Chapter 245
Chapter 245:
Carefully, so as not to wake him, I slipped out of bed and padded toward the en-suite bathroom. The air in the bedroom still smelled thick with the remnants of the night—heavy with cedar, the woodsy scent that clung to Dallas like a second skin.
I stepped in front of the vanity mirror and let the sheet drop.
A gasp caught in my throat.
My pale skin was a canvas of violence and devotion. Dark, blooming bruises painted my neck, my collarbones, and the curve of my hips. They weren’t bites—he hadn’t marked me, not yet—but they were undeniable claims of ownership. Finger-shaped bruises at my waist showed where he had anchored me to him, as though terrified the very pull of the earth would drag me away.
Yesterday, these marks might have frightened me. But today, staring at the purple and blue map on my flesh, I felt no fear. I felt cherished.
He needed to know you were real, my inner voice whispered. He needed to paint over the past.
I washed my face, dressed in one of Dallas’s oversized shirts that fell to my mid-thighs, and quietly left the bedroom.
The apartment was still, the compact living area bathed in morning light. I made my way to the kitchen, expecting solitude, and stopped short.
Azalea Sterling was perched at the small breakfast bar, a box of pastries open in front of her. She looked up as I entered, her sharp eyes dropping immediately to my exposed neck. There was no way to hide the marks.
“Coffee?” she offered, sliding a steaming mug across the counter as though she hadn’t just catalogued every bruise on my skin.
ѕt𝘰𝘳𝘪e𝘴 у𝘰𝗎 wо𝘯’𝘵 pu𝗍 𝘥𝘰wո o𝗇 ѕ.𝘤о𝘮
“Thanks,” I murmured, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic. “How long have you been here p>
“Long enough to smell the testosterone from the hallway,” Azalea said dryly, taking a bite of a croissant. Her expression softened as she studied me. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? I mean, really hurt you p>
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “It looks worse than it is. He was just p>
“Terrified,” Azalea finished for me.
I blinked. “Terrified? Dallas p>
“Adella, you have to understand something about Lycans. About him.” Azalea set her pastry down, her demeanor turning serious. “Most Alphas possess because they want to control. My father possesses because he has spent his entire life losing everything he ever loved. The snow in Siberia didn’t just freeze his skin—it froze his trust in permanence p>
She gestured vaguely toward my bruised neck. “When he smells another male on you, his beast, Ragnar, doesn’t simply get jealous. He panics. He thinks history is repeating itself. Those marks?” She met my eyes. “That’s him screaming to the universe that you exist, that you’re here, and that you’re his. It isn’t anger. It’s a desperate anchor p>
Her words settled over me, heavy and true. The memory of Dallas in the shower—shaking, scrubbing my skin raw, his eyes wide with panic—flashed through my mind. He wasn’t a monster trying to break me. He was a drowning man clinging to a raft.
“I know,” I whispered, touching the tender skin of my throat. “I know that now p>