Chapter 299
Chapter 299:
“Adella?” His voice was rough with sleep, a low rumble that vibrated through the mattress. He reached for me, but I flinched, pulling my knees to my chest.
“I hurt you,” I whispered, my voice trembling. I stared at the bandage, nausea churning in my stomach. “I lost control. I’m so sorry, Dallas. I’m so sorry p>
Shame, hot and acidic, flooded my veins. He was the Alpha King, the strongest creature in our world, and I had treated him like a chew toy in my hysteria. I was broken. I was a mess. I was a liability.
Dallas sat up slowly, the sheet pooling at his waist. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached out and captured my hand, his grip firm, refusing to let me retreat into my spiral of self-loathing.
“Look at it,” he commanded softly.
𝘛𝗁𝗼𝗎𝘴an𝖽𝘀 𝗈f 𝗋𝘦а𝖽𝘦r𝘴 𝗼n
I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “No. I don’t want to see what I did p>
“Look.” It wasn’t a request — it was an Alpha’s directive, though stripped of any cruelty.
With steady fingers, he peeled back the edge of the gauze. The skin underneath was angry and bruised, the distinct crescent-shaped indentations of my teeth etched deep into his flesh. It looked painful. It looked barbaric.
“It’s ugly,” I choked out, trying to pull my hand away. “I scarred you p>
“No,” Dallas said, his tone dropping an octave, resonating with a fierce intensity that stirred something deep inside me — a part of myself I hadn’t known existed until him. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles before pressing my palm flat against the mark on his arm. “This isn’t a wound, little wolf. This is a claim p>
I blinked, the tears spilling over. “What p>
“When your world was ending last night, you didn’t run from me,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto mine and stripping me bare. “You held on. You found your anchor, and you dug in. You refused to be washed away p>
He traced the line of my jaw with his free hand, his thumb brushing away a tear. “I have scars from wars, Adella. I have scars from enemies who wanted to kill me. But this?” He looked down at the bite mark with something akin to reverence. “This is the only mark on my body made out of a need to survive. It is proof that you are a fighter p>
“A fighter?” I let out a watery, disbelieving laugh. “I was falling apart p>
“And you put yourself back together,” he countered firmly. “Right here. In my arms p>
I saw it in his eyes — the fierce, possessive glow of his Lycan, Ragnar, looking at me not as prey, but as partner. His silent claim was louder than any words.
The crushing weight on my chest began to lift, replaced by a warmth that spread from where my hand touched his skin. He didn’t see a broken girl. He saw a warrior who had clawed her way through hell and made it to the other side.
“I thought you would be disgusted,” I confessed, my voice barely audible.