Alessandra POV
I said no! I shrieked, my fist connecting with Demetri's shoulder. It was like hitting a wall of granite.
Demetri swore, the sound vibrating against my chest. He stopped wrestling me toward the Bentley and instead slammed me against the side of the car, pinning me with his hips. His eyes were swirling pools of obsidian fury.
You are hysterical, he snarled, his breath hot on my face. "If you think I am going to drag a screaming, thrashing Luna into the Pack Clinic for everyone to see, you are mistaken. I will not have you embarrass me."
Then let me go, I gasped, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs—a rhythm that hid the tiny, fluttering second heartbeat within me. He can't take me to Adan. He can't know.
Change of plans, Demetri growled. He yanked the car door open, but instead of shoving me in, he leaned in and grabbed his keys, then slammed it shut. Before I could react, he scooped me up into his arms again, turning toward the Pack House. "We are going to my suite. I will deal with your fever myself."
My stomach dropped. The Alpha's Suite. His territory. His cage. But at least it wasn't the clinic. At least my secret was safe for one more hour.
The elevator ride was suffocating. Demetri didn't speak; he just radiated waves of anger and ozone. When the doors slid open to the penthouse, he marched into the master bedroom—a cavernous space of black silk and dark wood that smelled overwhelmingly of him—and dumped me onto the massive bed.
I bounced on the mattress, dizziness spinning the room. My burnt arm throbbed, but the fever was making my skin feel like it was on fire.
Demetri stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me. Then, with a sharp, impatient movement, he began to unbutton his dress shirt.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my fever. I scrambled backward, pressing my spine against the headboard. "What... what are you doing?"
He didn't answer. He tossed his shirt onto a chair, revealing the sculpted expanse of his chest, the muscles rippling under tanned skin. He reached for his belt buckle.
No! The scream tore from my throat. I curled into a ball, shielding my stomach. "Don't touch me! Not after her! Stay away!"
Demetri froze. His hands hovered over his belt, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock, and then to a dark, offended scowl.
Do you think I am some rogue animal? he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "I am not going to force myself on a sick, delirious woman, Alessandra. Look at you. You are burning up."
He turned his back on me, walking toward the ensuite bathroom. "I am drawing you a cold bath. Get in. Now."
I blinked, the adrenaline crashing, leaving me trembling. He wasn't... he didn't want me. Of course. He had Isadora.
I stumbled into the bathroom. The tub was already filling. I gripped the marble counter, swaying. Demetri was there instantly, his hands gripping my waist to steady me.
The moment his skin touched mine, the spark arced between us—violent and undeniable. I gasped, and his pupils dilated, his wolf responding to the mate bond despite his anger.
Let me help you, he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough with suppressed instinct. His fingers grazed the hem of my shirt.
No. I shoved his hands away, clutching my collar. The electricity felt like a betrayal. "Get out. I can do it myself."
Alessandra—
I said get out! I cried, tears stinging my eyes. "Leave me some dignity, Demetri."
He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working. The air crackled with his dominance, warring with something else—regret? No, that was impossible. Finally, he gave a curt nod and backed out, closing the door.
When I emerged twenty minutes later, wrapped in a thick towel, the fever had receded slightly, but the exhaustion was bone-deep.
Demetri was waiting. He had changed into sweatpants, his chest bare. Without a word, he pointed to the vanity stool. "Sit."
I was too tired to fight. I sat. He picked up a hairdryer, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he began to dry my damp hair. The domesticity of it was terrifying. It was a lie.
When he finished, he set the dryer down and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at our reflection in the mirror. He looked at my flushed face, my wet lashes, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
Don't you ever look at another male with those eyes, he whispered, his gaze locking onto mine in the glass. "You are mine, Alessandra. Do you understand? My mark is on your soul."
He leaned down, pressing a cold, hard kiss to my forehead. It wasn't affection; it was a brand. A warning.
Suddenly, Demetri stiffened. His eyes glazed over, the amber iris swallowed by the distant fog of a Mind-Link.
I watched his face change. The possessive Alpha vanished, replaced by worry. Pure, unadulterated concern.
I'm coming, he said aloud, his voice soft.
He pulled away from me as if I were on fire. He grabbed a fresh shirt, not even buttoning it fully before heading for the door.
It's her, isn't it? I whispered to the empty room. "Isadora."
He paused at the door, not looking back. "She needs me."
Then he was gone.
The silence he left behind was louder than his shouting. He had held me, claimed me as his, and then ran to her the second she called.
I walked over to my discarded bag. My hands shaking, I pulled out the envelope I had stolen from the grandmother's house—the copy of my medical file. The proof.
Pregnancy Confirmed. 6 Weeks.
I looked at the door he had just walked out of. He would never choose us. He would take my baby and give it to her.
With a sob that felt like my heart ripping in two, I tore the paper. Once. Twice. Until it was nothing but confetti on the black carpet.
You will never know, I vowed to the shadows. "You don't deserve to know."
Demetri POV
The Pack Clinic
Demetri burst into the private room, his chest heaving. Isadora lay on the narrow bed, wrapped in a deep purple silk robe that slipped off one shoulder. She looked pale, fragile—a stark contrast to the woman who had fought him in the penthouse.
Demetri, she whimpered, tears spilling from her wide eyes. "I... I felt a pain. I was so scared."
I'm here, Demetri said, stepping closer, guilt gnawing at him.
Isadora sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his bare chest. She inhaled his scent, masking the lingering smell of Alessandra with her own cloying perfume.
Please, Demetri, she begged, looking up at him with trembling lips. "Don't leave me alone tonight. I can't bear it. Stay with me?"
Demetri looked down at her, then back toward the door, toward the Pack House where his mate sat alone. But Isadora was trembling in his arms.
He closed his eyes, the bond with Alessandra aching in his chest, but his duty—and his heart's confusion—anchored him here.
Okay, he whispered. "I'll stay."
