Chapter 565

I tried to scramble backward to give him room, but my foot caught on the edge of the wooden bench. I hit the ground hard, my hands flying instinctively to protect my swollen belly.

Through the swirling fog, a nightmare lunged.

Mara. The Rogue had regained consciousness. She crawled from the grass with a second silver dagger gleaming in her filthy hand, her manic, hollow eyes locked entirely on my womb. She had no interest in the gunfire or the Pack Warriors. There was only one thing she wanted.

I froze, my wolfless reflexes useless against her sudden, feral speed.

But Dallas saw her.

A guttural, earth-shattering roar ripped from his throat — the agonizing cry of his inner Lycan, Ragnar, fueled by pure love and absolute terror. He threw himself over me just as Mara brought the blade down.

The sickening thud of metal piercing flesh echoed through the fog. Dallas arched violently, a choked gasp tearing from his lips as the silver buried itself deep into his back. Dark smoke rose from the wound in a thin, terrible wisp, and the smell of sizzling flesh turned my stomach. He collapsed to his knees, his body forming an impenetrable fortress over mine.

“Die, you beast!” Mara shrieked, both hands gripping the hilt, trying to twist the blade deeper into his spine.

But Dallas wasn’t finished. Even with two lethal doses of silver poisoning his heart, his reflexes were terrifying. His blood-soaked hand shot back, his massive fingers closing around Mara’s wrist like a steel vice.

A sharp, sickening crack split the air.

Mara wailed as her bones shattered. She dropped the dagger and fell backward. Weston and his Warriors descended instantly, pinning the screaming Rogue to the asphalt and neutralizing the threat.

Dallas slumped heavily beside me, his breathing a wet, ragged rattle. I reached for his pale face — and then a blinding cramp tore through my abdomen. I gasped, curling inward as sharp pain radiated from my core. Warm wetness soaked through my clothing.

Blood.

“No, no, no,” I sobbed, terror gripping my throat. “Dallas — the baby—”

At the word baby, the dying light in his silver eyes flared. Sirens wailed in the distance, and within seconds Pack Healers rushed from a newly arrived ambulance, their boots splashing against the wet pavement.

Dallas forced himself upright. His trembling, blood-stained hand reached out, and he locked his fading eyes onto the lead Healer. When he spoke, his voice was a raw, sandpaper rasp — and yet it carried the absolute, undeniable weight of an Alpha’s Command.

“Keep…” he breathed, “…her child… safe.”

His eyes rolled back. His massive body hit the wet asphalt and lay motionless.

Adella POV

The world dissolved into a chaotic blur of flashing red lights and freezing rain. I lay on the wet asphalt, gasping as a blinding, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen.

“Dallas!” I sobbed, reaching out with trembling, blood-stained fingers.