Chapter Fourteen

Lila’s POV

The dream starts the same way it always does.

I’m back in the garden behind the Silver Moon pack house. Moonlight spills over the grass like spilled milk, cold and pale. Marcus stands under the willow tree, smiling that slow, oily smile that never reaches his eyes. He’s wearing the same dark shirt he had on the night he hit me, crisp collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking every inch the perfect alpha heir.

He steps forward. I step back.

“You’re mine, Lila,” he says, voice smooth as poison. “You’ve always been mine.”

I try to run. My feet sink into the grass like it’s mud. The ground pulls at me, heavy, greedy. He’s closer now. His hand reaches out. Fingers wrap around my wrist, not hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to remind me I can’t pull away.

“You don’t get to say no,” he whispers. His breath is hot against my ear. “You don’t get to run.”

I jerk. The dream fractures. Suddenly I’m in the pack house hallway, the one with the long runner my mother used to walk barefoot on. Marcus is behind me. His hand slams against the wall beside my head. Wood cracks. I flinch so hard my shoulder hits the opposite wall.

He laughs...low, amused. “Still fighting. Cute.”

His other hand comes up. Open palm. The slap is coming. I know the sound before it lands, the sharp crack, the sting that blooms across my cheek, the way my lip splits and blood fills my mouth.

I scream.

The scream rips me awake.

I bolt upright in bed, sheets tangled around my legs, chest heaving. My throat is raw. The room is dark except for the faint silver glow coming through the window, moonlight, not dawn yet. My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts. Sweat soaks my shirt. I’m shaking. Violent, uncontrollable tremors that start in my hands and spread everywhere.

I press my palms to my eyes. Try to breathe. Try to remember where I am.

Bloodmoon. My room. Safe.

Not safe enough.

The door flies open.

Darius.

He’s shirtless, barefoot, wearing only loose sleep pants. His hair is wild, eyes glowing faintly in the dark, alpha sight cutting through the shadows. He scans the room like he’s looking for an enemy, then his gaze lands on me.

He crosses the space in two strides.

“Lila.”

His voice is rough from sleep, but it’s steady. Anchoring.

I can’t speak. My teeth are chattering. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He sits on the edge of the mattress. Reaches for me, slow, careful, giving me time to pull away. I don’t. I can’t.

His arms come around me. Strong. Warm. One hand cups the back of my head, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. The other wraps around my back, pulling me against his chest. He’s solid. Real. Smells like pine and smoke and something deeper, alpha, pack, home.

I break.

The sob tears out of me before I can stop it. Ugly. Raw. My fingers claw into his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch. Just holds tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “You’re here. You’re safe. He can’t touch you.”

I shake my head against his neck. Tears soak his skin. “He was there. He.....he hit me. Again. Said I was his. Said I couldn’t run.”

Darius’s arms tighten. I feel the tremor in them, not fear. Rage. Controlled. Leashed. For me.

“He’s wrong,” Darius says. Low. Fierce. “You’re not his. You never were.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. His face is hard lines in the moonlight, jaw clenched, eyes burning. But his hands stay gentle. One strokes down my spine in slow, soothing passes. The other cradles my cheek, thumb wiping tears I didn’t know were falling.

“I couldn’t stop him,” I whisper. “In the dream. I couldn’t run. I tried, but the ground.....”

“It was a dream,” he says. Firm. “He’s not here. He can’t get to you.”

“But he’s looking. The scouts.....”

“We’ll handle them.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, soft, almost reverent. “And if he ever gets close enough to try, I’ll tear him apart. Slowly.”

The promise is quiet. Deadly. It should scare me. It doesn’t.

I lean into his hand. Close my eyes. Let the warmth of his palm sink into my skin.

He shifts. Lifts me, easy, like I weigh nothing, and settles us both back against the headboard. Me between his legs, back to his chest, his arms wrapped around me from behind. Blanket pulled up over us both. His heartbeat thuds steady against my spine. Strong. Reassuring.

I let out a shaky breath.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “If you want.”

I hesitate. Then the words spill out, halting at first, then faster.

“He started small. Comments. Touches that lingered. Then he cornered me. Kissed me without asking. When I pushed him away, he laughed. Said I’d learn. The night he hit me… we were arguing about the ceremony. I told him I didn’t want him. He slapped me so hard I saw stars. My father walked in right after. Saw the mark. And he said… he said it was my fault. That I’d provoked him. That omegas yield. That was the night I decided to run.”

Darius is still. Too still. I can feel the tension in every muscle pressed against me.

“I wanted to kill him then,” he says. Voice rough. “I still do.”

“Don’t.” I twist to look at him. “Not for me.”

His eyes meet mine. Dark. Stormy. “For you. For every mark he left. For every time you had to swallow your fear.”

I turn back. Rest my head against his chest again. Listen to his heartbeat slow. Steady.

He presses his lips to my temple. Soft. Brief. Not a kiss so much as a promise.

“Sleep,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I believe him.

I close my eyes.

His hand finds mine under the blanket. Fingers lace through mine. Warm. Safe.

The room is quiet except for our breathing. His chest rises and falls against my back. Slow. Even. Guiding mine to match.

I don’t dream again.

When I wake, dawn is creeping through the window. Gray light. Soft.

Darius is still there.

Arms around me. Chin resting on the top of my head. Breathing deep and slow. One hand splayed across my stomach, protective. Possessive. Warm.

I don’t move.

I just lie there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the steady thud of his heart against my spine, the weight of his arm like armor.

For the first time in years, I don’t feel alone in my own skin.

I don’t feel hunted.

I feel… held.

And it’s the most terrifying, beautiful thing I’ve ever known.