“Thenwhy?” she demanded. “What else could itpossiblybe?”
He hesitated. The truth—which he didn’t entirely know himself—wasn’t something he could give her.
“I did what was necessary.”
Layla laughed again, bitter and close to breaking. “You keep saying that like it means something.”
Julian’s voice came from the doorway, calm as always. “The pack’s dispersing. She has a point, you know. It might be worth having a believable explanation for those who don’t…fully trust the will of Luanrion. If you’d have told me,” his eyes glittered, “I could have helped you prepare something.”
Dominic didn’t turn. “I told you I’d handle it.”
“I’m sure you did,” Julian said, eyes flicking to Theodore, assessing the volatility. “But I think your lieutenant needs air before he does something regrettable.”
Theodore bristled, “I’m not leaving her.”
Julian’s tone sharpened slightly. “You will. Now.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. After a tense beat, Theodore stepped back, still glaring at Dominic.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“No,” Dominic replied, “it’s not.”
When the door closed behind them, the silence returned. Heavier now, full of things unsaid.
Layla was standing near the edge of the table, her fingers curled around its edge as if holding herself still. Her breath came quick and uneven.
Dominic waited for her to speak first. She didn’t.
He could smell her fear then, not overwhelming, but definitely present. It hit him like a sudden blow. The scent of it, sharp and involuntary, twisted something ugly in him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. “You already have.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He stepped closer, slow enough that she could move if she wanted to. “It’s survival,” he said, “For all of us. The pack needs this bond. Needs the strength it brings.”
She shook her head, eyes glassy with disbelief. “You’re lying. You don’t even believe that.”
“Believe what you like,” he said, “but it’s done.”
“I won’t mate you.”
The words came out trembling, but clear. They hit their mark.
He drew in a breath through his nose, steadying the surge of heat and frustration that rose at the defiance. “You don’t have a choice.”
Her lips parted, but whatever she was about to say faltered when he added, quieter, “But I won’t touch you without your consent. The ceremony is all that’s required.”
Her expression flickered with confusion, then something softer, though no less pained. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, voice low, “I’m not my father.”
The room went still again. Outside, the wind rustled through the pine branches.
