Chapter 220: Unease
Kaden’s POV
I stared up at the ceiling of my bedroom, listening to the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall.
Two in the morning. Then three. Now creeping past four.
I threw the sheet off my body and sat on the edge of the mattress, running a hand heavily over my face. I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t been able to sleep properly, but tonight, the restlessness in my blood was nearly suffocating. It felt like an electric current running under my skin, pulling my muscles tight, making my pulse race for no damn reason.
I tossed and turned, trying every side of the bed, but the sheets felt too hot, the room too quiet, and the air entirely too empty.
Something was wrong.
It wasn’t a thought; it was a deep, instinctual knot tightening at the pit of my stomach. A cold, nagging feeling that I had forgotten something vital—something massive that was slipping through my fingers like water.
Unable to lie there a second longer, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Barefoot, I paced across the cold tiled floor toward the mini-bar set in the far corner of my suite. My hands shook slightly as I grabbed a heavy crystal glass decanter and poured myself three fingers of dark whiskey.
I knocked the whiskey back in a single swallow, letting the amber liquid burn a path down my throat and settle in my chest.
It didn’t help. The alcohol barely touched the strange, clawing tension inside me.
I gripped the edge of the marble bar, staring down at the empty glass in my hand. I let out a low, frustrated sigh that echoed in the quiet room.
"I feel like I’m losing my mind," I muttered into the darkness. "Like I’m missing something... like something that belongs to me is gone."
It’s the antidote, my wolf grumbled from the shadows of my mind, his tone rough, irritated, and equally restless. Your mind feels hollow because of the spell. You’re missing your memories, Kaden.
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cool surface of the mirror behind the bar.
Right. The spell.
Logan had warned me that the antidote’s side effects would only last a few days and that I hadn’t forgotten anything important apart from the battle. But no matter how many times I told myself that, my chest ached with a hollow, physical pain that whiskey couldn’t numb.
It felt less like a forgotten piece of history and more like a limb had been brutally torn from my body, leaving an open, bleeding wound I couldn’t see.
I set the empty glass down on the counter with a quiet clink, turned around, and walked back to the massive king-sized bed. I lay down on my back, folding my arms behind my head, staring blindly at the dark shadows dancing across the ceiling.
Morning came far too slowly, the pale light of dawn cutting through the heavy drapes of my bedroom long before my mind had found a single second of peace.
I gave up on sleep entirely by seven, threw on a dark shirt and pants, and made my way down the wide spiral staircase toward the dining hall. The packhouse was quiet, save for the faint sounds of the kitchen staff moving about. But the air still felt wrong. Heavy.
"You look like hell," a voice called out as I stepped into the grand dining room.
I looked up to see Logan sitting at the long mahogany table, a cup of black coffee in his hand and a plate of food barely touched in front of him. He was leaning back in his chair, but his posture wasn’t relaxed. His shoulders were set tight, and his eyes were tracking me with a sharp, guarded intensity the second I walked into the room.
"Didn’t sleep," I grunted, pulling out the heavy leather chair at the head of the table and dropping into it.
A maid quickly rushed over, setting down a steaming cup of dark roast beside my plate, but I barely registered her presence. I picked up the mug, taking a slow, bitter sip as I stared across the table at my Beta.
Logan cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He picked up his fork, poked at his eggs without eating them, and then set the utensil back down with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked to the tall floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the main driveway, then back to his plate.
Then to the clock on the wall.
Then back to the windows.
I set my coffee cup down, the wood creaking softly under the pressure of my grip.
"You’re distracted today, Logan," I said, my voice low and dark, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.
Logan froze for a second before lifting his head. He forced a casual, easy smile onto his face—one that didn’t reach his eyes at all. "Just dealing with pack matters, Kaden. A lot on my plate this morning."
I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward slightly as my wolf stirred beneath my skin, restless and suspicious. Logan was a skilled Beta, disciplined and steady. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t stare out windows waiting for the sun to move.
"Pack matters?" I asked, my tone laced with a quiet warning. "Or is there something on my territory I’m not being told about?"
"Nothing like that," Logan said smoothly, though his fingers tapped rhythmically against his coffee cup—a nervous habit he only had when he was holding something back. "Just coordination for the rebuilding efforts across the border. And... arranging accommodations."
I stared at him for a long, quiet moment, letting the heavy silence stretch between us until the air grew tight enough to snap. He held my gaze, but the faint pulse fluttering in his jaw gave him away. He was hiding something. But whatever it was, it didn’t feel like a threat to the pack—it felt personal.
I let out a harsh exhale, running a hand over the back of my neck to release the tension knotting in my muscles, and let it go. For now.
"Speaking of accommodations," I spoke up, leaning back in my chair and taking another sip of coffee. "When is my brother arriving?"
Logan tapped his mug one last time before resting his hands flat on the table. "This morning. Kane sent word late last night. His mansion took heavy damage from the fire, so he’s bringing a small entourage to stay in the east wing until the repairs are underway."
I nodded, the muscle in my jaw tightening as I processed the news. "Good."
I pushed back from the table and stood up, the heavy chair scraping quietly against the polished floor. "I’m going to head back upstairs and freshen up before they arrive."
Logan gave a brief nod of agreement, visibly relieved to have the focus shift away from his fidgeting. "I’ll make sure the staff has the guest wing prepped."
I left the dining hall without another word, taking the marble stairs two at a time. The heavy, restless weight in my chest hadn’t lifted—if anything, it had settled deeper, coiling tightly behind my ribs like a spring waiting to snap.
Once back in my private suite, I stripped out of my clothes and stepped straight into the master bathroom. I turned the handle all the way to cold, stepping under the icy stream of the shower. The freezing water hit my skin like needles, but it did nothing to wash away the strange, burning heat flushing through my veins. My wolf was practically pacing circles against the cage of my mind, his ears pinned back, hyper-aware of every sound outside the packhouse walls.
Calm down, I ordered him internally, leaning my palms flat against the wet tile wall as water ran down my face. It’s just Kane.
My wolf didn’t answer, only letting out a low, uneasy rumble.
I cut the water, grabbed a white towel to dry off, and pulled on a fresh charcoal suit jacket and trousers. Buttoning my cuffs, I walked back through the bedroom toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the front gates.
Before I could even reach the window, the faint, crunching sound of tires rolling over the gravel driveway echoed from below.
Kane was here.