Chapter 9

JACKLA

My hand left his wound and traveled up his arm, my fingers digging slightly into his locked bicep. I didn’t pull away from his grip on my neck; I leveraged it, using the proximity to breathe my demands straight into his mouth.

“I'm still waiting for the condition, Little Foxy. What is it you really want?" he whispered, his dark eyes burning with a fever that was eating him alive from inside out.

“You drop the act. You stop trying to stand here like a statue and sit the fuck down before you collapse. You admit that you’re in pain, right now, in front of me. And you will let me do exactly what I need to do to fix you, without a single growl or Alpha bullshit. For the next hour, your pride belongs to me.”

He raised a dark brow, a rough, mocking sound catching in his throat. “That doesn’t sound like one condition. Why should I listen to you? Why should I let those hands anywhere near me?”

“Do you want to feel better or not?” I scoffed, my gaze dropping to his mouth. He was trembling, a microscopic tremor that told me his strength was a lie. “I know you do. Stop being a martyr.”

“I’ll get the healer,” he rasped.

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“Out of town,” he bit out, his jaw locking so hard I heard the bone click.

“No other healers in this entire fortress?” I pushed, my chest brushing his bare skin with every breath.

“I don’t let just anyone touch me. Brandy is trusted. Are you always like this?” He leaned down, his forehead nearly touching mine. “Sharp-mouthed, invading spaces, disturbing the peace?”

“I guess you’re out of options,” I mocked. “Unless you want to bleed out in your personal space.”

“Fine.” The word was a growl of total defeat. He let go of my neck, the loss of his touch leaving my skin cold. He turned, walking toward the bed with a slow, heavy gait that made my heart stutter.

“So now,” I said, following the scent of his heat. 

“Tell me everything.”

He hit the mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. He leaned back, chest heaving, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I have enemies that want me dead. They want my seat as the head of the mafia in Lunaria.”

The air left the room. The head of the mafia? My blood ran cold. I never knew that. I looked at him…pale, sweating, and broken…and realized the monster I was supposed to kill was the most dangerous man in Lunaria. 

“I was shot with a silver bullet and truthfully I’m in so much pain,” he admitted finally.

I gasped, the air catching in my throat. Silver was a death sentence for werewolves. No wonder his body was failing to knit itself back together. My mind raced…when did this happen? He was fine last night. 

Was this the real reason we had moved to this fortress? I shoved the questions down. He needed to rest, not an interrogation.

I forced him to lie back against the pillows. The healer’s work was professional but messy now, the bandages soaked through with a dark, sluggish fluid. I found a medical kit in his drawer and knelt beside the bed. 

His obsidian eyes never left me, tracking every move I made with a heavy, predatory focus that made my skin prickle. I peeled away the old patches and cleaned the jagged entry wound. Then I used a fresh one to cover the spot.

My hands were steady, but my heart was a frantic bird against my ribs. I took a wet towel and began to wipe the sweat from his skin. I started at his forehead and worked my way down, my hands trailing over the hard ridges of his chest and down toward his abdomen.

I swallowed hard, the heat radiating off him making my own body flush.

“You’ve been staring,” he whispered, his voice stripped of its usual power but still thick with intent. “Want some?”

“No thank you,” I snapped, my voice tighter than I intended.

“You sure you don’t want a taste, Little Foxy?”

“Don’t call me that!”

He let out a weak, dark chuckle that vibrated through the mattress. “So, is this the only condition you’ll give me in our marriage?”

I froze, my hand hovering over his hip. “I never said that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, his gaze darkening. “So I’m allowed to touch and fuck you whenever and however I like?”

The words hit me like a physical touch. I was speechless, my mouth hanging open as the raw, sexual gravity of his demand pulled at me.

“I’ll take that as a yes again.”

“Fuck you, Morano!”

“I’d rather fuck you instead,” he countered instantly.

