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And Fates, she’s strong. Soft, but with strength forged in fire, just starting to burn.
Idril is pure light. Everything good in the world. She’s everything I’ve hoped and prayed for and more.
If I were Daxen, I’d be jealous of me, too.
“I’m good,” he scowls, but his eyes are still fixated on my Omega as I climb onto the stone bench, hesitantly maneuvering my six-foot-nine frame behind her.
Daxen kicks off the bars, moving from his spot for the first time and crossing the cell toward us. As he gets closer, his mask begins to drop—something I doubt he even realizes is happening. His attention is laser focused on my Mate, confusion appearing in his grey eyes.
“Just—Just be careful. We still don’t know what she’s capable of. The last male she got close to—” He swallows thickly, nodding to himself like he’s said what he meant to say.
As he lifts a fist to his chest, grinding it into his sternum like he’s in pain, understanding dawns.
This isn’t jealousy… this is something more.
He looks lost. Unsure of where to go. Like a male who’s been wandering for days with no sense of direction. His eyes are fixed on Idril, studying her like she’s a puzzle he can’t figure out.
Probably because he’s missing most of the fucking pieces.
I shift, cutting her off from his line of sight. “Hey, asshole.”
Dax jerks, like he’s waking up from a dream. His eyes snap to mine.
“Leave.” My voice drips with Alpha authority, but I’m done playing nice. This isn’t a Fatesdamned zoo.
But because he’s Daxen, he ignores me, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. I get the feeling he’s trying to wrangle back some sense of control.
“I believe you’re under the impression that I enjoyed what happened this morning.”
“Didn’t you?” I ask, raising a brow in challenge
He lifts his chin. “My job is to keep my Pack safe. From all threats—both external and internal. No matter what, or who, they may be. Alphas, vampires, Severed, even an Omega who seems incapable of hurting a fly.”
“If you need to defend your actions, talk to your therapist. I’m not buying it.”
His expression turns furious. “You know what? Fuck this, I don’t owe you an explanation.” He turns on his heel and stalks out, slamming the cell door shut behind him. He snatches the key ring from the hook Lenora left them on, shoves it in the lock, and twists it with enough force to break the damn thing off.
He’s halfway to the stairs when he whirls around, leveling me with a glare. “You don’t have a Pack, but maybe if you did, you’d think differently. Maybe you’d understand if you found your brother—a male you’ve watched take a dagger to the chest without flinching—minutes away from death, and in so much pain he chewed through his bottom lip.”
Alright, he wants to play this angle? Fine. Let’s play.
“You’re a fool,” I say flatly. “And the fact that you truly believe Idril had anything to do with what happened to Caelan makes you a dangerous fool, which is worse.”
He opens his mouth, frowns, then snaps it shut. “You—Fates, you believe her,” he murmurs. “You truly believe she’s Caelan’s Fated Mate. Even though you know that she’s yours.”
I straighten to my full height. Why is this so fucking hard for him to understand? “Of course I believe her. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why wouldn’t... why wouldn’t you?” he sputters, looking at me like I just told him the sky is made of water. “Didn’t you hear me last night? It’s not possible!”
“According to who?”
I’m not arguing with this idiot because I care what he says—nothing he says will ever sway me—but because I will always fight for my Mate. I’ll always support her. Defend her.
Also… I enjoy bringing this fucker down a few pegs.
One of the first things my father taught me as a pup was how to recognize when your opponent is off-balance—whether on the battlefield or in a boardroom. And like with all my father’s lessons, I trained until I had perfected it. And then I trained some more.
Which is how I know, with absolute certainty, that Daxen Montclair is starting to spiral.
