Chapter 508
Sloane Corbin stood by the fireplace, her chest heaving, gripping a heavy bronze statue. On the floor, leaning against an overturned white sofa, was Anson. His expensive dress shirt was soaked in crimson, a deep, jagged gash tearing through his right forearm.
“Anson!” I gasped, rushing forward.
Sloane let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Oh, please. He cut himself, you little fool! He knew you were coming!”
“Shut your mouth, Sloane!” Anson snarled, his voice vibrating with the dark, oppressive weight of an Alpha’s command. “Get out of my sight. Now!”
Sloane flinched under the sheer force of his aura. She threw the bronze statue to the marble floor with a deafening clatter. As she stalked past me, her eyes flashed with a toxic mix of pity and malice. “He’s a snake,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “And you’re the mouse he’s cornered.”
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind her. Her warning sent a cold shiver down my spine, but the sight of Anson’s blood pooling on the white rug hijacked my panic.
“I’m calling a Pack Healer,” I said, pulling out my phone.
“No!” Anson grabbed my wrist with his good hand, his grip surprisingly strong for a bleeding man. “No Healers. If Dosha finds out her daughter attacked me, the alliance is dead. I can’t look weak right now, Adella. Not with Dallas breathing down my neck.”
“You’re going to bleed out!”
“Take me to Dr. Evans. He’s a private human doctor. No Pack records.” He struggled to his feet, swaying dangerously.
I had no choice but to slide my arm around his waist to steady him. He immediately slumped against me, his heavy frame pressing me down. As we hobbled toward the elevator, he buried his face in the crook of my neck. I stiffened as he inhaled deeply.
“You’re the only one I can trust, Adella,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and desperate.
My chest tightened with a mix of guilt and unease. I hit the button for the parking garage. I had to get him to the clinic.
Dallas POV
The sterile darkness of Dr. Alistair Vance’s secret medical suite felt like a tomb. I sat in the dim light, the oxygen mask hissing rhythmically over my face, fighting the agonizing failure of my own Lycan heart.
Suddenly, my Beta’s voice pierced through the fog in my mind.
“Alpha,” Duncan’s voice echoed through our Mind-Link. “I’m two car lengths behind them in the unmarked SUV. Target is in the passenger seat of his sports car. Adella is driving.”
I gripped the armrest, my claws extending, tearing into the leather. “Report.”
“Fowler is bleeding heavily. Looks like a domestic dispute turned violent. Sloane Corbin left the scene furious. Fowler refused a Healer.”
A dark, humorless growl rumbled in my chest, vibrating painfully against my failing ribs. Anson Fowler was a coward, but he wasn’t careless.
“He’s playing her, Duncan,” I linked back, my mental voice dripping with icy precision. “The wound is a prop. He’s using her compassion as a weapon against her.”
“Should I intercept, Alpha? I can run them off the road.”