Dominic leaned back against the couch, the sharpness in his gaze softening into something sly. His lips curled, mocking.
"So, it's my fault then?" His voice carried that low, dangerous amusement. "If that helps you sleep better at night, healer, I'll take the blame."
Heat flared across Sloane's cheeks. The way he said it, taunting, almost intimate, sent her pulse racing. Her eyes flickered away, only to catch on the half-buttoned shirt clinging to his broad frame. Muscles flexed beneath tanned skin, his chest rising and falling with every breath. For the first time, she realized just how powerful he looked outside his Alpha aura. Had he always been this. Her blush deepened.
She forced her gaze up. "Alpha Dominic. if something's going on with you, you should tell me."
That snapped something in him. His eyes narrowed, voice hard as steel. "And why would I? You are not my secret keeper, Miss Sloane."
Her chest tightened, but she didn't back down. "Because I can help you."
His jaw flexed. "I don't need your help. You're here for Jeremy. That's all."
Her lips parted, defiance rising in her throat before fear could choke it down. "And what if, because of you, Jeremy gets hurt?"
The air froze.
Dominic's aura slammed into her like a storm, thick with dominance. "Stay in your limits," he growled, his voice edged with warning.
But she lifted her chin, her voice trembling but steady. "Why? Because I touched a nerve?"
His eyes flashed dangerously, his wolf clawing close to the surface. "Careful, Sloane."
She stepped closer, her words sharp as blades. "If you want this. this arrangement to work, then you need to treat me equally. At par with you. Not like some fragile thing you can command."
For a moment, the room crackled with tension, the Alpha and healer locked in a silent war. Dominic's lips parted as if he might say something, something heavy, something real. But instead, he turned his head, muscles tightening with defiance.
"Leave," he ordered.
Her heart pounded, but she didn't waver. She spun on her heel and strode out, the echo of her footsteps a declaration of her strength.
In the silence that followed, the doctor finally exhaled, pressing a hand to his chest. His eyes lingered on the door she had disappeared through.
"What a lady," he muttered under his breath, admiration sparking in his eyes. "To demand respect from an Alpha., her strength."
Dominic didn't reply, though his gaze remained fixed on the doorway, jaw clenched tight, as if the words Sloane had hurled at him had cut deeper than he cared to admit.
**
Back in Blackthorn territory, the manor was quieter than it had ever been. Damon sat slouched in his chair, a half-empty glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. His eyes burned red from both the alcohol and the exhaustion gnawing at him.
His days had become a monotonous cycle, tending to Caleb's endless needs and drowning the rest of his hours in drink. He used to manage better, though, back when she was there.
Sloane.
Whenever she caught him with a bottle, she would storm in with that sharp tongue of hers, scolding him until the air itself felt heavy with her disapproval. And when the hangover inevitably struck, she'd bring him her secret soup, rich, spiced, somehow washing away the poison faster than any pill ever could.
Now, without her, his stomach twisted with constant sickness. His body felt weaker, and his mind was fraying at the edges. The glass slammed against the table, liquid spilling across the wood as his temper flared.
Her stubbornness grated on him. Why hasn't she come back yet? Whatever fight they had, whatever storm they clashed through, she always returned. Always. She had never stayed away this long.
The phone buzzed. He called his doctor, barking into the receiver. "I need something for this, this damn ache. Give me the prescription."
The man hesitated. "Alpha Damon, the best I can recommend are some mild stabilizers pills that."
"Pills?" Damon's voice roared through the hall. His chair scraped back violently as he shot to his feet, veins pulsing at his temple. "You think I'll swallow that useless garbage? I need her not your damn medicine!"
The call ended with a slam, leaving him pacing the room, chest heaving.
Anxiety coiled inside him, sharp and unrelenting. Why wasn't she back yet? What was keeping her away? The questions clawed at his sanity, each one sharper than the last.
Whatever had happened, whatever storms had raged between them before, Sloane had always come back. Always.
But not this time.
And for the first time in years, Damon felt the icy edge of disbelief sink in.
Damon was still pacing, anger pounding through his veins, when his phone buzzed again. With a snarl, he snatched it up.
"Alpha," the voice on the other end said, hesitant. "I. I sent you something. A video. Thought you should see it."
His gut twisted. "What kind of game are you playing?"
"No game," the man stammered. "Just. look."
The line went dead. Damon's thumb jabbed at the screen, and the video opened.
The footage wasn't crystal clear, but it was enough to punch the breath from his lungs. Sloane, his Luna, in a crowded emergency room, her hands glowing faintly as she leaned over a man's broken body. Justin Frank. Damon remembered the name in passing from reports.
She was stopped once, a bodyguard's hand gripping her arm, but she shook him off with a strength Damon had never seen before. Her eyes were sharp, her movements confident, her presence commanding. She looked. radiant. Powerful. Prettier than ever.
But it wasn't just her.
Damon caught glimpses, just enough to sour his stomach, of another man. Tall. Dark-haired. Watching her with the kind of gaze Damon knew all too well. Protective. Possessive.
His grip tightened on the phone until the case cracked.
She moved on? So fast?
His thoughts spiraled, bitter and sharp. All those words. loving me until death, standing by me no matter what-was it all nonsense? The betrayal tasted like blood in his mouth.
"No," he growled, the sound rumbling low and dangerous. "No, she's still mine. My wife."
The thought of her flirting, even standing so close to another man, sent white-hot rage lancing through him. His control snapped like glass.
His eyes bled into molten gold, his wolf clawing free. A guttural growl ripped from his chest, shaking the walls, echoing through the empty halls of Blackthorn manor. The whiskey glass shattered under his clawed hand, forgotten.
Fury consumed him, wild and untamed. Sloane's face, radiant, smiling for another man, burned into his vision until all he could think of was tearing the world apart to get her back.
