Chapter 613
Azalea slammed a porcelain teacup down in front of Liam, splashing hot tea across the saucer. “Drink up, Doctor,” she muttered, fixing him with a hostile glare.
Gigi leaned forward from her armchair, her Elder’s gaze dripping with faux sympathy. “It is such a tragedy about your curse, Dr. Barber. The Moon Goddess can be so cruel.”
Liam blinked, bewildered. “Curse? I assure you, I—”
“Three Fated Mates,” Gigi interrupted, shaking her head mournfully. “All dead mysteriously the night before the Recognition Ritual. Heartbreaking.”
“And let’s not forget the Rogue alchemist you made a deal with,” Azalea added, inspecting her nails. “I hear he’s actively hunting you down.”
“What? No! That’s completely fabricated!” Liam stammered, his heart rate spiking.
“Listen,” I interjected, rubbing my temples. “Dr. Barber is just here to check on me. He is a good, healthy Alpha—a Warrior who can protect his Mate. There is no need to—”
A deafening crash echoed from the ceiling directly above us. The crystal chandelier rattled violently.
Liam jumped to his feet. “Is the Alpha King alright? Should I go up and help?”
“No!” Azalea and Gigi hissed in unison.
Gigi lowered her voice to a terrifying, conspiratorial whisper. “The silver toxicity has a rare side effect. It periodically erodes the Alpha’s control over his Inner Wolf. He goes into a feral madness. He will tear apart anyone who enters—even his own Mate.”
Liam’s face drained of all color. His Inner Wolf howled in sheer terror. He didn’t even offer a goodbye before turning and bolting out the front doors.
I didn’t spare a thought for Liam’s retreat. My blood ran cold as I understood what had caused that crash. Dallas had enhanced hearing. He had heard every word from downstairs. He had heard me call Liam a healthy Alpha.
I sprinted up the stairs, my lungs burning, and threw open the heavy oak doors of the master suite.
Dallas wasn’t in his wheelchair. He was sprawled on the cold hardwood floor, his broad chest heaving as he gasped for breath. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Scattered around his useless legs were the shredded, violently torn pieces of his carbon-fiber braces.
He hadn’t fallen from the chair. Driven by the ultimate humiliation of my words, he had ripped off his supports and tried to stand on his own—desperate to prove he was not a broken mate.
I dropped to my knees beside him, my heart shattering as I stared at the fresh, bleeding scrapes across his knees.
Adella POV
The morning light in the master suite felt sterile and cold. I knelt on the floor, gently dabbing healing salve onto the fresh, angry scrapes on Dallas’s knees. The silence between us was suffocating, heavy with the wreckage of the night before.
“Dr. Alistair Vance sent the final protocols,” I said softly, not daring to look up. “The clinic in Switzerland is ready. We just need your approval.”
Dallas’s leg twitched under my touch. “No.”
“Dallas, please. It’s a chance. Modern medicine and your Lycan healing—”
.
.
.