Chapter 21 - Dominic
Dominic stood by the window of his study, staring out across the gray sweep of Skymist. The tide was high, the wind dragging mist over the water, blurring the horizon into a seamless haze of silver and shadow. He should have found the sight calming. He didn’t.
His reflection in the glass looked like a stranger, the same sharp lines, the same pale eyes, but colder now, harder.
He still felt the echo of it beneath his ribs, the flash of pain, the blackout, the surge of magic that had dragged him back from the edge.
All day he’d stood. Thinking. Remembering.
Growing angry.
He’d awakened with her scent still on his skin, the faint hum of power that didn’t belong to any shifter still clinging to his veins.
He didn’t want to believe it. But there were no other explanations.
The door opened quietly behind him.
He didn’t turn.
The soft sound of footsteps crossed the threshold, careful, hesitant. He didn’t have to look to know it was her. He could feel her presence before she spoke, the pulse of the bond stirring at the edge of his consciousness.
For a moment, he said nothing. The only sound was the wind against the glass and the faint rustle of her clothing as she shifted her weight.
“Sit,” he said finally, his voice low.
Layla didn’t answer, but the creak of the chair told him she obeyed.
He stared at the reflection in the window, her shape small against the cold light, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her face was pale, her eyes bruised with exhaustion.
The silence stretched.
When he finally spoke, the words came out steady. Too steady.
“Tell me the truth, Layla. Did you perform witchcraft on me?”
The question hung in the air, heavy as stone.
Layla stiffened. He saw her reflection flinch. “I…I don’t know what you mean,” she said softly, but her voice wavered.
He turned then.
The movement was slow, deliberate. The study felt smaller with him facing her, the weight of his presence filling the space. He stepped forward, every inch of him carved from restraint.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Her breath caught. “Dominic—”
“Don’t,” he said again, sharper this time, “not to me. Not now.”
Her lips parted, then closed again. He could see the battle flickering behind her eyes, the instinct to deny, to protect herself, clashing with the pull of a command from her Alpha.
“I know what I saw,” he said quietly, “the cord in your hand. I felt dark magic crawling all over me.”
Her head snapped up at that, “It wasn’t like that,” she said quickly.
He took another step closer. “Then what was it?”
She hesitated, a heartbeat too long, her face falling as she realized he’d caught her in her lie.
Dominic’s jaw tightened, “You used witchcraft.”
Layla flinched as though he’d struck her. “I was trying to save you!” she burst out, “You weren’t breathing…I thought you were…”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
The words seemed to collapse under the weight of his silence.
Her voice dropped, trembling, “Julian said you were dying. I couldn’t just sit there and watch—”
“So you broke the law,” Dominic said, his tone low but trembling at the edges. “You broke our laws.”
She rose from her chair, her cheeks flushing with anger and shame, “What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to die?”
The words hit him harder than he expected.
He drew in a slow breath, forcing calm, “You know what witchcraft means in this pack,” he said, “you know why it’s outlawed. The power that witches wielded all those years ago, the devastation they caused. Even when their intentions were good. Magic always has a cost .”
Her eyes filled with tears, “I know exactly what it costs,” she whispered, “I’ve lived my whole life paying for it.”
The words stopped him cold.
He frowned, “What are you talking about?”
Layla looked away, pressing a shaking hand to her throat. “It didn’t start with you,” she said quietly.
Dominic’s pulse spiked, “Explain.”
She took a deep breath, then another, her voice shaking but determined, “I’ve always had it,” she said, “since I was a child. I didn’t choose it. It’s just…there. It always has been.”
He stared at her, uncomprehending. “You’ve been practicing—?”
Her gaze met his, and for the first time, she didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
The word landed between them like a blade.
She swallowed hard. “I learned to hide it. Theodore knew; he told me to stop when we were teenagers. I told him I had. But I never could. Not completely. It’s part of me, Dominic.”
The sound of her saying his name broke something in him.
He turned away sharply, pacing toward the desk. His breath came harder now, shallow with disbelief and anger. “You mean to tell me you’ve been using witchcraft, practicing it, while living among my people, under my protection, this entire time?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He slammed his hand against the desk, the sound cracking through the room, “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
She flinched. “Would you have listened?”
