Chapter 18
Arabella
The Sea-Tac International Airport was a cathedral of transient misery.
It smelled of antiseptic, stale cinnamon buns, and jet fuel. It sounded like a million overlapping conversations and the relentless squeak of luggage wheels.
My ticket was in my hand. My two suitcases were checked. My life at Blackwood Mountain was packed, sealed, and abandoned.
My father sat beside me, scrolling through emails on his phone. He looked smug. He looked like a man who had successfully defused a bomb.
"The Dean emailed," he said without looking up. "The statement was received. The ethics committee has formally closed the inquiry into Mr. Moretti. He's clear."
"Good," I whispered. My voice felt rusty. I hadn't spoken more than ten words since I left Dante’s room.
"You did the right thing, Arabella," my father said, patting my knee. His touch felt like a brand. "It hurts now, I know. But in a year? You won't even remember his name."
I looked at him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that I would remember Dante’s name when I was eighty years old. I would remember the way he smelled like pine. The way his scar felt under my thumb. The way he looked when he roared at the moon.
But I stayed silent. I was empty. I had poured everything I had into saving Dante, and now I was just a shell waiting to be shipped across the ocean.
"I'm going to get a water," I mumbled, standing up.
"Be quick," my father warned. "We board soon."
I walked away from the gate, merging into the stream of travelers. I didn't want water. I just wanted to be away from him. Away from the man who had turned my love into a weapon.
I wandered aimlessly past the duty-free shops, staring at the expensive perfumes and chocolates.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I ignored it. I had been ignoring it for two days. Dante had texted me hundreds of times. Jax had called. Even Elena had sent a frantic Where the hell are you?
I couldn't look. If I looked, I would break.
But it buzzed again. And again. A long, sustained vibration. A call.
I pulled it out.
Dante.
I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered over the red button.
Decline it. Save him.
But then, a text popped up over the call screen.
Dante: I'm here.
I froze.
Here? In Seattle?
Another text.
Dante: I know you're at the airport. Jax tracked your phone. I'm at security.
My heart stopped. Then it restarted with a violent, terrifying kick.
He was here. He hadn't gone to Buffalo. He had come for me.
Panic clawed at my throat. If he came here... if he made a scene... my father would see. The deal would be broken. The investigation would reopen.
I had to stop him.
I hit the call button.
"Dante, go back!" I hissed into the phone, ducking into a alcove near the restrooms. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be at the Combine!"
"I don't care about the Combine," his voice came through the line, breathless and distorted by background noise. "I'm coming to get you, Arabella. Where are you?"
"You can't come here!" I cried. "My dad is here! If he sees you, he'll destroy you!"
"Let him try," Dante growled. "I'm done hiding. I'm done letting him dictate my life. Tell me where you are."
"I'm leaving, Dante," I sobbed. "I'm going to London. It's over. I saved you. Just accept it!"
"You didn't save me!" he shouted. I heard people in the background on his end gasping. "You broke me! I don't want a career if I don't have you! Now tell me the gate number or I will howl until security tackles me!"
"D4," I whispered, defeated. "I'm at D4."
"Stay there," he commanded. "Don't get on that plane."
The line went dead.
I stood there, shaking.
I should run. I should board the plane right now. I should save him from himself.
But my feet wouldn't move.
Because a tiny, treacherous part of my heart—the part that belonged to the wolf—was singing.
He came.
I walked back to the gate. My father looked up, annoyed.
"That took a long time," he muttered. "They just called our group."
"Dad," I said. My voice was trembling. "We need to wait."
"Wait? For what? The plane is leaving."
"I... I left my passport in the bathroom," I lied. It was a stupid lie. My passport was in my hand.
He saw it. His eyes narrowed.
"What is going on, Arabella? You're shaking."
"I can't go," I whispered.
"Don't be ridiculous," he said, standing up and grabbing his carry-on. "This is just cold feet. You're emotional. Come on."
He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. He started pulling me toward the jet bridge.
"No!" I pulled back, digging my heels into the carpet. "Dad, stop! I'm not going!"
"You are going!" he hissed, leaning in close. "You made a deal. You saved your boyfriend. Now you finish it. Get on the plane."
"HEY!"
The shout echoed through the terminal. It was loud enough to cut through the noise of announcements and jet engines. It was a roar.
Heads turned. People gasped.
My father froze. He turned slowly.
Dante was running down the concourse.
He looked insane.
He was wearing track pants and a wrinkled t-shirt. He was unshaven. He was sweating. He was limping slightly, favoring his bad knee, but he was moving with the unstoppable momentum of a freight train.
Jax was running behind him, looking apologetic as he shoved a startled businessman out of the way.
"Security!" my father shouted, waving at the TSA agents by the podium. "Stop that man! He's dangerous!"
Two TSA agents stepped into Dante’s path.
Dante didn't stop. He didn't slow down.
He just... grew.
I saw it. The shift in his posture. The way his shoulders broadened. The way his eyes flashed gold even under the fluorescent lights. He let out a low, vibrating growl that made the hair on everyone’s arms stand up.
"Move," he snarled at the agents.
The agents, sensing a predator far above their pay grade, instinctively stepped back.
Dante burst through the gate area.
He stopped ten feet away from us, chest heaving, eyes wild.
He looked at my father. Then he looked at me.
"Let her go," Dante said. His voice was low, lethal, and absolutely terrifying.
My father didn't let go of my arm. In fact, he tightened his grip.
"You are violating a restraining order, Mr. Moretti," my father said coolly. "You are harassing my daughter. I will have you arrested."
"I don't care," Dante said. "Arrest me. Expel me. Ruin me. I don't care."
He took a step forward.
"But you are not taking her."
"She wants to go," my father lied. "She chose this. Tell him, Arabella. Tell him to leave."
