Chapter 709:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

The heavy, metallic scent of blood and gunpowder was slowly washed away by the warm steam billowing from the adjacent bathroom. I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed in the inner sanctuary, the adrenaline of the shipyard shootout finally ebbing, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache in my left shoulder.

The bathroom door opened. Dallas stepped out, a white towel slung low around his waist. The air instantly thickened with the heat of the steam and his heavy, intoxicating scent of violent storms and cedar. He walked toward the bed, his storm-gray eyes locking entirely onto the thick medical bandage strapped across my collarbone.

He sat down beside me, the mattress dipping under his massive weight. “How bad is it?” he rasped, his voice tight with suppressed agony.

“It passed clean through,” I answered softly, wanting to ease the terrifying tension radiating from his frame. “Healer Henri Laurent cleaned and stitched it perfectly on the Zodiac.”

𝗥e𝘢𝗱 𝘧ro𝗆 𝘆𝘰𝗎𝘳 𝗉𝘩𝘰𝗇𝗲 𝗈𝗻 g𝗮𝗅ոо𝘃𝗲lѕ.с𝘰m

At the mention of Henri’s name, Dallas’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone. A low, vibrating growl rumbled deep in his chest. Even though Henri was a neutral medical envoy, Ragnar, Dallas’s Inner Wolf, bristled with a dark, primal possessiveness. The mere thought of another male touching his mate’s bare skin sent a flash of pure Alpha jealousy through his eyes.

But the possessive fire was fleeting. His gaze slowly dropped from my bandaged shoulder to my flat stomach.

The jealousy vanished, instantly incinerated by a sharp, tearing agony that seemed to rip his soul apart. I watched the ruthless Alpha King crumble inward. He was staring at the new life growing inside me, completely consumed by the terrifying guilt that he had almost gotten us killed, and the paralyzing fear that his silver-poisoned body was failing us.

I couldn’t bear the broken look in his eyes.

Reaching out with my uninjured right hand, I took his massive, calloused hands in mine. I lifted them, pressing my lips gently against his scarred palm, and then to the erratic pulse point at his wrist. I let my scent — a soothing wave of moonflowers and rain — wash over him, a silent, absolute acceptance of the man he was.

The tension in the air snapped. Dallas let out a ragged, desperate sigh. He leaned forward, his large hands carefully framing my face, and crashed his lips against mine.

The kiss was hungry, fueled by the sheer terror of almost losing each other. I melted against him, my right hand tangling in his damp hair. But as his fingers trailed down my neck, tracing the line of my collarbone, they accidentally brushed the hard edge of the medical bandage and the swollen, bruised skin surrounding it.

The faint, lingering metallic scent of my blood hit his senses.

It was a fatal trigger.

Dallas’s entire body went rigid. The kiss broke abruptly. His storm-gray eyes blew wide, instantly losing focus as the abyssal black of his Lycan swallowed his irises. The scent of my blood had violently ripped open the darkest vault of his mind, dragging him back to the liquid silver torture of Gideon’s Level 9, and the explosive, bloody death of Zane Sterling eighteen years ago.

“No,” Dallas choked out, pure terror contorting his features.

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