Chapter 595
“I’m here,” I murmured, leaning forward to take the plastic cup of water from the nightstand. “Don’t try to move. Dr. Vance said—”
“Go back to the estate,” he interrupted, his tone turning to ice.
I froze, the cup trembling in my hand. “What?”
“You heard me.” He stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek, deliberately avoiding my gaze. He was pulling the cold, impenetrable mask of the Alpha King down over his shattered pride. “I don’t need you sitting here watching me rot. Go home.”
“You took a silver blade to the spine for our pup,” I said, my voice rising with disbelief and fierce protectiveness. “I am your Mate. I belong right here.”
“I don’t need a wolfless nursemaid pitying a crippled Alpha!” he snarled, the sudden volume making him wince in agony. His chest heaved as he fought the physical and emotional torment simultaneously. “Look at me, Adella. I can’t even sit up. I am a broken shell. Leave before I order the Dire Guards to drag you out.”
His words were designed to act as poisoned daggers — aimed to drive me away so I wouldn’t witness his vulnerability. But I was not the terrified, insecure girl he had met months ago. I saw straight through the tyrant’s tender lie.
I set the cup back on the nightstand and stood, smoothing the front of my maternity dress.
“I can’t leave, Dallas,” I said, my voice dropping to a cool, unwavering pitch that commanded his attention. “Even if you ordered the guards, they couldn’t touch me. I spoke with Duncan Whitaker while you were in surgery.”
Dallas shifted his gaze to me at last, his brow furrowing. “Duncan? What does my Beta have to do with this?”
“The Protectorate Clause,” I said, holding his eyes. “The one you signed before the surgery. It appointed me as your legal caretaker if you became incapacitated. It’s already active. If you force me away while the silver is still in your system, the physical separation will trigger a magical backlash. It will tear our souls apart.”
Dallas’s eyes narrowed. He knew I was bending the truth — the Protectorate Clause had no magical backlash provision. But he also knew I wouldn’t invent a lie without reason. He saw the desperation beneath my composure. The terror that he would push me away again.
Silence settled over the dimly lit room.
He stared up at me. The ice in his gaze slowly cracked.
“Then you better give me that water, Luna,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice stripped of every trace of its former cruelty. “Before we break the law.”
I let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping quietly down my cheek as I brought the straw to his lips. He drank slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. We had reached a silent truce — locked in a beautiful cage forged entirely from love.