Chapter 9 - Dominic
The Sawmill hadn’t emptied so much as thinned, the noise of it still ringing in Dominic’s ears like static. The pack’s disbelief had been predictable. Their obedience, inevitable. He’d expected both.
But standing on the edge of the platform now, watching the room churn with low voices and sharp glances, Dominic felt a number of things all at once that he couldn’t identify.
He told himself it was the aftermath of command, nothing more than the weight of having spoken, of knowing that words once given couldn’t be taken back. The old familiar yoke of leadership.
He told himself a lot of things.
Julian was already in motion, directing the guard to clear the hall, his voice taking on that eerie calmness that Dominic had never seen disobeyed.
Theodore hadn’t spoken since the announcement. He stood near the base of the dais, pale, his jaw locked tight. When Dominic met his eyes, he saw a maelstrom. He suspected a storm of his own was reflected right back.
“Bring her to the council room,” Dominic said, the words clipped, practical. He didn’t want to reveal any part of himself to the members of the pack that still lingered.
Theodore blinked. “You mean…Layla?”
“Yes. Layla.”
For a moment, he thought Theodore might refuse. His friend’s mouth opened, then shut, throat working. A dozen emotions flickered there: shock, anger, disbelief, but not enough courage to say no.
Dominic’s tone left no space for hesitation. “Now.”
Theodore’s shoulders squared, years of training reasserting themselves. “Yes, Alpha.”
The word shouldn’t have stung; it was his title, after all. But something in the way Theodore said it, formal and distant, seemed like an accusation. Dominic turned away before he could think about it, listening instead to the shifting rhythm of boots and whispers as the pack began to file out.
This was necessary. Those were the words that turned themselves over and over in her head. Necessary for the pack, for Skymist, for the fight ahead.
And yet, beneath it, another voice kept asking why he’d looked directly at her when he said her name. Why he’d chosen her, when it would have been easier, smarter, to name anyone else. He’d spoken Lunarion’s words. The pack expected that.
He didn’t believe in them.
He swallowed reflexively.
He didn’t have an answer that made sense.
Julian returned a moment later, his coat unbuttoned, hair damp from the rain outside. “It’s done,” he said simply, “most of them will believe this is divine will. The rest know to keep silent.”
Dominic nodded once, throwing Julian a sharp look. “And which are you?”
Julian’s mouth quirked, almost a smile. “I think you know that my relationship with Lunarion is more complicated than the rest of the pack. I’m loyal. What else matters?”
Dominic said nothing. His eyes turned instead to the remaining pack members filtering out. Julian followed his gaze.
“You knew this would happen,” he said. “The reaction, I mean.”
“I did.”
“And you don’t care?”
“I care that the pack is safe,” Dominic said, “the rest doesn’t matter.”
Julian tilted his head, unconvinced but unwilling to push. “Then I’ll make sure no one leaves with the wrong idea of what tonight was.”
When Julian left, the air seemed to thicken again. Dominic stood alone on the platform, the last of the people trickling out. His fist tightened.
From the far end of the hall came the echo of approaching footsteps. Theodore’s, heavy and hesitant. Two sets.
Dominic looked up just as they approached the dais.
Theodore first, his hand a tense line around Layla’s arm. She wasn’t struggling, but there was a stiffness in her spine, a silence, as if she wasn’t quite in her body. She looked different under the torchlight, paler, eyes dark with fury instead of fear.
For a heartbeat, the memory of another night flared: her face in the half-dark of a cottage, the same defiant tilt of her chin. The same eyes that had looked at him as if she could see through every defense he’d built.
He killed the thought before it could properly form.
“The council room,” he said, voice steady, “now.”
Theodore hesitated again. “Dom—”
“That’s an order.”
Whatever Theodore saw in his face ended the argument. He nodded once and led her past the benches, their footsteps echoing against the walls.
Layla didn’t look at Dominic as she passed him. She didn’t look at anyone. Her focus was forward, her jaw set, her whole body rigid with a kind of contained rage.
Dominic hesitated a moment, looking down at the floor, counting his breaths. Then he turned on his heel, knives bumping against his thighs, and followed after his unwilling bride into the council room.
The door shut behind them with a low, final sound that echoed through the Sawmill.
It was a deceptively well-furnished room, its fortification indiscernible from outside.
They had designed it that way to keep prying humans from their pesky curiosity.
The stone walls were thick. They may as well have been a fortress.
Dominic strode across the room to stand behind the large desk, bracing his hands to steady himself. Then, he looked up.
Theodore and Layla looked right back.
Layla was the first to move. She wrenched her arm free of Theodore’s grip and crossed the floor, her boots striking hard against the wood. The sound echoed. She stopped a few paces from Dominic, shoulders heaving.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded.
Her voice was raw, shaking. There was no fear in it, not yet.
Dominic kept his tone even. “This isn’t how I wanted it to happen.”
“Oh, really?” she said, laughter cutting sharply. “You humiliate me in front of the entire pack, and this isn’t how you wanted it?”
