BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 221: HIDDEN SECRETS

Chapter 221: HIDDEN SECRETS

{"Man is not what he thinks he is; he is what he hides."}

ROLANS POV

The Mira house smelled like old wood and inherited secrets. I stood in the marble foyer, one hand braced on the carved banister, the other curled in a loose fist at my side. Outside, the rain tapped a nervous rhythm against the stained-glass windows. Inside, silence reigned until the front doors opened.

I smelled her before I saw her, and it was warm and spicy. Blood-rich power threaded with something floral, ancient, and sacred. Qadira stepped through, poised, unhurried, eyes scanning the room like she already owned it. She did not notice me at first. Her dark curls were pinned high, neck bare, throat pulsing with heat. Every inch of her shimmered with quiet defiance. And behind her, Sierra followed, sharp-eyed and armed with a smile too careful to trust. But I only saw Qadira, and my breath caught. Not in my chest, but deeper. My beast stirred and rose like smoke in my bones, stretching, sniffing, watching her with hungry curiosity. Not possession. Not yet. But close.

"Control your fucking self " I told myself, jaw tightening.

I pushed away from the banister and stepped forward, and Qadira’s gaze snapped to mine. Amber eyes. No fear in them, and a flicker of amusement ghosted across her mouth. I swallowed hard, pulse thudding coordinated with the beast’s slow awakening. My fingernails ached. I could feel the shift teasing the edge of my skin, bone twitching, flesh eager to break.

"She doesn’t even know," the beast murmured inside me, all teeth and wan,t and I looked at her, truly looking. And I knew it, then I was already lost.

The door slammed behind me, and I leaned against it like I could keep the truth from getting in, and the foyer groaned around me, old bones of wood and time creaking with the wind outside. But it was nothing compared to the storm inside me.

"She saw us."

The voice was mine, but not mine. Deep, growling, threaded with the primal hunger of the beast I had buried years ago. "She didn’t just see," I muttered, pacing. "She knew."

A pause, then the chuckle came low, dark, and satisfied. "Of course, she knew. She is ours."

I stopped pacing. My hand flexed, veins rising against my skin like the Rogourau just beneath me.

"No. No, she is not. She cannot be," I whispered, more to myself than to the beast. "I left that world behind. I chose silence. I chose control."

The beast growled. "And yet you trembled the moment her eyes met yours. She looked past the charm, past the sigil, past the human lie you wear like a coward’s cloak."

I hissed through my teeth, anger sparking. "It is not cowardice. It is survival. You remember what they did to us. What we did in return."

A beat of silence. Then— "You cannot hide from a mate." My stomach twisted at the word. Mate. The kind of bond the old songs warned about—the kind that tore through shields, shattered exiles, made monsters kneel.

"She saw me," I said aloud, quieter now. "Saw me, the beast, the shame, the imprisonment, and she did not flinch."

"She called to us," the Rogourau whispered. "And we heard her. Even after all these years. Even through wards and continents."

My chest tightened. I saw her again in my mind, Qadira, eyes bright with starlight and fury, lips parting just slightly when our gazes met. Like she recognized something buried in me. Something old. Sacred.

"She’s powerful," I said. "More than she lets on. More than they know."

"Good," the beast purred. "We are not meant for weak things."

I closed my eyes. And for a moment, I let myself feel it—the draw, the fire, the impossible pull of her soul tethered to mine.

My fingers twitched. The charm at my neck felt heavier now. Like it knew it was dying.

"Then we’re in trouble," I murmured. "Because if she is ours... she’s going to destroy everything I’ve built to keep you quiet."

The Rogourau laughed again, pleased. "Then let it burn."

I was staring at nothing outside in the moonlight. The thoughts in my mind, the shape of her smile, the tilt of her head when she called my bluff, the scent of her power still clinging to the inside of my skull like a curse I did not want broken. Every time I said her name in my mind, something ancient in me shifted. Like the beast inside was turning toward her, head bowed, tail low, worshipful, and by the moon, I was losing my edge.

"You’re leaking, you know," came Rou’s voice, dry as dust and twice as cutting.