I looked at Dante.
He looked wrecked. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. He looked like a man who had walked through fire just to stand in this airport.
And in his eyes... I saw it. I saw the house with the thick walls. I saw the library. I saw the love that terrified him and saved him in equal measure.
"I can't," I whispered.
"What?" my father snapped.
"I can't tell him to leave," I said louder. I looked at my father. "Because I don't want him to leave."
I ripped my arm out of my father’s grip.
"Arabella!" my father shouted. "Think about what you're doing! His career! The investigation!"
"I don't care about the investigation!" I screamed back. "And neither does he! We don't care!"
I turned and ran to Dante.
He met me halfway. He caught me, lifting me off my feet, burying his face in my neck. He smelled of sweat and travel and home.
"I got you," he gasped, holding me so tight my ribs creaked. "I got you."
"You idiot," I sobbed into his shirt. "You ruined everything. You walked out on the Combine."
"Best decision I ever made," he promised, kissing my hair, my forehead, my wet cheeks.
"But the Kraken..."
"Screw the Kraken," he said. "They draft the player, not the man. And the man belongs to you."
A slow clapping started.
It was Jax. He was standing by a row of seats, grinning like a maniac.
Then a few other passengers joined in. Someone whistled. It was a scene from a movie, and the airport was eating it up.
But my father wasn't clapping.
He marched over to us, his face purple with rage.
"This is touching," he spat. "Truly. But let me remind you of reality, Mr. Moretti. You have just violated university policy. You have publicly embarrassed the Liaison office. I will make sure you never step foot on ice again."
Dante set me down, but he kept his arm around me, pulling me into his side. He looked at my father. He didn't look scared anymore. He looked... bored.
"Go ahead," Dante said. "Make the calls. Call the Dean. Call the NCAA. Tell them I'm in love with your daughter. Tell them we're bonded."
"Bonded?" my father laughed. "Please. That's a myth."
"Is it?" Dante asked. He looked down at me. "Show him."
I knew what he meant.
I pulled the collar of my shirt down.
There, on the curve of my neck, was a mark. It wasn't a bruise anymore. It had faded into a silvery, scar-like line. The mating mark. It had appeared the morning after the dorm room. I had hidden it with makeup and scarves.
My father stared at it. His face went white.
"You..." he choked. "You marked her."
"She marked me," Dante corrected. He pulled his own collar down. A matching mark was on his neck, right over his pulse.
"It's done, Richard," Dante said, using his first name. "Pack Law supersedes University Policy. A mated pair cannot be separated. If you try to force her to London... you are violating the Treaty."
My father staggered back a step. He knew the law. The Treaty of 1998 protected shifter mates from human interference. It was ironclad.
"This is... this is a disaster," my father whispered.
"No," I said, stepping forward. I took Dante’s hand. "This is my life, Dad. And I'm choosing it. I'm choosing him."
My father looked at me. He looked at the determination in my eyes—eyes that were no longer fragile, no longer scared.
He saw that he had lost.
He picked up his briefcase. He adjusted his coat.
"Fine," he said coldly. "Have your life, Arabella. But don't come crying to me when the wolf shows his true colors. Don't call me when you're bleeding."
"I won't," I said.
He turned and walked away. He boarded the plane to London alone.
I watched him go. I felt a pang of sadness, but mostly... I felt light. The weight of his expectations, his fear, his control... it was gone.
I turned back to Dante.
He was watching me, his eyes full of awe.
"You stayed," he whispered.
"You came back," I countered.
He grinned. A real, dazzling, boyish grin that lit up the terminal.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "This place smells like jet fuel and bad parenting."
"Where are we going?" I asked as we walked hand-in-hand toward the exit, Jax trailing behind us with my suitcases.
"Home," Dante said. "To the Hive. To figure out how to be unemployed and happy."
"You're not going to be unemployed," I said. "You're Dante Moretti. You'll figure it out."
"We'll figure it out," he corrected.
We walked out of the sliding doors into the Seattle rain. It was cold. It was wet.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn't shivering.
Dante
The drive back to campus was quiet, but it was a good quiet. The kind of quiet that comes after a war ends.
Arabella was asleep in the passenger seat of Jax’s rental, her head resting on my jacket. I kept glancing over at her, checking that she was real, that she hadn't disappeared onto a plane to London.
Jax was driving. He was humming along to the radio.
"You know," Jax said softly, "you're insane."
"I know," I said, watching the rain streak the window.
"Reed is going to be pissed," Jax noted. "You walked out on a steak dinner."
"He'll get over it."
"Will he?" Jax glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Or did you just nuke your entire career for a girl?"
"She's not a girl, Jax," I said, looking at the mark on her neck. "She's my wife. In every way that matters."
"Wolf marriage," Jax snorted. "Does that hold up in court?"
"It holds up in my heart," I said. "And that's enough."
My phone buzzed.
I picked it up.
It was a text from Coach Vane.
Vane: Get your ass back here. Reed is on the phone. He says if you can explain yourself in person... he might—MIGHT—still have a spot for you.
I stared at the screen.
Reed was still interested? After I walked out?
Vane: He says he likes passion. He says a man who fights that hard for a woman will fight that hard for a puck. Don't make me look stupid, Dante. Come home.
I smiled.
I looked at Arabella. She shifted in her sleep, reaching out blindly. I took her hand.
I texted Vane back.
Dante: On my way. And Coach? I'm bringing her with me.
I put the phone down.
The future was still uncertain. The investigation might reopen. The draft might be a disaster. My knee might give out next season.
But as I squeezed Arabella’s hand, feeling the answering squeeze even in her sleep, I knew one thing for sure.
I wasn't afraid of the monster anymore. Because the monster had found something worth protecting.
And God help anyone who tried to take it away from us now.