Chapter 402
He gave a curt nod, stepped out into the hallway, and immediately began shouting at a passing nurse about a missing blood shipment.
I pulled the cap low over my eyes, drew a slow breath, and stepped out into the hall, grabbing the handle of the heavy laundry cart.
The service corridor was dim and suffocatingly quiet. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I kept my head down as I pushed the squeaking cart past a pair of chatting nurses. The scent neutralizer burned my nose, but it worked — no one gave the hunched janitor a second glance.
I reached the end of the hall. The unmarked door blended seamlessly into the beige wall. My trembling hand swiped the keycard.
Beep.
I slipped inside, letting the door click shut behind me.
I was in the dark ensuite bathroom. The air here was different. Beneath the sharp antiseptic tang and the metallic copper of fresh blood, I could smell him. Dallas. His scent was a volatile, dying storm — rain and petrichor tainted with pure agony.
A sliver of light bled from beneath the door leading into his private suite. I could hear the erratic, terrifying rhythm of his heart monitor.
He was alive. He was here. And I was about to prove to him that everything he believed was a lie.
I placed my hand on the doorknob, the cool metal grounding me, and pushed.
The heavy door clicked shut behind me, sealing me inside the dim, sterile suite. The rhythmic, frantic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound piercing the heavy silence.
Dallas lay in the center of the room, his massive frame looking unnaturally pale against the white sheets. One leg was suspended in a complex traction device, heavily bandaged. The air was thick with the metallic tang of his blood and the volatile, suffocating aura of Ragnar, who was practically clawing at the walls in agony.
At the sound of the door, Dallas’s head snapped toward me. His stormy grey-black eyes, clouded with pain and heavy narcotics, narrowed. The chemical scent neutralizer masked my natural aroma, but he didn’t need his nose to recognize his mate.
The devastation in his gaze instantly morphed into a volcanic, terrifying rage. “You,” he snarled, his voice a raw, guttural scrape that made my bones vibrate. “Get out.”
“Dallas, please, you have to listen to me—”
“Leave!” The Alpha Command hit me like a physical shockwave, forcing the air from my lungs and buckling my knees. My wolfless body trembled under the sheer weight of his aura, instinctively wanting to submit to my King — but my own fury kept me anchored to the floor.
“No!” I shouted back, tears of frustration burning my eyes. “You don’t get to order me away! You lied to me! You told me you were going to the North to see your grandmother! Is this shattered leg how you evaluate our bond?”