I leaned over him, my face inches from his, the scent of his skin filling my senses. “Are you always this talkative? Stop talking or I’ll shut your mouth for you.”

I looked straight into his eyes, and for a second, the hatred and the desire were exactly the same thing.

“Then shut it,” he whispered.

I leaned in close, watching his pupils blown wide with anticipation. He steadied himself, his head tilting back as he waited for my lips to crash against his. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I wouldn't kiss a monster. 

Instead, I slid three of my fingers into his mouth, blocking his voice and sealing his lips. The heat of his mouth was a shock. The feel of his tongue swirling around my fingertips made me instantly regret the move. A jolt of pure, electric fire shot straight between my thighs. 

My body betrayed me, my mind racing to images of those soft, dangerous lips against my most intimate places. I imagined his tongue doing things that would break me. I stared into his stunned eyes, holding him there until he finally calmed, then I slowly slipped my fingers out, feeling the slick wetness follow my skin.

He was speechless, staring at me as if he were taking me right there with his eyes alone.

“Did the healer give you any pills?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my effort to stay cold.

“In the drawer,” he replied hoarsely.

“Why didn’t you take them?”

“I’m an Alpha,” he grunted. “I’ll heal on my own.”

I scoffed at his stubborn pride. “You don’t look like you’re healing at all.” I grabbed the glass from the bedside table and forced the pills into his hand. Once he swallowed them, I poured a small amount of oil into my palms.

I began to massage his shoulders and neck, my thumbs digging into the knots of his tightened muscles. He let out a low, soft groan that vibrated through the bed, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally surrendered to the touch. When the tension finally left his frame, I climbed off the bed.

I slipped out and headed to the kitchen. I moved quickly, gathering spices and herbs to brew a hot soup that would heal him from the inside out. But as I stirred the pot, the silence of the cabin felt heavy.

When I began the walk back to his room, I stopped short. The shadows in the hallway had changed. Men in black suits, gripping heavy guns, were stationed at every corner. They weren't the usual guards. 

There were more of them now, their eyes cold and scanning the halls as if expecting an army. I clutched the tray tighter, the heat of the soup warming my hands, while my blood ran cold at the sight of the men. 

Morano was still out, his chest rising in shallow, jagged beats. I shook his shoulder until his obsidian eyes flickered open, hazy with fever. I handed him the bowl. I wanted to feed him, to feel the weight of his head against my hand, but I stopped myself. 

I had made this same soup for Ryan every time he caught a cold. Now, the steam was rising into the face of the man who had put Ryan in the ground. The self-loathing tasted like ash in my throat.

He finished the bowl in seconds, his throat working as he swallowed the last drop. He set the dish down and leaned back, his gaze lingering on the empty ceramic.

"It doesn't taste like poison," he rasped, his voice a low vibration. "Usually, things that look that messy are hard to swallow. This stayed down."

"Was that a compliment?" I raised a brow, but he just stared at me, the silence stretching between us until it felt like a wire about to snap.

His eyes began to wander, tracing the line of my throat down to the thin yellow silk of my dress. "You look stunning in that color," he murmured. The words were soft, almost like a dream. "With your red hair across your shoulders and those breasts... magnificent."

I froze. Was he sleep-talking? The Morano I knew wouldn’t compliment me.

"But next time," he hissed, the fever-dream turning into a growl, "wear something that makes only me stare at you like that. You are mine. Not Jake’s. Mine."

Possessiveness rolled off him in waves. He was territorial even while dying. I stood up abruptly. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't keep fixing a monster just so he could go back to being a devil. Every kind act felt like a betrayal to Ryan's memory.

I reached the door, my hand trembling on the handle, when his voice sliced through the dark.

"How do you know so much about the mafia business, Jayla?"

I paused, looking back over my shoulder at the predator in the bed. I let a sharp, bitter smile touch my lips.

"Well, darling, when you spend your life avoiding monsters, you eventually learn exactly how they hunt."