Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Iwoke to the soft sound of Dominic’s breathing and the unfamiliar weight of contentment in my chest. The constant ache of the stressed bond had quieted, replaced by the solid warmth of my mate’s body curved around mine.
The nest was a chaos of pillows and blankets, evidence of the desperate reunion that had consumed most of the night.
How many times had we made love? Three? Four?
I’d lost count somewhere between taking him deep while he gripped the sheets and fought his alpha instincts to flip me over and dominate, and the slow, tender coupling that followed when exhaustion had nearly claimed him mid-kiss.
Each time, I’d led our joining, taking what we both needed while he surrendered control, letting me take care of him, letting me reclaim him.
Even now, his arm tightened around my waist as if his sleeping body sensed any potential separation.
His face, relaxed in sleep, showed traces of the man I’d fallen for—sharp cheekbones softened by contentment, the stubborn line of his jaw eased.
But weeks of incarceration and bond stress had left its marks.
He was thinner, shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.
The wariness never fully left his expression, even in sleep.
I carefully extracted myself from his embrace, moving slowly to avoid waking him. He needed rest more than he needed my presence right now. His body had been running on adrenaline and the need to reassert our bond since his release, but now we were safely reunited, and he needed sleep.
I gathered my scattered clothes from the floor—or rather, what I could find of them.
My shirt had somehow ended up tangled in the sheets, and I wasn’t sure where my underwear had disappeared to.
With an huff, I tossed my jeans onto the back of the vanity’s chair.
Instead, I pulled on Dominic’s wrinkled dress shirt from yesterday, the fabric still carrying traces of his pine and cinnamon scent.
The shirt hung loose on my frame, the sleeves falling past my wrists.
I pulled a pair of my most comfortable soft gray cotton sweatpants from the dresser and tugged them on.
I padded barefoot toward Blake’s kitchen, suddenly aware of a gnawing hunger that felt foreign after weeks of barely managing to keep food down. The nausea that had plagued me since Dominic’s arrest was completely gone, replaced by an appetite that demanded immediate attention.
Blake’s massive stainless steel refrigerator yielded treasures I hadn’t been able to appreciate before—leftover Thai takeout from last night, fresh fruit, expensive cheeses, even some of those fancy yogurts Penny had insisted on buying.
I loaded a plate with everything that looked appealing, marveling at how good food smelled again.
“Feeling better?”
I turned to find Blake in the kitchen doorway, already dressed in one of his perfectly pressed shirts despite the early hour. His sharp eyes took in my loaded plate with something that might have been relief.
“Much better,” I said around a bite of pad thai. “God, I was starving. I haven’t eaten like this in weeks.”
Blake moved to his espresso machine, going through the precise ritual of preparing his morning coffee. “Now that you’re reunited, your body’s trying to recover—just don’t overdo it and make yourself sick.”
I nodded and settled onto one of his bar stools, continuing to demolish my impromptu breakfast. “He seems so tired and—just not himself at all. Did something happen to him? Something while he was…?”
Blake’s movements stilled for just a moment before he resumed grinding coffee beans. “You’re asking if something happened that I haven’t told you about.”
“Did it?” My fork stilled midair, my appetite suddenly dampened by concern.
The coffee grinder’s whir filled the silence as Blake seemed to weigh his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. “He had a seizure on day twelve of his incarceration.”
The fork slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against the marble countertop. “What?”
“Stress-induced,” Blake continued, his tone deliberately clinical. “The prison medical staff determined it was a reaction to bond separation. Apparently it’s more common than people realize when claimed alphas are forcibly separated from their mates, especially when a bond is new.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” The words came out sharper than I intended, edged with hurt and fury. “He could have died and I wouldn’t have known—”
My chest constricted as a horrific possibility clawed its way into my consciousness. The bond—would it have snapped like a severed cord if his heart had stopped beating? Would I have felt it happen? “Would I have felt him die?”
“Leo, stop. You were in no condition to hear it then.” Blake’s alpha authority crept into his voice, the same tone he probably used in boardroom negotiations.
