice jolted her from her spiraling thoughts. She looked up to see Lady Elara standing over her, a kind smile on her face and a plate of food in her hands.

“You’ve barely touched your meal,” Lady Elara observed, sitting down beside her. “The cooks worked hard on this, you know.”

Seraphina forced a small smile. “It’s good, really. I guess I’m just not very hungry.”

Lady Elara’s sharp eyes softened as she studied her. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Seraphina stiffened, her fork freezing midair. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Elara chuckled, a sound both knowing and gentle. “You’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think, child. Adolphus has a way of leaving a mark on people, whether he intends to or not.”

Seraphina’s cheeks flushed, and she set her fork down with a clatter. “I don’t—he’s just—”

Elara placed a hand on hers, silencing her stumbling words. “It’s all right. I know my son isn’t the easiest person to understand. But he cares more than he lets on, but he's the alpha and perhaps can't show it.”

Seraphina’s chest tightened, the weight of her conflicted feelings pressing down on her. She wanted to deny it, to brush off the notion that Adolphus’s absence affected her, but the truth was undeniable.

“I don’t even know why I care,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the feast. “He’s… he’s done things. Things I can’t forgive.”

“And yet, you do care,” Elara said softly. “It’s not always about logic, Seraphina. Sometimes, the heart leads us places we don’t understand. Perhaps you should trust it a little more.”

Seraphina didn’t reply, her thoughts swirling like a storm.

She glanced around the lively gathering once more, the warmth and unity of the clan feeling like a cruel contrast to the turmoil inside her.

And still, her gaze kept straying to the edges of the clearing, searching for a figure she both longed to see and wished to forget.

##########

She couldn't eat much and ended up going back inside the house.

Seraphina sat curled up on the couch in the living room, her legs tucked beneath her as she stared absently at the flickering shadows cast by the dim light.

The house was quiet—eerily so—its stillness wrapping around her like a heavy blanket.

She rubbed her arms, not because she was cold, but because her thoughts felt tangled and restless.

Her gaze flickered toward the closed door of Adolphus’s room, her curiosity growing despite her best efforts to suppress it.

She hadn’t dared enter since she arrived, respecting his space—or maybe fearing what stepping into it would mean.

Yesterday’s events had left her clothes soaked, and she’d reluctantly spent the day wearing one of his shirts, the soft fabric smelling faintly of pine and something darker, something distinctly him.

Now, as she tugged at the hem of the oversized garment, she realized it had reached its limit. She needed something clean, something dry.

But the thought of going into his room made her stomach twist.

It felt invasive, like stepping into the lion’s den without permission.

She tried to reason with herself, telling herself she wasn’t crossing any lines—just retrieving clothes, that’s all.

Yet her feet remained glued to the floor for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, her resolve wavering with each step toward his room.

The air seemed thicker here, the faint scent of him stronger.

She hesitated at the door, her fingers grazing the handle before she finally turned it and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit by slivers of moonlight slipping through the curtains. It was just as she’d imagined—neat, minimal, and distinctly masculine.

The bed was perfectly made, its dark gray sheets unwrinkled, and the furniture was sturdy and unadorned, practical to a fault.

Yet there was something else, an air of quiet power that matched the man himself.

Her eyes darted to the wardrobe, but she didn’t move toward it. Instead, her attention was drawn to another door on the side of the room—the bathroom.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she wondered why he used the one in the living room so often when he had this one right here.

Driven by curiosity, she found herself crossing the room, her footsteps light as if she feared being caught.

She pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside, her breath catching at the sight.

It was nothing like the austere bedroom.

The bathroom was luxurious, almost indulgent, with sleek black tiles that gleamed under soft lighting and a spacious shower enclosed by frosted glass.

A faint scent of cedar and mint lingered in the air, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much time he spent here.

Seraphina ran her fingers along the cool marble of the sink, her thoughts wandering.

Did he stand here every morning, looking at his reflection, thinking about… what?

His responsibilities?

His secrets? She shook her head, realizing she was letting her mind drift too far.

She turned her attention to the shower, and before she could second-guess herself, she reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head.

Her jeans followed, and soon she stood bare, feeling vulnerable yet oddly emboldened.

Stepping under the showerhead, she turned the water on, gasping softly as the warm spray hit her skin.