Chapter 19 - Layla
The Anchor was almost silent when they arrived.
The storm from the night before had blown itself out, leaving the air sharp and clean, the sea a restless whisper against the docks. Dawn light filtered through the warped windows, pale and uncertain, catching on the dust that drifted through the air.
Layla paused just inside the doorway. The scent of smoke and beer hit her, familiar and grounding, almost safe. For a moment, she could pretend they were just two people coming in from the cold. Not Alpha and Luna. Not a shifter and secret witch. Just…her and Dominic.
He turned the key in the lock behind them, the sound echoing softly in the emptiness. She could feel his nearness at her back, could still sense the faint hum of the bond pulsing beneath her skin, that warm, golden thread that refused to fade no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.
Neither of them spoke.
Dominic shrugged off his coat and hung it over one of the hooks by the door, then glanced toward her.
His hair was damp from the sea air, his collar open, and there was a faint shadow along his jaw, evidence of the toll of the last few days.
He looked human like this, tired and quiet. Almost gentle.
“Tea?” he asked, voice low.
The simplicity of it undid her a little. She nodded.
While he crossed the room to rummage for mugs behind the bar, Layla drifted toward the window overlooking the harbor.
The fog was lifting slowly off the water, revealing the dark shapes of fishing boats at anchor.
Her reflection in the glass looked pale, almost translucent.
She touched her palm where the faint shimmer of the bond still lingered. It pulsed once, as if in answer.
It was strange how something so delicate could feel like a chain.
Dominic set a steaming mug on the table beside her. “Herbal. I hope it’s okay.”
She looked at him in surprise. Unless she was very much mistaken, Dominic Volkhov had just sounded almost…uncertain.
She couldn’t resist leaning into the warm strength of his chest, sighing as his arms came to rest on her hips, his lips pressing into the top of her head.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured, “thank you.”
He hummed in response, pulling her tighter against him.
For a while, they just stood together, watching the sun creep high over the still water. A blush, warm and insistent, stained her cheeks as she remembered the night before. The things he had whispered to her. The heat in his touch.
As if sensing the thread of her thoughts, Dominic’s hands on her hips suddenly grew heavy, expectant. She shifted slightly, just enough to brush against a growing hardness at her stomach. He growled, somehow impossibly stepping closer into her.
She sighed, hands creeping up his torso, nails scraping against his shirt.
She didn’t know what this was. She didn’t understand any of it.
But as his lips found hers, she found her mind growing blank, only one thought able to crystallize.
Need.
Then the door creaked.
Both of them froze.
Layla pulled back, her gaze flitting upwards to Dominic’s, but he was already straightening, shoulders squaring, every trace of softness gone from his face.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond, heavy, deliberate, too familiar.
A voice followed, low and rough with exhaustion. “So this is where you’ve been.”
Layla’s stomach twisted.
Theodore stepped into view.
He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, eyes shadowed, shirt half-untucked, his hair falling messily over his brow.
But it wasn’t the disarray that made Layla’s breath catch; it was the stillness in him.
The way he stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watching them like… like a predator.
“Theo,” she started, voice thin.
He didn’t look at her. His eyes were on Dominic. “I came to find my Alpha,” he said evenly, “To debrief on the hybrid we just killed. Didn’t realize I’d be interrupting.”
Dominic’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him did, heavier now, threaded with caution. “You’re early,” he said quietly.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Theodore replied. He took a step further into the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. “Had one too many wounds to heal.”
Layla’s mouth was dry. She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn’t find the words. The atmosphere had shifted; the quiet was no longer peaceful. It was brittle, ready to crack.
Dominic moved slightly, placing himself between her and Theodore, not defensive, not aggressive, just instinctive. The movement made her chest tighten.
“The pack’s restless,” Theodore continued, tone casual in a way that didn’t fool anyone.
“Word’s got out about the fight. About why we were up there.
I overheard some of the Nordan talking. They think our Luna might have had something to do with the hybrid appearing. They think you’ve lost your head.”
“Let them talk,” Dominic said.
Theodore’s gaze flicked briefly to Layla. It wasn’t cruel, but it held something dangerous beneath the surface. “I’m sure they will.”
The heat rose in Layla’s cheeks. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t.
“Theo—” she began, then stopped when Dominic’s hand brushed her arm, a silent warning.
Her brother’s attention lingered on the small movement. “You’re close,” he said softly, “closer than I expected.”
“That’s enough,” Dominic said.
Theodore smiled without humor. “Is it?”
Layla took a small step forward, “Theo, please—”
He finally turned his full attention to her. The look in his eyes made her heart lurch, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something that looked almost like grief. “You nearly got yourself killed,” he said, “nearly got us killed with you.”
“I needed to do it, Theo. I needed to see.”
“Layla, when will you stop—”
Dominic’s voice sharpened, “Theodore.”
Her brother’s head tilted slightly, “Why don’t you tell me, then, Dominic?” His tone was calm, conversational, and all the more dangerous for it. “What exactly happened last night?”
Layla felt the blood drain from her face. The warmth of the bond beneath her skin turned to ice.
Dominic didn’t answer immediately. His silence said enough.
Theodore exhaled, a bitter sound somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. “That’s what I thought.”
Layla’s voice cracked. “Theo—”
He looked at her again, softer this time, and somehow that was worse. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
The room was too quiet. Even the sea seemed to still outside, waiting.
