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I was just hoping Doctor Brandon would die in captivity, and I’d never have to see, smell, or let him know I’m thinking of him, ever again.
Now, I need to know what he already knows about my body. Not about gamma fertility in general, but mine, specifically.
Then I can cut his last hold on me and finally move on.
We pass multiple security checkpoints to reach his dank, underground cell. Helpful Wyvern agents hang the withered alpha’s wrists from a hook so he and I can catch up.
Just like home.
Dutch molds to my back while I peer through his tiny cell window, watching Brandon dangle.
I vibrate, ready and so not ready to claw answers from his flesh. “What if—”
“What if I shatter his fucking jaw?” Dutch rumbles. “Good idea. You’re so smart, Solly.”
I laugh.
His unconditional warmth soothes the tension buzzing from my glands.
I’m not afraid of Dutch seeing me work.
I’m not even afraid of learning more hard truths.
I’m afraid of losing my shit in front of the real monster.
He doesn’t deserve to see me crack.
And I’m starting to realize I don’t have to take the risk.
I have people.
I have a pack.
Opening our bond until my heart quavers, I show everything to Dutch—the pain from the past and my hope for our future.
His sunshine fades, eclipsed by the deep, deep darkness that drops his voice so low it opens a sinkhole beneath my toes. “My turn to protect you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Could I force Brandon to answer faster if I used my perfume?
Obviously.
Instead, I pass my list of pregnancy questions to Dutch.
Then I set him loose.
Brandon always loved watching me hurt.
It’s my turn to enjoy the show.
With no blades and no weird torture tools, Dutch kicks the shit out of the bad guy the old-fashioned way.
Bare-knuckled.
Every punch knocks Brandon swinging like a pendulum. Cracking bone. Spraying blood. Straining his wrists against his shackles.
My sweetest mate burns with the darkest fury.
Violent.
