~ ROSELLE ~

"Are you okay?" With a voice so soft, he asks, those gray eyes settle on mine, filled with concern, and so patient in a way that makes my stomach knot.

I blink, reminding myself not to get fooled. Six women had looked into those eyes before me, six women who are now dead.

The thought alone makes my head feel like it’s spinning, my stomach churning violently.

I nod before he can ask again, forcing a smile onto my lips even though they feel brittle, as if they might crack under the strain.

My only prayer is that he’ll take it as an answer and leave. But he doesn’t, instead he takes, stride after stride, the heavy soles of his boots pressing against the floorboards.

The room suddenly feels too small. Too fucking small. My breaths come in short, measured gasps, each one thinner than the last. My pulse stumbling against my ribs, frantic and uneven.

The distance between us peels away piece by piece, every instinct I possess screaming at me to run, to hide, put something anything between us.

But hell, I can’t. My body remains rooted to the spot, stiff as stone. Because what if this is it? What if this is how the stories ended for the others? Maybe he’ll grab a pillow and press it over my face until the last bit of air leaves my lungs.

Maybe he won’t even bother, looking at the breadth of his shoulders tells me he doesn’t need to. He could simply wrap a hand around my throat, lift me from the bed as though I weigh nothing, and squeeze. I mean i nad seen the way he lifted Wareen like he weighed nothing.

I watch his face crease into a slight frown, the change so subtle I might have missed it if I weren’t studying his every expression. My pulse immediately begins to thrum against my ribs.

"Did anyone come in here besides Elias and Celeste?" he asks.

My eyes widen for a fraction of a second before I force my face into something neutral. I shake my head immediately. "No. No one," I say, trying to keep my voice steady even though my hands are trembling as I sign.

"Are you sure?" he asks again.

I nod quickly. "No one. Dr. Elias came earlier to check my pulse, then gave me a sleeping pill to help me rest. After that, I didn’t see anyone."

His frown deepens, and something unreadable flashes across his face. "Then someone must have entered while you were asleep."

A chill crawls down my spine, though I do my best not to let it show. The last thing I need is for him to start asking more questions. The more he digs, the closer he gets to discovering the truth.

"I’m taking the necessary precautions," he continues. "I need to know you’re safe, and—"

"I think you’re being a little paranoid, Alpha," I cut in gently.

One of his brows arches.

"Ronan," he corrects.

"Ronan," I correct quickly, offering a small smile. "I’m fine. I don’t want you getting all worked up because of me. I’ve already caused enough trouble. You had to save me from one of your pack members who thought I was an intruder."

The memory makes my stomach twist.

"I don’t want you worrying about me again. You’ve done more than enough already."

He nods, shrugging one shoulder. His lips part as though he’s about to say something, but I’m quicker.

"The offer about showing me around..." I begin, forcing myself to sound casual. "Does that still apply?"

His expression brightens instantly, the frown disappearing as though it had never been there.

"Yes, of course," he says. "I can show you around if you’d like."

I nod, unable to miss the flash of excitement that lights up his face. As much as it unnerves me, I need this.

Being around him is the last thing I want. Every second in his presence makes my skin prickle and my nerves tighten until it feels like every nerve ending in my body is stretched taut. But fear isn’t going to get me out of here.

I need to do this. I need to learn my way around the pack. I need to know where everything is, which paths lead where, and most importantly, which route gives me the best chance of escaping.

Because when the time comes, I can’t afford to run blindly. The thought sends a fresh wave of anxiety crashing through me.

I don’t even know where the nearest town is. Hell, I don’t know where any town is.

For all I know, I could make it past the pack borders only to get lost in the wilderness and end up right back where I started.

No. Before I do anything reckless, I need to talk to Mara. I need to find out what lies beyond these walls, where the nearest roads are, and how someone would even go about fleeing this place.

A few minutes later, we’re riding outside the pack house. The sight of it nearly steals my breath away.

When I’d first arrived at the pack, I’d barely registered the building through the haze of exhaustion and fear. Back then, it had been nothing more than a blur of stone walls and towering windows.

Now, sitting beside Ronan in the vehicle, I realize just how massive it truly is.

The pack house stretches across several acres, its architecture a blend of modern luxury and old-world grandeur. Multiple wings branch from the central structure, each crowned with dark slate roofs and enormous arched windows that glint beneath the afternoon sun. Stone pillars rise from the front entrance, giving the entire place the appearance of a fortress disguised as a home.

"You look surprised," Ronan says, amusement coloring his voice.

I drag my gaze away from the building.

"I didn’t realize it was this big," I sign.

A chuckle leaves him.

"Most people say that the first time they actually see it."

The vehicle rolls down a stone pathway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and flowering shrubs. Pack members move around us, some carrying supplies, others chatting amongst themselves. The moment they notice Ronan, conversations pause.

Heads bow to not just him, but me too.

"The eastern wing is where most of the unmated warriors stay," Ronan explains, pointing toward a section of the building. "Training rooms are down there too."

My gaze follows his hand. Several large structures sit behind the wing. Through the open doors, I can see men sparring with one another.

The sound of fists colliding echoes through the air.

"Looks painful." I sign again and he laughs.

"It usually is."

We continue riding.

"The western wing houses visiting Alphas and important guests. The council chambers are there as well."

I nod as though I’m interested.

In reality, I’m memorizing everything, the pathways, turns, and entrances.

"And over there," Ronan continues, gesturing toward a large building in the distance, "is the medical center."

I immediately focus on it. The building isn’t attached to the pack house. It stands alone near the edge of the compound.

Interesting.

"The training grounds are behind it," he says.

My eyes drift toward a large open field where dozens of wolves race across the grass. The sight sends a shiver crawling down my spine.

I quickly look away. Thankfully, Ronan doesn’t seem to notice. The tour continues for nearly twenty minutes.

He shows me the kitchens, the gathering hall, the pack library, and even a small marketplace where local pack members sell handmade goods.

To my surprise, he knows everyone, down to their names and families. They greet him warmly, and he greets them back with genuine familiarity.

Nothing about it matches the monster I’ve built inside my head. Eventually, we leave the busier sections of the compound behind.

The sounds of conversation fade. The vehicle moves onto a narrower path now, trees beginning to surround us.

"There’s one more place I’d like to show you," Ronan says.

A few moments later, the vehicle comes to a stop in front of an iron archway wrapped in flowering vines.

Ronan helps me out of the vehicle, and together we stand before the entrance. The garden before us is breathtaking.

Sunlight pours through the branches overhead, spilling across winding stone paths that weave through endless patches of color. Roses climb trellises in shades of crimson, ivory, blush pink, and gold. Lavender sways gently in the breeze, filling the air with its calming fragrance.

A crystal-clear stream cuts through the center of the garden, its surface sparkling like scattered diamonds beneath the afternoon sun.

Butterflies drift lazily between flowers, the sound of birds chirping softly in the distance.

"It’s beautiful."

Ronan smiles.

"My mother designed most of it."

My gaze darts to him.

"She did?"

He nods.

"She loved flowers. Said they reminded her that even the harshest winters eventually end."

One thing I still find hard to believe is the fact that the man standing right in front of me is the same man accused of killing six brides.

The contradiction is enough to make my head hurt. Monsters aren’t supposed to sound like this. They’re not supposed to smile like this.

And they’re definitely not supposed to make me question everything I’ve been told.