Chapter 182: Dashiell and Amara's Affair

Chapter 183: Dashiell and Amara's Affair
Zephyra's POV

The moment I saw him, every bone in my body turned to ice. My heart constricted painfully in my chest as memories flooded back—the drugs, the restraints, the violation. Fifteen years had passed since he'd haunted my nightmares, yet here he stood, flesh and blood.

"How?" The word escaped my trembling lips before I could stop it. Dashiell should be dead. I'd watched the laboratory burn to the ground, had celebrated knowing he was inside when it exploded.

But the man before me was undeniably Dashiell, though changed. The left side of his face and neck were badly burned, the skin damaged and raised in uneven patterns. That side of his head was completely bald, the scarring extending past his collar.

"How what, my dear?" Dashiell's voice was exactly as I remembered—smooth and educated, with an underlying cruelty that made my skin crawl. "Are you asking how I survived? Or how I found my way to sweet Amara here?"

I glanced at Amara, unable to process her betrayal. This woman had been my therapist for months, had listened to my most intimate fears, had helped me work through my trauma—trauma caused by the very man she was now standing beside.

"I don't understand," I said, looking between them. "How do you two even know each other? Amara, what the hell is going on?"

Amara wouldn't meet my eyes, her shoulders hunched slightly as she stared at the floor. I'd never seen her like this—she seemed smaller somehow, diminished in Dashiell's presence.

"Both," I finally answered, forcing strength into my voice despite the terror coursing through me.

Dashiell's lips curved into what might have been a smile on his unscarred side. "Now that, my love, is a long story." Beside him, Amara flinched at the endearment.

I noticed the reaction and my mind raced. There was something deeper between them, something more than just a partnership. The way Amara seemed to shrink in his presence, the casual possessiveness in his tone when he addressed her... I wondered how they'd really met and how Dashiell had survived the explosion.

"I'm not your love," I spat, finding courage in my anger. "And considering I've been kidnapped and chained up with silver, I'd say I have plenty of time to hear your explanation."

My voice shook slightly, but I kept my tone firm. I refused to show weakness in front of Dashiell or Amara. Inside, I was trembling, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

"I told you you're mine, Zephyra. Remember that?" Before I could react, Dashiell moved with inhuman speed, grabbing my chin with bruising force and yanking my face toward his. His lips crashed against mine in a brutal kiss that made my stomach heave.

When he pulled away, I fought the urge to spit or wipe my mouth. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I noticed Amara's expression—pain flashed across her features, something deep and incomprehensible.

"Sit down and listen to my accomplishments," Dashiell commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I couldn't help the sarcasm that dripped from my words. "It's not like I can go anywhere with silver chains tied to my wrists and ankles."

Dashiell's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Amara, be a good girl and get me a chair."

Amara immediately moved to obey, bringing a wooden chair from the corner of the room. I watched in shock as she placed it carefully in front of me, then stepped back, head bowed submissively.

"What the hell, Amara?" I couldn't contain my disbelief. "Why are you listening to him? You're a werewolf, for God's sake!"

Amara said nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor. Dashiell settled into the chair, crossing one leg over the other as if we were having a casual conversation over coffee.

"Let me tell you a story, Zephyra," he began, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence. "It begins the night your people attacked my lab."

He leaned forward, his scarred face partially shadowed. "It was painful and unexpected. The government didn't even know we existed. Those scientists were fools, thinking it was a government project." He chuckled darkly. "I didn't care that they died. They were just pawns. But you—" his eyes hardened as he looked at me, "—you were too weak to help me."

I wanted to laugh in his face. I hadn't helped him because I'd hated him, because I'd wanted him dead. Not because I was weak. But I kept silent, letting him continue his delusional narrative.

"After you left," Dashiell continued, "I crawled out while your people were busy saving the other wolves. I was terrified of being discovered, but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you to suffer alone without me." He sighed dramatically. "Even with my burns, I pushed through the flames and escaped just in time to see the building explode."

My anger boiled over, threatening to consume me. This man was completely insane. He genuinely believed I would have mourned his death? That I would have shed tears for the monster who had drugged and raped me repeatedly?

"I passed out in the forest," he went on. "When I woke up, I found myself in a house. That's where I met Amara. She was jogging early in the morning and found me."

The pieces suddenly clicked into place. This was how they'd met. But something still didn't make sense—why would Amara help him? Why would she continue to help him after learning what he'd done?

"Why?" I turned my attention to Amara, fury replacing my fear. "Why would you save him? And why didn't you hand him over to the council when you realized he was one of the humans who had imprisoned us?"

Amara's eyes finally met mine, and the sadness in them was profound. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost childlike.

"He is my mate. I couldn't do that to him."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at her in absolute shock, unable to process what she'd just said. Dashiell—this monster who had tortured and violated werewolves—was Amara's mate? The Moon Goddess had to be playing some kind of sick joke.

"Your... mate?" I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "How could the Moon Goddess pair one of our own with someone who hurt our children?"

Dashiell smiled, clearly enjoying my distress. "Amara nursed me back to health," he explained, reaching out to stroke her hair possessively. "Once I was stronger, I had her keep an eye out for any news about you at the hospital."

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "When we heard you were receiving treatment, we arranged for Amara to become your therapist. That way, she could monitor you until I was strong enough to take you back."

The betrayal cut deeper than any knife. All those therapy sessions, all those moments when I'd opened my heart and shared my deepest traumas—Amara had been reporting everything back to Dashiell. She'd been helping him plan my kidnapping all along.

"How could you?" I asked Amara, my voice breaking despite my efforts to stay strong. "How could you sit there and listen to me talk about what he did to me, knowing you were helping him?"

I turned back to Dashiell, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "You have a mate, Dashiell. Amara is your mate."

The words felt like poison on my tongue, but I had to make him understand. If Amara was truly his mate, then whatever sick obsession he had with me needed to end. Mates were sacred in werewolf culture—the bond transcended all others.

But Dashiell merely laughed, the sound chilling me to the bone. "Oh, I know. But that doesn't change anything between us, Zephyra. You're still mine. You've always been mine."

As his words sank in, I realized with growing horror that this nightmare was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.