Chapter 32: The Aftermath

The ride back to White Moon was silent.

Dante had shifted into his massive black wolf, running ahead with his warriors close behind, ensuring they weren't followed.

Bella rode on Chase's back, too weak to shift, her entire body aching, burning with the bond.

By the time they reached the packhouse, dawn was breaking over the mountains.

Dante shifted first, standing at the entrance, watching as Bella slid off Chase's back.

The moment her feet hit the ground, her legs nearly buckled.

Dante was there instantly, catching her before she could fall.

Bella sucked in a sharp breath, her hands fisting into his bare chest before she could stop herself.

The heat between them ignited.

Fierce. Blinding. Overwhelming.

Dante's grip on her waist was tight, firm, steady.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice rough, low, dangerous.

Bella's throat tightened.

Because fuck, she knew.

She knew if she let him hold her any longer, if she let herself melt into him, she wouldn't be able to pull away.

"I don't need your help, Dante."

Dante stiffened.

Then, after a long moment, he let her go.

Bella immediately missed his warmth.

But she forced herself to turn and walk away.

Because if she stayed any longer—

She would break.

Dante's Control is Slipping

Dante stood at the entrance of the packhouse, watching her disappear inside.

His hands were still shaking.

His wolf was howling inside him, demanding he go after her, drag her back, remind her exactly who she belonged to.

But he didn't.

Because he wasn't that man anymore.

He had already taken her choice away once.

He wouldn't do it again.

But fuck, it was killing him.

Feeling her this close, but not touching her.

Not having her wrapped around him, not feeling her heartbeat against his.

And the worst part?

He knew she wanted him too.

The bond was pulling at her just as violently as it was pulling at him.

But Bella was stubborn.

And if he wanted her to surrender, if he wanted her to come to him willingly—

He had to break her first.

A slow smirk curled at his lips.

Fine.

If she wanted to fight this—if she wanted to make him suffer—

Then he was going to make sure she suffered just as much.

She wanted a war?

She had no idea what she just started.