Denial

Unknown's POV

Watching her deny who she was grated on Ryan's nerves. He couldn't place his hand on whether she had truly lost her mind or if she was faking the whole act, trying to mess with his mind.

He heaved a sigh, gulping down the whiskey. It burned down his throat, and he shut his eyes, savoring the unique taste it had to offer.

He walked into the dimly lit room—his boxing room, his sanctuary. He gloved his fists, punching the bags repeatedly. Here, he could vent his anger as long as he wanted without breaking anyone. He punched so hard that the bag broke off the spring, colliding with the walls. He gritted his teeth.

The curtains drew open. He sniffed the air. It was Selina. She smelled like polished wood and roses.

"Not now," he grumbled.

"Oh, my Alpha. I'm not here for the… usual," she purred, her feet slowly padding toward him. She placed her hand on his shoulders, slowly massaging his muscles.

Among all the women he had as Lunas, she was the only one to come this close to him. They all feared him… except her. She understood him. She knew when to keep her distance and when to come close to him.

"What's the problem?" Ryan asked, his voice gruff.

Her polished nails slowly slid down to his balls, and she cupped them in her hand, her soft palm hardening his dick.

"I caught her sneaking to the old woman in the mountains," she mumbled.

He stood still.

"Who?" he asked, hoping it wasn't Kyle.

"Kyle, who else? Perhaps she went to consult the witch on how to escape," she growled.

He bit his lip in frustration, anger bubbling to the surface.

"Where's she at?" he asked, maintaining a calm demeanor—a contrast to the emotion brewing in him.

"In her room. I brought her back," she said politely.

He waved his hand in the air, dismissing her. She slowly walked out of the room. He whirled around, walking into the shower.

The warm water cascaded down his spine, offering him temporary relief. He walked out of the bathroom, slipping into his robe. For a while, he'd forgotten about Kyle.

The shrill ringing of his phone sliced through the air. He walked over to the nightstand and grabbed the phone. His eyes widened in horror, and his heart sank. It was Kyle's parents.

"Hello," he said, his voice gruff. He fought hard to maintain his composure.

"We have a lot of things to handle over here, and we'd appreciate it if you come with my daughter tomorrow," Kyle's father, Williams, said over the phone.

His pulse quickened, his skin turning pale.

"I… I," Ryan tried to speak, but the words faltered.

"You have no excuse not to come. Good day," Williams said with a tone of finality, the line going dead.

He had always come up with an excuse each time the family demanded they show up. He knew sooner or later he'd run out of excuses.

Anabelle sat on the floor in her room, her eyes fixed on the ceiling when he entered.

"We are meeting your parents tomorrow morning," he said coldly, his brow furrowed.

"What?!" she exclaimed. Of course, she was no fool. She could remember clearly Ryan's threat, and she knew better than to doubt he'd follow through, considering that the lady she was playing the role of had humiliated him.

"Can I meet the healer?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"Why?" Ryan asked, shooting her a glare.

She fumbled, thinking of the perfect words to use. "I… I—"

"The healer will be here in minutes. I'll send a message across to her. If you plan to escape again, I'd dig my claws into your throat, and yes, I'll kill her as well," he said, walking out of the room and slamming the door.

A ragged gasp escaped her lips, her shoulders shrugging. A few minutes later, the healer walked in. Ana couldn't help but wonder how she got here so fast, considering the distance. She brushed the thoughts aside and bolted to the healer, tears rolling down her eyes.

"You'll be fine, child. I'll help you prepare for tomorrow," the healer said.

Anabelle wanted to question the old lady on how she knew what was going to happen even before telling her, but she held her peace.

"How am I going to meet them? I have no idea who the fuck they are. I haven't met Kyle. How am I going to perfectly execute this role without getting caught?" Anabelle let out her frustration, sobbing in her arms.

Ryan, who had been at the door listening to the whole conversation, rolled his eyes and walked out. He felt fear seep into his bones. She wasn't faking. She had no idea who she was.

The next day, they got into the hotel room in France. The suites were all filled up, and he had to share the room with Kyle.

"I'll sleep on the floor," she mumbled, moving to the tiled floor.

He hissed, dragging himself to the king-sized bed. Exhaustion weighed him down, and he slept off without batting an eye at her.

At midnight, he could hear the clattering of her teeth. He muttered some words under his breath. He didn't need to turn on the lights to know that she was trembling.

"They always need my help," he hissed, walking toward her. He grabbed her by the waist, slowly dragging her to the bed.

Her lips parted, and she whimpered, squeezing herself into his body. He stared at her face—she looked so vulnerable, so fragile—and for a fleeting moment, he felt the rage that had engulfed him vanish.

His breath brushed against her body, and he leaned very close to her, his fingers instinctively moving to her hair. He felt his heartbeat increase. Sweat trickled down his temples, his muscles stiffening. His wolf was about to take control of him.

"Stay still, buddy," he muttered, shutting his eyes.

Still lost in her sleep, her hand instinctively wrapped around him. She felt cozy, the warmth engulfing her.

He let out a forced exhale, his wolf slowly going still.