“If I’d told you Dominic had a medical emergency, what would you have done?
Demanded to see him? Tried to break into a federal detention facility? ”
The accuracy of his assessment only made me angrier. “That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“It was exactly my decision to make.” Blake pulled a prescription bottle from the pocket of his slacks, setting it on the counter between us.
“Anti-seizure medication. The prison doctor prescribed it as a precaution—he needs to take it three times daily until a neurologist can clear him as being past the danger period. "
My fingers shook as I lifted the bottle from the counter. "Three times daily—that seems excessive."
Blake's coffee mug paused halfway to his lips. "Alphas burn through medication faster—our systems fight everything." His jaw tightened. "It's kind of shitty, if I'm being honest."
"Knowing Dominic, he’s probably been skipping doses.” The corner of his mouth twitched with bitter amusement. “He’s a terrible patient, has been since we were kids—hates admitting weakness.”
I stared at the bottle, reading the label twice before the implication sank in. “He could have another seizure?”
“The risk decreases with time since the triggering event,” Blake said carefully. “But stress, lack of sleep, or another traumatic separation could potentially trigger another episode. The medication is preventative—if he takes it consistently, the chances of recurrence drop significantly.”
The guilt hit me like a physical blow. While I’d been safely tucked away in Blake’s guest room, complaining about separation anxiety and nausea, Dominic had been suffering seizures alone in a concrete cell.
“Make sure he takes them,” Blake continued. “If you tell him he needs them, he might actually listen.”
I pocketed the bottle, my appetite completely gone now. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me? Any other medical emergencies I should know about?”
“No more seizures,” Blake said carefully. “But Leo… Be patient with him. He's just as new at this whole mates thing as you are.”
I nodded, though part of me wanted to shake him for keeping such crucial information from me. “You said no more seizures, but there is something else, isn’t there? What is it?”
Blake’s expression turned grim. “The federal agents destroyed his place during the search. I’m talking completely trashed—furniture overturned, belongings scattered, even the walls have holes where they were looking for hidden documents or safes.”
“Destroyed?” The word felt hollow.
"It's standard procedure," Blake remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Federal agents tear places apart during investigations—they're looking for evidence, not trying to win awards for neatness."
“I paid the landlord for damages and broke the lease cleanly,” he continued. “Seemed easier than fighting about repair costs while dealing with everything else.”
The sound of footsteps on hardwood interrupted our conversation. Dominic appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing his wrinkled slacks from yesterday and an expression that suggested he’d woken to find me missing and panicked.
“Leo?” His voice carried the raspy quality of interrupted sleep, but his eyes were alert, scanning the room for potential threats before settling on me with obvious relief.
“Right here,” I said softly, rising from my stool to go to him. “Just got hungry. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” His arms came around me automatically, his chin resting on top of my head as if reassuring himself of my presence.
When he finally pulled away, his gaze moved over me, taking in his oversized dress shirt hanging loose on my frame, the cozy sweatpants, my bare feet.
Something heated flickered in his steel-gray eyes before he seemed to remember we weren’t alone.
He released me reluctantly and moved to Blake’s coffee machine, going through the motions of preparing a cup with practiced efficiency. “What were you two discussing so seriously?”
Blake and I exchanged glances. “Your housing situation,” Blake said diplomatically. “I was explaining why I had to break your lease.”
Dominic’s movements stilled for a moment before he resumed adding creamer to his coffee. “How bad was the damage?”
“Extensive,” Blake said carefully. “They weren’t gentle during the search. I have photos if you want to see them, but… it might be better to just move forward.”
“That bad?” Dominic’s voice was controlled, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Damn. I liked that apartment.”
“I’ve identified several secure housing options,” Blake continued, going to retrieve his tablet.
“There’s a corporate penthouse in my building with excellent security, or a safe house in the suburbs that my firm uses for client protection.
And there’s that place in the mountains you acquired last year.
All three have been cleared by my security protocols. ”