Chapter 39 HURT AND HONOUR
Asher's POV:
Dylan hadn’t said a word since we got back to my penthouse.
Not one.
He just sat there on the far end of the couch, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, smoke rolling around him in soft, lazy spirals.
The only movement he made was the slight rise and fall of his chest and the occasional tap of ash into the tray.
His expression was blank - too blank.
Eyes distant.
Jaw tight.
A storm brewing right behind that calm face.
And I knew him well enough to recognize it.
He was upset.
Anyone else would’ve been pacing by now, rehearsing apologies or explanations in their head, waiting for the moment Dylan finally looked up and cut them open with one sentence.
But me?
For the first time since I’d known him…
I wasn’t bothered.
Not even a little.
Maybe I should’ve been. Dylan wasn’t someone you ignored when he was in this mood.
Usually, the tension alone was enough to put a man on edge.
But right now?
My head wasn’t with him.
My nerves weren’t tuned to him.
My chest was still stuck in that damn hallway - her voice, her cold tone, the way she pulled her wrist out of my hand like I burned her.
Compared to all that, Dylan’s silence felt like background noise.
I leaned back in my chair, loosening my tie, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling.
If he wanted to talk, he would.
If he wanted to explode, he would.
If he wanted to sit there pretending he wasn’t angry while being very obviously angry… he could knock himself out.
He dragged in another slow inhale, still silent.
He was waiting for me to break the tension.
I could feel it - the weight of his stare even when he wasn’t looking directly at me.
But I didn’t.
I let the silence stretch.
Let him stew.
Let him be the one uncomfortable for once.
Because the truth was…
I had bigger things clawing at my brain than Dylan’s disapproval.
And he knew it.
That’s what annoyed him the most.
Dylan finally spoke.
“What’s going on, Asher?” he asked, lifting his eyes to mine and holding my stare without blinking.
I leaned back in my seat, exhaling slowly.
He had every right to question me like this - not because of rank, not because he was my beta - but because we’d known each other long enough to drop the formalities.
We weren’t just Alpha and Beta. We were brothers in everything except blood.
So, I met his stare, unflinching.
“You tell me, Dylan,” I said. “I expected you to be at a club or something after you texted. But instead, I saw you on the in Cleveland college.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What were you even doing there?”
Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly.
“No, no, Asher,” he muttered. “I think the question should be—”
His eyes lifted, sharper now.
Colder.
“—What were you doing with Clara Bennett?”
My shoulders stiffened immediately.
He noticed. He always noticed.
His gaze locked onto me, full force this time, as if he was trying to rip the answer straight out of my skull.
I kept my voice even.
“I don’t know, Dylan. You tell me. Last I checked, I'm a professor. Pretty sure it's normal for a tutor to be seen talking to a student.”
He gave a humorless chuckle - dark, disbelieving - then stood up from the couch.
He walked toward the far wall, resting one hand against it, his back turned to me like he needed distance just to think.
Then he said it.
“Asher… don’t play with me.”
He turned halfway; disbelief etched on his face.
“Just tell me the truth — is there something going on between you two? Are you fucking her?”
The question hit harder than I expected.
I stared at him, jaw tightening.
“Are you out of your mind, Dylan?”
His expression changed in an instant - like a crack splitting across stone.
He snapped.
“No — you tell me, Asher,” he said, voice rising. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Dylan didn’t back down.
He never did.
Not when he was angry, not when he was confused, and definitely not when he felt like I was hiding something from him.
He took a slow step toward me, eyes sharp enough to cut through skin and bone.
“What’s truly going on, Asher?” he asked, voice low but steady. “You think I can’t tell the difference between a professor asking a student a simple question… and a man caring way too deeply?”
I felt my jaw clench, but I didn’t answer.
He kept going.
“You think I didn’t hear the way you spoke to her? Or the way she spoke to you?”
I forced a breath through my nose.
“Dylan, it’s all part of the plan,” I said, keeping my tone controlled, logical, steady.
But even as I said it…
It sounded weak.
Thin.
Like a cracked shield pretending to still be strong.