He met her glare and said nothing. There was no answer that wouldn’t make it worse.
Theodore turned on him next, disbelief cracking through his composure. “What the hell are you doing, Dom? You can’t…she’s my sister. You can’t just claim her like—”
“I already have.”
The words came too easily.
Theodore’s face hardened. “You didn’t even tell me. You—”
“This isn’t up for debate,” Dominic said.
“It damn well is!” Theodore took a step forward, the wolf in him stirring. “You blindsided her, the pack, me—why her? You could’ve—”
Layla cut in, her voice sharp and cold. “Because he can.”
The silence that followed was deafening
Dominic turned to her, jaw tight. “You think this is about power?”
“What else would it be?” She took a step closer, close enough that he could see the small tremor running through her hands. “You rejected me once, Dominic Volkhov. Don’t you dare pretend you’re doing this for anyone’s good but your own.”
Theodore froze, eyes flicking between them. “What are you talking about?”
Layla didn’t look away. “Tell him.”
Dominic felt the room tilt, an old memory pressing at the edges of his mind. Rain on the window, her hand against his chest, the sound of his own name caught between her teeth.
“Theo,” he started, “this isn’t—”
“Tell him!” Layla shouted, the words cracking under their own weight.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, steadying his voice. “It was years ago.”
Theodore stared. “You…” He couldn’t seem to find the rest of the sentence. “You were with her?”
Dominic didn’t flinch. “It was a mistake.”
Layla let out a humorless laugh. “Seven years later, and you’re still exactly the same.”
Theodore’s expression shifted, anger overtaking disbelief. “You think you can just—” He broke off, breathing hard. “You used her, Dom. And now…now you drag her in front of the pack like—”
“Stop it.” Layla’s voice, quiet but cutting, sliced through the rising fury. Both males turned to her.
“Don’t you dare act like you care, Theo,” she said. “You’ve spent years pretending I don’t exist unless it’s to remind me of your stupid rules.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this,” she said, “but here we are.”
Theodore looked at her, something breaking in his face. “You don’t understand what this means.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she said, her eyes sliding back to Dominic. “He gets to save face. The noble Alpha’s son, taking pity on the pack’s weakest link. No pesky treaties or negotiations required. A nice, quick show of strength.”
“That’s not why,” Dominic said.
“Then why?” she demanded. “What else could it possibly be?”
He hesitated. The truth—which he didn’t entirely know himself—wasn’t something he could give her.
“I did what was necessary.”
Layla laughed again, bitter and close to breaking. “You keep saying that like it means something.”
Julian’s voice came from the doorway, calm as always. “The pack’s dispersing. She has a point, you know. It might be worth having a believable explanation for those who don’t…fully trust the will of Luanrion. If you’d have told me,” his eyes glittered, “I could have helped you prepare something.”
Dominic didn’t turn. “I told you I’d handle it.”
“I’m sure you did,” Julian said, eyes flicking to Theodore, assessing the volatility. “But I think your lieutenant needs air before he does something regrettable.”
Theodore bristled, “I’m not leaving her.”
Julian’s tone sharpened slightly. “You will. Now.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. After a tense beat, Theodore stepped back, still glaring at Dominic.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“No,” Dominic replied, “it’s not.”
When the door closed behind them, the silence returned. Heavier now, full of things unsaid.
Layla was standing near the edge of the table, her fingers curled around its edge as if holding herself still. Her breath came quick and uneven.
Dominic waited for her to speak first. She didn’t.
He could smell her fear then, not overwhelming, but definitely present. It hit him like a sudden blow. The scent of it, sharp and involuntary, twisted something ugly in him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. “You already have.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
He stepped closer, slow enough that she could move if she wanted to. “It’s survival,” he said, “For all of us. The pack needs this bond. Needs the strength it brings.”
She shook her head, eyes glassy with disbelief. “You’re lying. You don’t even believe that.”
“Believe what you like,” he said, “but it’s done.”
“I won’t mate you.”
The words came out trembling, but clear. They hit their mark.
He drew in a breath through his nose, steadying the surge of heat and frustration that rose at the defiance. “You don’t have a choice.”
Her lips parted, but whatever she was about to say faltered when he added, quieter, “But I won’t touch you without your consent. The ceremony is all that’s required.”
Her expression flickered with confusion, then something softer, though no less pained. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, voice low, “I’m not my father.”
The room went still again. Outside, the wind rustled through the pine branches.
Layla’s eyes met his, and for the first time since the announcement, neither of them looked away.
There was no understanding in it. No silent agreement of a truce. Just a simple existence in each other’s eyes. It was nice to be there for a moment.
But it couldn’t last.
He turned toward the window, rain streaking down the glass like ash. “You should rest,” he said. “The ceremony will be in a few hours.”
Her voice came soft, almost a whisper, “You may be able to force me into this, Dominic, but hear me now. I will never forgive you. Never.”
He didn’t turn. “I’m not asking you to.”
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far beyond Skymist.