162

162


ALTHEA

Pain dragged me out of sleep.
It wasn’t sharp at first—just a deep, relentless ache that spread through my arm like fire beneath my skin. I gasped, jerking awake, tears spilling before I could stop them. I must have rolled wrong in my sleep. The splint pressed too hard. The bone screamed in protest.
“Stop—” I sobbed, clutching my arm to my chest, breath coming in broken bursts. “Please—”
The door opened.
I froze.
The sound was soft, controlled—but I felt him before I saw him. The air thickened, heavy with power. My heart slammed violently against my ribs as Alpha Collin stepped into the room.
His eyes were glowing red.
Not faintly.
Not dimly.
Bright. Burning. Alive.
Fear shot through me so fast it stole my breath.
“No,” I whispered, scrambling back against the headboard with my good arm. “Don’t—please don’t—”
He didn’t speak.
He was at my bed in seconds.
Too fast.
My back hit the pillows as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. Panic clawed up my throat, raw and uncontrollable. I tried to move, tried to scream—
His hand tangled in my hair.
I cried out, the sound tearing from my chest.
This is it, my mind screamed. He’s going to hurt you again.
My whole body locked, terror freezing me in place.
“Look at me,” he said, voice rough, strained—nothing like rage, everything like desperation.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please… I can’t—”
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said sharply. “But I need you to listen.”
My chest heaved. My body shook violently beneath his grip.
“I won’t touch your arm,” he said. “I swear it.”
Slowly—carefully—his hold in my hair loosened. His palm slid to cradle the back of my head instead, firm but steady, anchoring.
“I felt your pain,” he murmured. “It woke me.”
I opened my eyes.
He was close. Too close. His presence swallowed the space between us—heat, power, danger braided with something that terrified me more than anger ever had.
Control.
Barely held.
“You’re hurting,” he said. “And your wolf can’t help you.”
Tears streamed down my temples. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then tell me to leave,” he said quietly. “And I will.”
I hesitated.
The pain surged again, sharp enough to steal my breath. I whimpered, curling inward helplessly.
“I can stop it,” he said, voice low, urgent. “But only if you let me.”
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break my ribs.
“How?” I whispered.
His gaze dropped—to my neck.
To the mark.
“My venom,” he said. “It’s part of the bond. Stronger than normal healing. I should have used it before. I didn’t… because I didn’t think I deserved to touch you.”
My breath stuttered.
“I won’t do anything else,” he said. “I swear it on my Alpha.”
The pain ripped through me again.
I nodded.
Once.
That was all.
His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my head gently to the side. I felt the brush of his breath against my skin, hot and trembling.
Then—
Pain.
Sharp. Immediate. Worse than the first time.
I screamed.
His teeth sank into the mark, the bite deliberate, powerful—claiming and unclaiming all at once. My fingers clawed into his shoulders as agony tore through me—
And then—
Warmth.
It spread fast, flooding my body like fire turning into light. The pain in my arm vanished first, then the ache in my chest, the tightness in my lungs, the fear unraveling thread by thread.
I sagged against him with a broken sob.
My body melted into his arms before I could stop it.
He held me.
Carefully. Reverently.
Like something fragile he’d almost destroyed.
I gasped, pulling back slightly, disbelief flooding me. I moved my arm.
Nothing hurt.
No sting.
No ache.
No weakness.
I stared at my forearm, flexing my fingers.
“Healed,” I whispered.
My voice shook.
I looked up at him. “What did you do?”
His forehead rested against mine, his breath uneven.
“It’s something an Alpha can do,” he said softly. “With his mate.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“I shared my venom,” he continued. “It forces accelerated healing. But it requires… closeness. Trust.”
I swallowed.
“You could have done this before.”
“Yes,” he said. “And I didn’t. Because I was afraid you’d think it was another way to control you.”
I searched his face, my body still pressed against his without meaning to be.
“And now?” I asked.
His voice was barely a whisper. “Now I’d rather you hate me healed than suffer because of me.”
The room was silent except for our breathing.
My fear hadn’t vanished.
But neither had the heat curling low in my stomach—confusing, unwanted, undeniable.
I pulled away slowly, putting space between us.
“I don’t forgive you,” I said.
“I know,” he replied.
“But…” My fingers curled into the sheets. “You stopped the pain.”
He nodded once.
And for the first time since everything broke, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.
Just standing on the edge of something dangerous.
Something I wasn’t ready to name.