Chapter 52 My Decision
DAGNOTH DRACULIS
The doors closed behind her.
The sound echoed longer than it should have.
No one spoke.
The entire hall waited.
I did not move immediately. I kept my eyes on the doors she had walked through, replaying every word she had said.
I am not the one who walks away.
The memory tried to surface, but it slipped just out of reach.
“Alpha?”
The Luna’s voice cut gently through the silence.
I turned.
The room pretended to return to normal. Forks lifted. Low conversations restarted. But no one fooled me. They were listening.
Always listening.
“Is there something we should know?” the Luna asked calmly.
Her tone was light.
Her eyes were not.
“No,” I replied.
She held my gaze a second longer, searching for cracks.
“You chose to sit beside her,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Interesting choice.”
I did not answer.
Because I did not have one that would satisfy her.
I sat back down slowly. The chair beside me was still warm.
She had barely touched her food.
“She is not eating properly,” I said.
The Luna’s brow lifted slightly. “Since when do you monitor appetites?”
“When it becomes noticeable.”
“It has been noticeable for weeks.”
Weeks.
My jaw tightened. “And no one thought to inform me?”
The Luna gave a soft, almost amused breath. “You have not been looking.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Across the table, one of the elders cleared his throat. “If the girl is struggling, perhaps she needs discipline. The pack has no space for fragility.”
My head turned slowly.
The elder stiffened under my stare.
“She is not fragile,” I said evenly.
Silence.
No one argued.
Because they heard the warning in my voice.
I rose from my seat.
“I will handle it.”
Dahila
I didn’t stop walking until I reached the outer corridor.
The air was cooler here. Quieter.
My chest felt tight, like I had run miles instead of only across a hall.
Why did I say that?
Why did I look at him like that?
Because you wanted him to remember.
I pressed my palm against the stone wall, grounding myself.
“You should not provoke him.”
I stiffened.
The Luna stood a few steps away, hands folded gracefully in front of her.
“I was not provoking anyone,” I said carefully.
Her gaze was sharp but not unkind. “You think you are subtle. You are not.”
Heat crept up my neck. “With respect, Luna, I did nothing.”
“You made him stand.”
That surprised me.
“He chose to stand.”
She stepped closer. Close enough that I could see the calculation behind her calm expression.
“You matter more than you realize,” she said quietly.
My pulse quickened. “I doubt that.”
“You should not.”
Before I could respond, heavy footsteps approached.
I knew that rhythm.
Even before he spoke.
“Leave us.”
The Luna did not argue. She only gave me one last measured look before walking away.
And then it was just us.
Again.
“You walk fast,” Dagnoth said.
“I prefer moving forward.”
His mouth almost curved. Almost.
“You enjoy challenging me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer.
I held my ground.
“You said I walk away,” he continued. “Explain.”
“There is nothing to explain.”
“You are a poor liar.”
“And you are used to people telling you what you want to hear.”
His eyes darkened slightly.
“I want the truth.”
“You cannot demand it.”
“I am not demanding.” His voice lowered. “I am asking.”
The difference mattered.
I hesitated.
“You came to the southern border three years ago,” I said finally.
His expression did not change, but his attention sharpened.
“There was an attack. Rogues.”
“Yes,” he said slowly.
“You pulled someone out of the fire.”
A pause.
Memory flickered in his eyes.
“A child,” he said.
I swallowed.
“Not a child.”
Realization moved across his face in slow, deliberate understanding.
“You,” he said.
The word felt different when he spoke it like that.
“Yes.”
The corridor went very still.
“You disappeared before I could ask your name,” he said.
“I did not think it mattered.”
“It did.”
My heart beat harder.
“You forgot.”
“I did not forget,” he corrected. “I did not know.”
There was a difference.
He stepped closer again, but this time it did not feel like dominance.
It felt like recognition.
“You were shaking,” he said quietly. “But you refused to cry.”
I blinked.
He remembered that.
“You told me you were not weak,” he continued.
The air left my lungs.
“You said if you survived, you would never stand in the shadows again.”
My throat tightened.
“And now,” he said, “you think I would forget that?”
I searched his face for doubt.
There was none.
“I thought I was just another face,” I admitted softly.
“You are not.”
The words were simple.
Direct.
Dangerous.
Footsteps echoed faintly from the far end of the corridor. The world slowly returned.
Dagnoth’s expression hardened slightly — not toward me, but toward everything else.
“You will eat,” he said.
A small, unwilling smile touched my lips. “You are still giving orders.”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
His gaze held mine steadily.
“You won’t.”
Confidence.
Not arrogance.
And the worst part?
He was right.
I looked away first this time, but not because I was shrinking.
Because something inside me was shifting.
And that was far more frightening.
“Dahila,” he said, quieter now.
I looked back.
“I did not walk away,” he said. “You disappeared.”
The truth of it settled between us.
Maybe we both had.
And maybe…
Neither of us intended to again.