CHAPTER 327: TROUBLED

ADAM

The field smelled of iron. Of wet earth, blood, and a kind of silence that was too aware of itself—the kind that comes after something monstrous has happened, and everyone’s still pretending they didn’t want to see it.

She stood there in the middle of the field smiling. Her hair was matted with blood, her skin shining under the half-light of dusk, her hands still holding those two heads like trophies. "Is this proof enough?"

The crowd gasped; others muttered prayers. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Her eyes found me again—steady, proud, and almost mocking—as if she was daring me to deny what had just happened.

Who was she? Who was this woman that had someone rented a space in my head?

I’d asked that question a hundred times since the contest began. I’d sent men to research her origins—to track where she’d come from, who her parents were, if she had any community at all. But they weren’t back yet. A week had passed. Nothing. It was like she had appeared out of nowhere.

And yet, she didn’t feel like a stranger.

There was something about the way she moved—deliberate, unafraid, as if she owned the world and everyone in it. The kind of woman who didn’t just step into chaos, she made it.

And the damnedest thing was... I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I shouldn’t. She’d just decapitated two men in front of my entire kingdom—and smiled while doing it—and here I was wondering what her lips would taste like if she ever smiled that way at me.

My wolf growled deep in my mind, restless, excited, almost yearning. She’s ours.

I shut him down immediately. No, she isn’t.

You said that last time too.

My jaw tightened. He was right.

It could only mean one thing, this pull—this instinct. But how could my wolf have three mates in the span of seven years? How was that even possible?

First was Maya. Wolfless, but the one, whose whereabouts I didn’t know despite my lengthy unending search. Then, there was Dora. Fiery Dora. And somehow, I couldn’t have her as mine.

They told me she was dead, that I had killed her, and yet...

I pushed the thought away. And now this... this unpredictable woman with the sharp tongue, sharper eyes, and the same storm-scent that haunted my dreams.

Was the goddess playing games with me?

Was She that benevolent... or that cruel?

And why were they always mages? Except Maya. Was that a pattern I was too stubborn to see?

My gaze returned to Sage, who was now lowering the heads to the ground, that same sly smile tugging at her lips. Did she know? Did she sense what she was to me? Was that why she looked at me like that—with heat, challenge, and recognition all mixed into one molten stare?

I exhaled and forced my voice steady.

"That’s enough," I said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "The fight is over. Return to your quarters. The contest will resume tomorrow."

The murmurs broke. People began to leave in a wave of whispers and hurried steps. I was glad this was the last match for the day. I needed distance. I needed air.

But most of all, I needed to get her out of my head.

I rose to my feet, feeling the weight of eyes follow me as I walked down the royal steps. Claire followed, her perfume sweet but suffocating. There was silence between us as we left the field, trailed by my brothers and their brides.

Behind us, the crowd still argued in muted tones—about Sage, about her power, about the evilness they had just witnessed.

The hallways of the mansion stretched long and cold, our footsteps echoing against the marble. Daniel was the first to break the silence.

"She’s getting out of hand," he said. "That girl. She’s dangerous."

Claire murmured her agreement beside me, her tone sharp. "She’s barbaric. No discipline. Someone like that shouldn’t be in the royal arena."

I said nothing.

Noah chuckled behind me. "Double standards, brother. Men have killed each other in that ring and were celebrated. Why should it be different for her?"

Daniel scowled. "She’s—"

"Strong," Noah interrupted smoothly, voice tainted with amusement. "And that’s what bothers you."

I said nothing still, until we reached the common room.

"You can continue without me," I said flatly, ignoring their questioning looks. "I have work to finish."

And before Daniel could say more, I left.

–

My office was dimly lit, the scent of parchment and old wood greeting me like an old friend. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving embers that glowed like tiny hearts in the dark. I sat behind my desk, the weight of the day pressing on my shoulders, and reached for the nearest document.

It was a report from the southern borders—something about increased rogue activity. I skimmed the first lines, but the words blurred.

Because all I could see was her.

Sage. Her face. Her bloodied cheek. The fire in her eyes.

Every time I closed mine, I saw her smile again—that wicked, knowing smile she’d flashed after killing those men. I should’ve been disgusted. Furious. But I wasn’t. I was intrigued.

My wolf shifted restlessly. You’re thinking of her again.

"I’m thinking of my work," I muttered aloud, though I didn’t sound convincing even to myself.

Liar. She’s the same one.

"Enough," I snapped.

You feel it. Same scent. Same soul.

"She can’t be," I whispered, rubbing my temples. "She can’t."

Three women. Three supposed mates. How could they be the same person? It made no sense. It wasn’t rational.

I sighed heavily and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe you’re the defect," I muttered to my wolf. "Maybe you can’t tell anymore."

He didn’t respond—but I could feel the low, disbelieving growl rumble in the back of my mind.

I forced myself back to the paperwork, scribbling notes on a trade deal, stamping a seal on a requisition. For all that my brothers shared the throne, I carried most of the work. They preferred the fighting pits and their women.

Lazy asses, the both of them.

Still, I’d barely signed the third document when the door opened without a knock.

"Claire," I said tiredly, not even looking up. "What do you want?"

"I want that woman gone."

I set the pen down. "You’ll need to be more specific."

Her lips tightened. "Sage. The fighter. She’s dangerous, Adam. You saw what she did out there."

"I also saw her win fairly."

Claire’s eyes narrowed. "You’re defending her?"

"I’m stating facts," I replied evenly. "And you forget—there are millions watching the tournament. She’s the favorite now. The wagers on her fights are already in the millions. The pack’s coffers are thriving from it."

Her expression twisted. "So money means more than safety now?"

"It means stability," I said sharply.

Claire folded her arms, stepping closer. "Then let’s make it... convenient. Accidents happen in fights. We could orchestrate something—a setup that doesn’t touch the betting line."

I looked at her finally, really looked—the pale desperation beneath her polished face. Fear. Jealousy.

"No," I said.

"Why?"

"Because it’s not right. The fights are fair, and that’s why we have returnees... I’m not going back on that."

She opened her mouth to argue further but I wasn’t having it. "Leave, Claire. I have work to do."

When she turned and left, slamming the door harshly behind her, I exhaled and reclined in the chair.

Finally, peace.