Because the truth - the one I refused to touch - was sitting heavy in my chest.
That woman had somehow slipped under my skin, rooted herself somewhere I couldn’t reach.
And nothing - not the plan, not the revenge, not even my own damn logic — seemed to matter more than she did in that moment.
Dylan scoffed softly.
“Part of the plan?” he repeated. “It doesn’t look like one to me. Because after she walked away today…”
He stepped closer.
His voice dropped.
“You looked bothered. You looked… pained, Asher.”
My eyes snapped to his face.
He didn’t flinch.
“I might be heartless,” Dylan continued.
“I might be cruel. Revenge might be the only thing keeping me breathing at this point.”
I swallowed hard, watching him.
“But I’m not blind,” he said. “And I’m not stupid. I saw everything. I understood everything.”
He paused.
And then he delivered it - the line everyone suddenly loved throwing in my face.
“You’re in love with Clara Bennett, Asher.”
My heart… didn’t stop.
It didn’t skip.
It slammed - like it was trying to fight the accusation from the inside.
I stared at him, breath going rigid in my chest.
And inside my head?
I could only think one thing:
Here we go again.
Everyone with the same ridiculous assumption.
Everyone spewing the same nonsense like they could read me better than I read myself.
Love?
With her?
Absurd.
And yet…
Why did the word hit like a punch to the ribs?
Why did it echo?
Why did it feel too close?
Dylan watched me, waiting for the denial he already knew was coming.
And I gave it to him - sharp, cold, immediate.
I don’t know what exactly snapped in me.
Maybe it was the word Love.
Maybe it was the way Dylan said it like he was diagnosing a sickness I didn’t have.
Or maybe it was the fact that everyone seemed suddenly obsessed with telling me how I felt.
But something inside me broke loose.
I stood, pointing at him before the thought even formed.
“You’re out of your damn mind, Dylan.”
My voice came out sharper than I intended.
Harsher.
Too raw.
“I see it now,” I added, shaking my head. “You’ve completely lost it.”
I didn’t wait for his reply.
I turned and stormed toward the stairs — not because I had a destination, not because I knew where I was going — but because I had to move.
Had to breathe.
Had to get away from him before I did something stupid.
But Dylan… Dylan was right behind me.
Heavy steps.
Fast.
I could feel his anger like heat on my back.
“No,” he snapped, climbing after me.
“You’re the one who’s lost it, Asher!”
I didn’t turn.
Couldn’t.
“Judging from the fact that you’re running right now,” he continued, voice rising, “It only means one thing — you are in love with that woman.”
I clenched the railing so hard it groaned under my grip.
“You think you’re tough,” he said. “You think nothing gets to you. But look at you, Asher. Look at how easily she got under your skin.”
I forced out a breath, trying to keep my wolf from pushing forward.
“And of all women,” he hissed, “It had to be our father’s killer.”
I froze.
My vision blurred for a second - white, sharp, burning at the edges.
Dylan didn’t stop.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter to you anymore - justice, revenge - maybe all that doesn’t mean anything now. But it still matters to me.”
I turned slightly, jaw locked, but he kept going, relentlessly.
“Is that why you’ve been stalling? Pretending to make progress while doing absolutely nothing?”
“Holy hell, Asher - how did you go from being the ruthless Alpha of Blackwood to a lovesick fool?”
Heat shot straight down my spine.
Last time I checked, no one insulted my leadership.
Or my strength.
Or my damn loyalty.
But Dylan just stepped closer, eyes blazing.
“Even Elsie never had this much hold on you,” he said. “So why her? Why the girl who should’ve been the last person on this earth you felt anything for?”
He shook his head slowly.
“And I’m sure your father is rolling in his grave right now… realizing what a pathetic, confused son he raised.”
Something tore inside me.
That was the crack.
The final blow.
The spark that ignited everything I’d been holding down.
But Dylan wasn’t done.
He leaned in slightly and added, voice low and merciless:
“And if he could see you now… he’d say you’re dishonoring his death.”
That did it.
My vision went red around the edges.
