Chapter 117
Chapter 117:
He stepped closer, invading my personal space until all I could smell was storm clouds and cedar. “I will not let them see you bleed p>
He turned his head slightly, his eyes glazing over as he mind-linked his Gamma. “Vance. Go to Azalea’s apartment. Get her a change of clothes and bring them to the Penthouse suite. Escort her there personally p>
“The Penthouse?” I asked, confusion cutting through the pain. “But all my things are back at the apartment. My dress is ruined p>
Dallas looked down at me. His expression was unreadable, a mask of stone, but his eyes held a strange, intense glimmer.
“I have clothes for you upstairs,” he said simply.
I frowned. “You… have clothes for me? Here p>
He didn’t explain. He didn’t offer a reason why he would have a wardrobe prepared for a wolfless girl he had only officially claimed months ago. Instead, he moved.
“You’re injured,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re not walking p>
𝖨𝗻t𝘦𝗻𝘀𝘦 𝗋𝘰𝗆𝖺ոсe 𝘰ո
Before I could protest, he swept me up into his arms. One arm hooked under my knees, the other supported my back, lifting me effortlessly against his chest. It was a princess carry — possessive and absolute.
I gasped, instinctively wrapping my good arm around his neck. His body was hard as granite, warm and solid. Being this close to him was intoxicating; the scent of him flooded my senses, dulling the pain in my arm and replacing it with a heavy, languid heat in my belly.
“Dallas, everyone is watching,” I murmured into his shirt, feeling the weight of a hundred stares from the floor below.
“Let them watch,” he growled, his chest rumbling against my cheek. He strode out of the booth, ignoring the stunned silence of the club, carrying me like a prize he had won in battle. “Let them see who you belong to p>
He marched straight past the VIP bar and down the velvet-lined corridor toward the private elevator at the end of the hall. The silver doors slid open with a hush, and he carried me inside, away from the prying eyes, away from the noise.
As the doors closed and sealed us in, I looked up at his sharp jawline. He hadn’t glanced at me once since picking me up; his focus was entirely on getting me to safety. But the way his fingers dug slightly into my hip told a different story.
He was angry. He was protective. And he was hiding something.
“Why do you have clothes for me, Dallas?” I asked softly as the elevator began its smooth ascent.
He didn’t answer immediately. He simply watched the numbers climb, his jaw tightening.
“You’ll see,” was all he said.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a space that stole the breath from my lungs more effectively than the pain in my arm ever could.