Chapter 12 #2
But Elias just murmurs something too quiet for us to hear, running his fingers through her short blonde hair in a soothing gesture, and she settles immediately.
The ease of it—the way she responds to his touch even unconscious—makes my Alpha instincts want to rage.
"I'll be back," Elias says, straightening from the bed and pulling his jacket back on. "If you need me for anything, my number's written on the notepad by her monitors."
He pauses at the door, hand on the frame, and turns back with an expression I can't quite read.
"What's Dante's full name?"
The question is asked casually, like he's inquiring about the weather.
But there's something underneath the casual tone that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Why do you want to know?" Roran asks, suspicion evident in every word.
Elias shrugs, the gesture deliberately nonchalant. "Just curious."
"Dante Moretti," I hear myself answer, even though every instinct says this is a bad idea.
Because I remember what Dante said. Remember the way he used Aurora's trauma as a weapon. Remember the silence that followed, heavy and terrible.
And if this Alpha—this Bravati heir with his soft voice and threatening gaze—wants to do something about it?
I'm not going to stand in his way.
Elias nods once, committing the name to memory.
"Don't worry about it," he says, voice still casual but with an undercurrent of something dark and final.
Then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Roran and I stand in silence, processing what just happened.
The room feels different without Elias's presence. Emptier, somehow, despite the fact that there are still three people in it if you count the kitten currently curled up on the foot of Aurora's bed.
"I actually feel threatened by that fucker," I admit, the words coming out rougher than intended.
Saying it out loud makes it real. Makes me acknowledge that for the first time since I became an Alpha, since I learned to use my size and strength and pheromones to control situations, I'm genuinely uncertain about my ability to protect what's mine.
Roran lets out a long breath, running his hand through his hair—a nervous gesture I've seen Aurora make countless times.
"This is the first time I'll agree with you."
The admission carries weight because Roran and I rarely agree on anything. Our relationship is built on rivalry and competition, and the shared connection to Aurora that we both navigate with varying degrees of success.
But this? This we agree on.
Elias Vance is dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with physical strength or Alpha dominance and everything to do with the kind of calculated violence that happens in shadows.
We both move closer to Aurora's bed, taking up positions on either side like guards.
She's still sleeping peacefully, oxygen mask providing a steady flow, monitors beeping reassuringly in the background. The kitten—that damn kitten that started this whole mess—purrs contentedly at her feet.
"This means she's going to be in a pack," Roran says quietly, the words heavy with implication.
A pack.
Not just casual fuck buddies or complicated situationships or whatever toxic dance we've been doing.
A pack.
With bonds and commitments and the kind of permanence that I've spent years avoiding because permanent means vulnerable that means capable of being hurt.
I watch Aurora sleep, taking in the peaceful expression on her face. The slight smile that curves her lips like she's dreaming of something pleasant. The way her breathing has evened out into deep, restful patterns.
She looks content.
More than content—she looks happy in a way I haven't seen in the entire time I've known her.
And it's because of him.
Because of Elias and his stupid soft eyes and his threatening gaze and the way he holds her like she's something precious.
The reality of it settles over me like a weight.
Aurora found her scent match. Found someone whose biology calls to hers on the most fundamental level. Found an Alpha who will bond with her and claim her and integrate her into a pack structure that I have no place in.
My chest feels tight. Like someone's squeezing my lungs, making it hard to draw full breaths.
I've been sleeping with Aurora for years. Have memorized the sounds she makes when she comes. Know exactly how to touch her to make her fall apart. Have held her through panic attacks and suppressant crashes, and the aftermath of particularly brutal family dinners.
But I'm not her scent match.
Never will be, no matter how much my Alpha instincts insist she's mine.
And soon—probably sooner than I'm ready for—she'll be part of a pack that doesn't include me. Will have bonds and connections and loyalties that supersede whatever complicated thing we've been doing.
Will have an Alpha who can give her things I can't. Safety and stability and the kind of biological compatibility that makes everything else easier.
I try not to think about it.
Try not to imagine Aurora in Elias's arms permanently. Try not to picture her scent mixing with his until they're inseparable. Try not to consider what it will feel like when she stops coming to me for comfort because she has someone better.
Try not to think of the reality that's about to burn me to a crisp.
But the image is already there, seared into my brain with painful clarity.
Aurora, happy and bonded and finally safe in ways I could never provide.
Without me.