Rowan Blackthorn never apologized for her strength, never blinked twice when her wolf challenged— he saw her.
That alone made him dangerous to her heart.
He treated Kaida like an equal in a world that constantly reminded her she was not one, a world that made sure she knew she was not welcome.
When others corrected her tone, Rowan listened.
When others averted their eyes, Rowan moved closer.
When elders questioned her presence in strategic meetings, Rowan waved them off and ensured they listened. When she challenged him during training, he met her blow for blow, eyes sharp with focus rather than irritation.
He never once told her to be careful.
Kaida told herself that was why she loved him—because he never tried to cage her. But the truth ran deeper, uglier, and far more vulnerable.
She loved the way his scent shifted when he was angry, sharp pine and smoke. Loved how his voice dropped when he spoke only to her, shedding the weight of Alpha command. Loved how his wolf brushed against hers during patrols, a quiet acknowledgment that made her chest ache.
Her wolf adored him.
It leaned toward him instinctively, responding to his presence with a hunger Kaida pretended not to notice. She shoved it down every time, reminding herself that female betas did not dream of Alphas. They were not chosen. They were not crowned.
Sometimes, late at night, she allowed herself a moment of weakness—imagining what it would be like if Rowan ever looked at her and chose her. The fantasy always ended the same way: with laughter from the pack, with her name spoken in disappointment, with rejection and disappointment .
So she buried the thought, strangled the feelings and tamed her heart to beat steady.
She smiled when Rowan spoke of duty. She nodded when he mentioned Lena with fond familiarity. She told herself love was a luxury meant for wolves born with power.
And if her wolf howled softly whenever Rowan walked away, Kaida pretended not to hear it.