Chapter 22 His Queen
DAHILA
Dagnoth stood there, his presence filling the entire space like thunder rolling through a narrow valley. His eyes glowed faint gold, his wolf close to the surface, and the fury on his face made even Kael stumble back a step.
“Get your hands off my queen,” Dagnoth said, his voice low, calm in that terrifying way storms sometimes are before they destroy everything. “And I’ll make sure you never touch anything again if you don’t.”
Kael’s mouth opened, but he didn’t get a word out before Dagnoth moved.
One punch, a single, clean strike, sent Kael crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. The sound of impact echoed through the tiled washroom, followed by the soft, broken exhale that left Kael’s lungs.
I gasped, pressing a hand to my mouth. Dagnoth didn’t even look winded. He stood there, chest heaving slightly, his eyes still burning with that dangerous golden hue. For a moment, I thought he’d go further tear him apart right there. But then his gaze flicked to me.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, and for a second, his voice was softer.
I blinked, my throat tightening. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t believe me. His gaze slid down to the scratch on my collarbone where Kael’s ring had caught my skin. It had already started to heal, the faint shimmer of wolf regeneration working beneath the surface, but Dagnoth’s eyes narrowed like the sight offended him.
“Simone!” he barked. His beta appeared in seconds, as if summoned by thought. “Take him out of my sight.”
Kael groaned, pushing himself off the wall. “You don’t scare me, Draculis I will get back at you.”
The words were cut short when Simone grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out. Dagnoth didn’t even glance back.
I pressed my back to the wall, trying to breathe. The scent of blood, command, and old tension filled the air, so thick I could barely think. He turned back to me, stepping closer. Too close, I could feel his breath on my chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice rough.
“Tell you what?” I managed.
“That he was your mate.” His eyes searched mine, sharp and unforgiving.
“Because it doesn’t matter anymore,” I said quietly. “He’s nothing to me now.”
“Nothing?” he repeated, his voice like a dangerous whisper. “He had his hands on you.”
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “And you took care of it, didn’t you?”
That seemed to surprise him, the defiance in my tone. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then, to my shock, he reached out, his thumb grazing the cut near my collarbone.
It was such a simple gesture, but the heat that came with it… My wolf stirred, pressing against my ribs.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
“It’s already healing,” I whispered, stepping back, needing distance. “I don’t need...”
“You’re going to the infirmary,” he interrupted, his tone final.
“Dagnoth, that’s unnecessary…”
“Do not argue,” he said, and there was that dangerous command in his voice again, the one that made everyone obey before they even realized they’d agreed.
I sighed. Fighting him was useless.
The trip to the infirmary was silent. His stride was purposeful, his shoulders tense, and his presence magnetic as always; it was enough that wolves we passed instinctively bowed their heads.
I hated how aware I was of him, the heat radiating from him, and the way the faint smell of his cologne clung to his skin.
When we arrived, the healer looked startled to see us both. Dagnoth didn’t say a word; he just gestured toward me. “See to her.”
“It’s just a scratch,” I muttered.
“Then it won’t take long,” he said.
The healer cleaned the wound, even though it was nearly invisible by then. Dagnoth stood by the door, arms crossed, watching every motion. The silence between us was thick and charged. I could feel his eyes on me, studying me like I was an experiment, assessing me with his scrutinizing eyes like he was trying to see through my skin or read whatever I was thinking.
When it was over, the healer bowed and left us alone.
I turned to leave, desperate to escape the weight of his stare, but his voice stopped me cold.
“Who’s the father of your pups?”
The question hit harder than any blow.
My heart stopped.
I turned slowly, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable calm, too calm but his eyes were a storm.
“What?” I whispered.
He stepped closer, his tone low and dangerous. “The pups. Are they his?”
I swallowed hard. “It wasn't in the agreement to ask.”
“I have every right,” he cut in sharply. “You live under my roof. You bear my protection. You sit at my table with my name on your tongue. I have a right to know who the hell they belong to.”
My wolf stirred, growling low in my mind. Don’t break.
I took a deep breath. “They’re mine,” I said quietly. “That’s all I can say for now.”
He studied me for a long moment. I could tell he was trying to read the truth from my face, maybe my heartbeat, maybe my scent. But I’d spent years learning how to hide pain.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I forced a small, tight smile. “Maybe that’s because it doesn’t deserve one.”
For the first time, his control cracked. His eyes flashed, and I could feel the faint tremor of his wolf pressing against his skin. For a heartbeat, I thought he might lash out, not in violence, but in the kind of fury that bends the air around it.
But he didn’t.
We didn’t return to the meeting or pack to his palace; as I was about to exit the carriage, he spoke.
“You’ll stay in your quarters until I call for you.”
“Dagnoth...”
“Until I call for you,” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.
I stood there as he left, the sound of his boots fading down the hall. My heart still raced, my breath uneven.
When the door shut behind him, I finally exhaled. My hands trembled slightly, and my wolf whispered in my mind, You should have told him.
"No," I whispered back. He can’t know. Not yet.
Because if he did, if he realized the truth, everything would burn again.