I blinked, startled, and turned to find him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, that damn smirk playing just under the surface.

"Leaking what?" I asked, too fast. Too sharp.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered in, boots silent against the stone. "Your thoughts. Your heat. That look in your eyes is like you would skin a man alive just for standing too close to her."

I scowled, jaw tightening. "I wasn’t—"

"You were," Rou cut in, dropping into the seat across from me. "And worse, you were not hiding it. If I can see it, so can she. So can anyone with a working nose and half a pulse."

I turned back toward the fire, biting back the string of curses itching my throat. He was not wrong. And that made it worse.

"She’s not just... she’s not anyone," I muttered.

"No, she’s not," Rou agreed. "Which is exactly why you need to get your beast under control."

I met his eyes then, sharp, steady, full of the same grim focus I used to carry before everything got tangled.

"This isn’t the time," he added. "Blood Stone Mountain is crawling with things that eat distractions for sport. And if you walk in there with your soul hanging open like a calling card, something is going to rip it out."

I looked away again, shoulders tense. "She saw through the glamour, Rou. Saw me."

He nodded slowly. "And she did not run. That is something. But save the mating games for after we survive this cursed mountain."

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. "Yeah. You are right."

"Damn right I am." He stood and clapped a hand to my shoulder. "Lock it down, Rolan. Just a few more days. Then you can unravel yourself all over her, for all I care."

I snorted despite myself. "You’re disgusting."

Rou just grinned. "And right."

There was a flush on his cheeks. Faint, but there. And not from the fire.

I narrowed my eyes. "You’re quiet."

"I’m always quiet," he muttered, not looking at me.

"No," I said, smirking. "You are suspiciously quiet. And red." He stiffened. "Gods above," I drawled, stretching like a cat that found its prey, "Rou Rogourau, blushing? Who is she?"

"I’m not blushing," he snapped, turning his face away. "And no one."

"Not no one," I said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. "Because you only look like that when your brain’s stuck on someone who smells like trouble and kisses like a war."

Rou shot me a look. "You sound disturbingly poetic. Are you sure you are not still thinking about Qadira?"

"Oh, I am," I said with a grin, "but I can multitask."

He rolled his eyes, but his ears—traitorous things—were still red.

"Come on, just admit it," I said, chuckling. "All that teasing you have thrown my way the last few days... and here you are, caught in your storm. You are not going to be single much longer, brother."

He snorted. "You sound like an aunt at a matchmaking festival."

"Maybe I am," I said, leaning back against the stone. "Except I do not need visions or rituals to see it. Your scent shifts when she is nearby. Whoever she is."

He froze just a little too long, and I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so there is she."

Rou sighed like I had dragged the confession out of him with pliers. "It’s complicated."

I gave him a knowing look. "Isn’t it always?"

He went quiet again, the shadows swallowing half his face, but there was a flicker of something soft behind the sharp lines, hope. Or the beginnings of it.

"I am glad there is a she, and you need to ensure you go back home safe and sound," I nodded at him. " Come on, let us get in the house and join the others in planning."

Rou’s shoulder brushed mine as he followed. "Let’s not keep them waiting."

I nodded and pushed through the wide archway that led deeper into the house. The voices ahead were already murmuring Tor’s low rumble, Sierra’s clipped precision, Freyr’s velvet-smooth sarcasm threading between them. Qadira’s presence hit me before her voice did, like gravity had changed direction.

I did not look for her yet, not while my pulse was doing that thing again. "We are here," I said, more to myself than anyone.

I leaned against the far wall of the room, arms crossed, eyes on the fire but ears sharp as blades. Tor’s voice carried first low, measured, each word forged from iron and memory.

"It wasn’t just a creature," he said, his gaze locked on Sierra’s like he needed her to feel the weight of it. "They were all waiting and hunting us. Freyr sat nearby, legs stretched out, hands laced over his chest like he was not the least bit haunted, but I knew better. His eyes were too still. Sierra had not spoken yet. She just listened, jaw tight, fingers pressed against the edge of the table like she was bracing for the next blow.