Chapter 502
It was a sharp, frantic, high-pitched shriek. It was instantly muffled, cut off as if someone had slammed a hand over a speaker, but the blood in my veins turned to ice. I didn’t need a wolf’s hearing to recognize that sound. I had spent enough time in clinics to know the clinical, terrifying alarm of a life-support heart monitor.
“Dallas?” I gasped, my voice cracking. I slammed both hands against the glass. “Dallas, are you sick? Is that a monitor?”
The anger I had harbored since the alleyway evaporated, replaced by a suffocating wave of terror. He wasn’t just hiding. He was dying.
“Please,” I sobbed, pressing my forehead against the dark glass. “Please come out. I don’t care about the rejection. I don’t care about the lies. Just let me see you. Please don’t leave me alone.”
Only a heavy, agonizing silence answered me. I could feel him there, just beyond the glass, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—respond.
“Well, well. Look at this.”
I flinched, spinning around. Hunter Lloyd stood at the entrance of the corridor, blocking the only exit. He swayed slightly, the sharp smell of whiskey rolling off him in waves. His earlier humiliation at Vance’s hands had only fueled his arrogance, it seemed—or perhaps Chelsi had sent him to finish what she had started.
“Talking to your own reflection now?” Hunter sneered, his eyes raking over my body with undisguised disgust. “Has the little stray finally lost her mind?”
I immediately took a step back, pressing my spine flat against the glass, instinctively shielding the dying King behind me from this predator’s eyes.
Hunter took another step closer, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.
Suddenly, the floorboards beneath my feet vibrated. The air in the corridor turned freezing cold, heavy with an oppressive, murderous presence that made my lungs seize. From the hidden speaker above the glass, a voice resonated—hoarse, broken, yet dripping with the absolute, terrifying authority of an enraged Lycan.
“Open the door.”
The voice vibrated through the floorboards, carrying a weight that made my bones ache. For a fraction of a second, Hunter froze. But the alcohol and his own arrogant ego quickly overrode his instincts.
“A parlor trick,” Hunter slurred, his eyes flashing with drunken malice. He took another step, trapping me completely against the freezing glass. The sharp smell of whiskey and something muskier flooded my space, making my stomach turn. “He rejected you. He’s a coward who can’t even protect his own mate. Who else is going to want a broken, wolfless stray like you?”
Before I could shove him away, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist in a bruising grip. He yanked me hard against his chest and lowered his head, forcefully dragging his face against the sensitive, unmarked skin of my neck.
Revulsion and pure adrenaline flooded my veins. I didn’t scream. I didn’t slap him. I balled my free hand into a tight fist, pivoted my weight, and drove it directly into the center of his face with every ounce of strength I possessed.
Crack.
The sickening sound of shattering cartilage echoed through the narrow corridor. Hunter stumbled backward, releasing my wrist as a torrent of dark blood gushed from his ruined nose, spilling over his lips and staining his expensive suit.