She couldn’t speak.
Theodore’s eyes closed briefly, as if confirming something to himself. When he opened them again, the gold ring of his wolf flickered in the dim light. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he said.
“I slept with my mate, Theo,” Layla said, “why do you care?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he hissed, staring dead into Dominic’s eyes, “I was talking to him.”
Dominic moved slightly, instinctively protective. Layla could feel the change in the air, the invisible pull between them shifting, coiling tighter.
“Don’t,” she whispered, “Please, don’t do this.”
But the moment had already passed. The silence was gone, replaced by the kind of stillness that lives only a heartbeat before a storm.
“It’s too late, Layla,” Theodore took one more step forward, “you always resented me for climbing above my station. For spending years trying to build something better. But all you had to do was open your legs.”
Dominic didn’t move.
The air cracked between them.
Layla could feel it, the tension thick enough to taste, sharp as iron on her tongue.
Theodore’s hand flexed at his side. Dominic’s shoulders drew tight, every inch of him coiled with power. Neither spoke. Neither had to.
She knew what came next.
Dominic stepped forward, the movement measured, heavy with warning. Theodore met him halfway.
The first sound was the scrape of boots on the floorboards, then a dull thud, a shoulder catching another, a table jolting against the wall. The silence of The Anchor shattered.
Layla flinched, “Stop!”
They didn’t.
Theodore struck first, a shove, hard and unthinking. Dominic barely shifted under it, but his head turned slightly, and the look he gave could have frozen the tide. He hit back, not with his fists, not yet, but with a brutal, flat-palmed push to the chest that sent Theodore stumbling into a chair.
Wood splintered. Theodore came back swinging.
Layla darted sideways as they crashed into one of the tables, mugs scattering, tea spilling in long, golden streaks across the boards.
Dominic caught Theodore’s arm mid-swing, twisted, but Theodore dropped low, broke free, and drove his shoulder into Dominic’s ribs.
The air left him in a grunt, and he retaliated with a short, vicious shove that slammed Theodore against the bar.
“Stop!” she shouted again, the word cracking.
Neither heard.
Dominic’s breathing had gone ragged, his movements too precise, too contained, a man fighting not just an opponent, but himself.
Theodore fought dirtier, less disciplined, but his rage gave him strength.
They were both panting now, sweat breaking on their skin, the air thick with the scent of wolves on the edge of shift.
“Enough,” Dominic ground out, but his voice was low and dangerous.
“She’s put you in danger, Dominic, you just can’t see it!” Theodore spat, lunging again.
Dominic caught him square in the chest, forcing him back against the bar hard enough to make the glasses jump. The noise was deafening in the empty tavern, rage and fury colliding until Layla’s pulse felt like part of it.
“Please!” she cried, grabbing at Dominic’s arm.
He shook her off, sending her stumbling backwards.
Theodore’s lip was split, blood bright against his teeth. He laughed once, a sharp, disbelieving sound, and swung again. Dominic ducked the blow, countered with a push that sent them both staggering through the back door and out into the cold.
Layla followed, breath ragged, the fog hitting her lungs like ice.
The courtyard was half-lit, pale dawn filtering over slick cobblestones. The smell of salt and smoke hung between the walls.
Dominic and Theodore circled each other, slow, deliberate, shoulders heaving.
They didn’t speak now. There was nothing left to say.
Theodore moved first. He feinted right, then lunged left, catching Dominic in the shoulder. Dominic absorbed it, turned, and drove him backward. They slammed against the wall, grappling for leverage.
Layla pressed her back to the doorway, throat tight, the bond burning hot beneath her skin. Every strike echoed through her bones, her heart stumbling to keep pace with Dominic’s.
Theodore wrenched free, shoved Dominic off, and both men staggered apart, chest to chest, panting.
“You finished?” Dominic rasped.
Theodore wiped the blood from his mouth and came at him again.
They collided hard enough to knock the wind out of both. Dominic caught him by the front of his jacket, shoved him back a second time, and finally, finally, Theodore stilled, chest heaving, fury dissolving into something smaller and meaner.
They stood like that, neither moving, breath ghosting in the cold.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.
Julian. He jumped up the stone stairs to the small courtyard, face grim. “Enough.”
That single word cut through the courtyard like a blade.
Both men froze, still panting, still bristling. The sound of the tide against the docks filled the silence that followed.
Julian stepped forward, eyes sharp and cold. “Are you both done humiliating yourselves, or shall I fetch an audience?”
Theodore turned away first, dragging a hand through his hair. Dominic stayed where he was, chest rising and falling too fast, gaze fixed somewhere on the stones between them.
Julian looked from one to the other. “Good,” he said softly, shoving at Theodore’s shoulder. “Go cool off. Now.”
Theodore scowled, turning to Layla, wiping the blood from his lip. With a sneer, he turned as if to leave, the moment bleeding slowly into stillness. Layla exhaled, shaky and shallow. Julian let out a small, near-silent breath. Dominic was still on edge, watching Theodore go with narrowed eyes.
Layla opened her mouth to thank him, to yell at him, she didn’t know what.
But the words never came.
Because Dominic swayed.
It happened so suddenly, she didn’t understand what she was seeing until it was over. His eyes flicked once toward her, that strange, soft flicker of recognition, and then his knees buckled, his body dropping like a marionette with its strings cut.
He hit the cobblestones hard.