The question stung because the answer came too easily.
Dominic’s hands curled into fists. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice rough, “you lied to the pack. To everyone who’s ever trusted you.”
“I didn’t lie,” she said fiercely, tears streaming down her face, “I just…didn’t tell you. Because if I had, you would have cast me out before you even—”
“Before I what?” he snapped, turning on her. “Before I made you my mate?”
The word mate came out like a curse.
Layla’s breath hitched.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was charged, pulsing with fury and grief.
Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “I never wanted to lie to you. I never wanted you to find out like this.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable, the fury cooling into something darker, heavier. “Since you were a child,” he repeated slowly, almost to himself, “you’ve been doing this since you were a child.”
Layla nodded, tears glinting on her lashes. “Yes.”
The word seemed to echo in the silence that followed.
Dominic didn’t speak. Didn’t move. The air between them grew heavy enough to choke on.
Outside, the sea crashed against the rocks, the sound distant but relentless, a rhythm that matched the pounding in his chest.
He turned back toward the window, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Layla stood motionless behind him, waiting for the storm to break.
For a long time, there was only silence.
“I never meant to hurt anyone,” she said, her voice impossibly small, “the only reason I kept at it as long as I did, the only reason I…” she choked on the words. Tears were streaming down her face now. Every instinct in him told him to reach out to her, to take her into his arms.
He remained motionless.
She sucked in a breath, hard and rattling.
“I wanted to shift,” she said simply, “I wanted it so badly. For so long. I thought that maybe I had been given these powers as…as some sort of test. That if I just worked at it and tried and tried that I could…” She shook her head, wiping her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“You wanted to shift,” Dominic said simply.
She nodded, then her face crumpled.
He took a step forward, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice was low again, rough with barely-contained rage. “If the pack finds out, if they smell that kind of power on you, they’ll think I’ve been compromised. They’ll think I’ve let a witch into our ranks, into our home—”
“Into your bed?” Layla’s voice cracked, raw with pain. “Is that what this is about? That you’re ashamed of me?”
Dominic froze.
The question hit too close to the truth.
“No,” he said tightly, though the denial sounded like a lie, “this isn’t about that.”
“Then what is it about?” she demanded. “You think I don’t know what I am?
What they think of me? I’ve lived under pack rules my entire life.
I’ve put up with every insult hurled at me.
I’ve smiled and bowed and kept quiet while they called me low-born, worthless…
and still, I stayed. Still, I tried. I—”
Her breath hitched, tears glinting in her eyes, “I saved you. Even though out of all of them, you were always the cruelest to me.”
Dominic’s heart stuttered at the reminder.
Her voice softened, breaking apart. “I didn’t do it for power. I didn’t do it to betray you. I did it because I—”
“Stop,” he said sharply, and she did, her lips parting in shock.
The silence that followed was worse than any shouting.
Dominic turned away, pacing, trying to find air in the thick quiet. He could still feel the hum of the bond between them, weaker now, frayed at the edges. Every pulse of it reminded him that she was his mate, that her heartbeat was half his. That he was bound to someone he could never truly trust.
His voice was quieter when he spoke again, but it carried the weight of command. “You don’t understand what this means.”
Layla wiped her face with the back of her hand, trembling. “Then explain it to me.”
“You’ve jeopardized the entire pack,” he said, “if they find out that the Alpha’s mate is a witch, they’ll see weakness. They’ll think Skymist has been cursed, corrupted. Leonid will use it to tear us apart.”
Her expression hardened. “Leonid doesn’t need me to destroy you. He’ll do it himself.”
“Don’t test me, Layla,” he growled.
But she didn’t back down. “You’re terrified,” she said. “Not of me. Of losing power. Of everyone thinking you’re weak.”
Dominic stopped mid-step. Turned.
“Weak?” he said, his voice low, shaking with fury, “I tore my own father’s head from his body. I turned the whole order of the pack upside down. I remade it how I wanted it. I bled for it. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me I’m weak.”