Chapter 617
“You’re asking me to risk Ragnar,” I pleaded, my hands gripping the wheels. Deep inside, my Inner Wolf let out a pathetic, agonizing whine at the thought of a silver scalpel severing our bond forever.
Adella finally turned, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her eyes blazing with a mixture of heartbreak and fury. “I am asking you to fight for us. If you come, I will hold your hand through every step. If you don’t… I will not Reject you, but I will raise our pup alone. I will not let our child grow up watching their father choose to be a ghost in his own castle.”
She zipped the suitcase shut with a harsh screech.
“Adella, wait—” I lunged forward, but the small front wheels of my chair caught violently on the thick Persian rug. I was trapped, paralyzed and useless, forced to listen to the rhythmic click of her heels fading down the hallway, followed by the heavy, final thud of the estate’s front doors.
Forty-eight hours later, the master suite felt like a tomb. I stared blankly at the wall, consumed by the agonizing silence of my wolf and the crushing weight of my own cowardice.
The heavy oak door swung open. Duncan Whitaker, my Beta, strode in holding a flight manifest. His Inner Wolf was calm, but his eyes were hard as flint.
“Four hours until the jet leaves for Switzerland, Dallas,” Duncan stated.
“If the surgery fails, I lose Ragnar. I become a true empty shell,” I muttered, the confession tasting like ash on my tongue.
Duncan offered no pity. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a sharp, icy reprimand. “So you’d rather let your Inner Wolf rot away in this room than risk dying on a table while fighting for your Luna? What kind of King does that?”
His words pierced my chest like a silver dagger. The excuses I had built around myself crumbled into dust. The thought of losing Adella forever, of another male raising my pup—Ragnar stopped his mournful whining. A low, resolute growl vibrated through my chest. The dormant fire of the Alpha King flared back to life in my veins.
“Get the cars ready,” I commanded, my voice steady for the first time in days.
Before Duncan could nod, the massive flat-screen on the wall flashed with an emergency notification from a neutral Pack news feed.
My blood ran cold.
On the screen, Anson Fowler and Sloane Corbin were walking out of the High Council archives. A RogueNet reporter shoved a rune-etched microphone toward them.
“Mr. Fowler, any comment on Luna Adella’s sudden departure?” the reporter asked.
Anson offered the camera a sickeningly charismatic smile. “Adella is taking some personal time. She’s an unprotected, wolfless female, you know. Completely alone right now.”
It wasn’t an update. It was a public beacon—a broadcast to every dark, violent corner of our world that my Mate was vulnerable prey. Panic seized my throat. I snatched my encrypted communicator and frantically dialed Adella’s frequency.
Offline.
MINE! Ragnar roared, a tidal wave of pure, murderous fury crashing against the inside of my skull.
.
.
.