My wolf surged forward, hot and violent, roaring beneath my skin.
Before I even registered the movement, I spun around —
And my fist collided with Dylan’s jaw in a sharp, explosive hit that echoed off the walls.
My knuckles were still throbbing from the impact when I raised my hand again - rage boiling, vision blurring, wolf clawing to get out—
When a voice thundered behind us:
“Kaelan! Jericho! THAT'S ENOUGH!”
Maera’s voice.
It hit like a whip through the air - shutting down every instinct, every impulse, every ounce of fury like someone yanked my spine.
I froze.
We both did.
Because no matter how angry I was…
No matter the fact that I was Alpha… and no one commanded me…
Maera wasn’t just anyone.
She was the woman who bandaged my knees as a boy.
The woman who used to stand at my father’s right hand before he died.
The woman who carried his secrets, his burdens, his loyalty—
And then carried me too when the world burned.
She was the only person I would ever stop for in the middle of a rage.
I turned my head toward her.
Maera stood at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in her dark shawl, silver hair braided tight behind her head.
Her eyes - those sharp, wolf-deep eyes - were filled with a disappointment so heavy it made something twist in my chest.
And somehow… that made the anger flare even hotter.
I turned back to Dylan who was still on the floor, holding his jaw, shock written all over him.
Seeing him like that…
Seeing him look at me like he didn’t recognize me…
It should’ve made me hesitate.
It didn’t.
I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close, my voice low and vibrating with something dark and dangerous.
“Listen to me carefully,” I growled. “Don’t ever - EVER \- think you’re more capable than me in any of this. Don't even dream about it.”
His eyes widened, and I saw it—
The hurt.
The disbelief.
But I kept going anyway.
“My father,” I hissed, “Was generous enough to take your useless, broken self in when no one else would. Don’t forget where you came from, Dylan. Don’t forget what you were before he found you on those streets.”
His breath hitched.
Good.
Let the words cut.
Let him feel something of what I felt.
“You were nothing,” I said coldly. “A wolf with no name. No pack. No future. He made you Jericho. He made you Beta. He made you someone.”
His jaw clenched, eyes glossing with something he stubbornly refused to let fall.
“And do not ever confuse that with having some kind of power over me,” I snarled. “You’ve lasted this long because my father valued you - not because you matter more than you should.”
His nostrils flared. His throat bobbed hard.
I leaned closer, voice a razor.
“Don’t forget your place, Dylan. It has always been - and will always be - beneath me.”
Maera inhaled sharply behind me.
I ignored it.
“And about what you saw today? If I tell you, it’s part of the plan, then you accept it. You don’t question me. You don’t challenge me. You don’t accuse me. You simply just obey.”
My grip tightened on his collar.
“Remember who the Alpha is,” I finished, voice low and venomous. “And remember who you are - not a brother, not an equal… just a stray my father allowed to stay.”
For the first time since I’d known him…
Dylan looked truly, painfully broken.
His mouth opened like he wanted to say something—
But nothing came out.
Because I’d already crushed whatever words he had left.
Maera’s voice trembled behind me.
“Kaelan… enough.”
The sound of my native name in her voice - soft, wounded - hit somewhere deep inside me.
I let go of Dylan, taking a step back.
He rose slowly, dusting his shirt with trembling fingers, his jaw swollen where my punch landed. He didn't look at me.
Not once.
But he did look at Maera, and passed her a curt nod.
And when she whispered, “Jericho…” trying to stop him—
He turned his face away, and walked out without another word.
The door slammed behind him.
I finally looked at Maera.
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t yelling.
She just looked… hurt.
Like she’d just watched two sons tear each other apart.
Like she knew exactly how Dylan felt - and exactly how deeply my words had stabbed him.
And the worst part?
For the first time tonight…
The rage inside me flickered.
And something else - Something cold, sharp, and unwanted - crept into the space it left behind.
Guilt.
Real, bitter guilt.
But it was too late to call him back.
Too late to take back what I’d said.
Too late to pretend I hadn’t just shattered the one person who had always stood beside me.