Chapter 39 — The Protector’s Fury
The morning sun had barely crept over the treetops when Tia found him.
Hardin was in the training field, sweat dripping from his brow as he practiced with the blade, the metal singing through the cold air.
“Hardin!” Tia’s voice cracked with urgency as she ran up to him, panting. “You need to come. Now.”
He stopped mid-swing, eyes narrowing. “What happened?”
“It’s Rhianna.” She swallowed hard. “Sebastian… he—he lost his temper last night.”
The silence that followed was sharp and dangerous.
Hardin dropped the sword. “What do you mean lost his temper?”
Tia hesitated, eyes darting nervously. “I wasn’t there when it happened, but I saw her this morning. She—she tried to cover it up, but there are bruises on her neck, Hardin. I don’t know exactly what went down, but she’s cleaning up the sitting room right now. Everything’s a mess.”
That was all it took.
Without another word, Hardin was already moving—his boots hitting the ground with hard, angry strides, his pulse pounding like war drums in his ears.
By the time he reached the Alpha’s house, the door was half open.
Rhianna was inside, kneeling on the floor, picking up shards of a broken cup.
Her hair was messy, tied back loosely, and her hands trembled as she worked to put the room back in order.
She didn’t hear him come in until his shadow fell across her.
She froze.
“Hardin…” she breathed, eyes widening in shock as she stood up quickly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He said nothing at first, just took in the scene—the overturned chair, the shattered glass, the bruises faintly blooming along her throat.
His jaw tightened.
“Please,” Rhianna whispered, stepping in front of him like she could block his anger. “You need to go. If Sebastian comes back and sees you here, it’s going to be bad—really bad.”
“Rhianna.” His voice was quiet, too quiet. “Look at me.”
She hesitated, then lifted her gaze.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, the air around him charged with quiet rage.
When he reached her, he gently caught her chin between his fingers and tilted her face toward the light.
The sight made something inside him snap.
“He did this to you,” he said, low and deadly. It wasn’t a question.
Rhianna flinched, shaking her head. “It was a mistake,” she said quickly. “He didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t,” Hardin cut her off, his tone sharper now. “Don’t make excuses for him.”
“Please, Hardin,” she begged, her voice trembling. “You can’t start a fight with him. I can’t handle that again. Not between you two.”
“This isn’t about fighting,” he said, though his knuckles were white. “This is about someone hurting you.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “It was an accident. I shouldn’t have argued with him—”
“Stop,” Hardin said again, softer this time, though his jaw was still locked tight.
He took a slow breath, forcing himself to calm. “Since we were kids, you know I’ve never let anyone lay a hand on you and walk away. You remember what happened to that guard back then?”
Rhianna nodded quickly, the memory flashing—how Hardin had broken five fingers of a man twice his size for pushing her to the ground. “That’s exactly why I’m asking you not to do anything,” she whispered. “Please, Hardin. Don’t make things worse.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Beneath the storm of anger, there was something else—something older and heavier.
Finally, he exhaled slowly, letting his hand fall from her face.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “I won’t do anything. Not yet.”
Rhianna’s shoulders sagged in relief, but the tension in the air didn’t fade.
Hardin stepped back, his voice softening. “I’m leaving for a few days,” he told her. “The western scouts reported movement near the border—bandit hunters. I’ll be leading my unit to deal with it.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re going yourself?”
He nodded once. “I don’t trust anyone else to handle it right now.”
Rhianna looked away, still shaken. “Be careful, Hardin.”
“You take care of yourself too,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Lock the doors at night. Don’t be alone with him when he’s angry. Promise me.”
She hesitated. “He’s still my mate, Hardin.”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave a short nod. “All the same. Promise.”
“I promise,” she said softly.
Hardin lingered a moment longer, watching her as she went back to arranging the room. He could see the way her hands trembled when she picked up the broken pieces, could hear the quiet way she breathed like she was trying not to fall apart.
When he finally turned to leave, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“You shouldn’t have to clean up after anyone’s rage, Rhi.”
She froze, but by the time she turned around, he was already gone—his scent fading through the open door, replaced by the faint rustle of leaves and the promise of another storm.