Chapter 6
Years ago, Alpha Dorian and I made a rule: as long as the mate bond between Atticus and me remained in effect, I could never tell him the truth–that he should have died the night of the crash.
So in all of Nightfall Pack, he was the only one who didn’t know.
He could never understand why the Elders refused to let him separate from me.
When Elder Soren sighed, Atticus gave a sharp, scornful laugh.
“Uncle Soren, are you senile now? Teaming up with Seraphina to lie to me?”
Arrogant as ever, he didn’t see the reckoning closing in.
The next day, Atticus accompanied business partners on a tour of the construction site.
Halfway through, the world tilted.
At first he blamed the heat, took a short rest, then pushed up–only for his knees to fold. He hit the ground hard and coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The partners blanched.
“Alpha! Are you all right?” The
www shed him to the hospital.
The healer studied the scans, face tightening.
“Sir… did you suffer a major car accident?”
Atticus felt his stomach drop. “Eight years ago.‘
“The laceration on your liver doesn’t look like something you could live with for eight years.”
The healer tapped the film, disbelief written all over him. “By rights, you should have been dead.”
He heard himself say it and snapped his mouth shut.
Cold sank through Atticus like a plunge into black water.
He drove back to the pack as fast as he could, the pressure in his chest mounting. He stepped out of the car and vomited another scarlet mouthful across the flagstones.
The warriors at the gate stared. He forced out a roar. “Find the balm the Luna left me. Now!”
But he had shattered those jars himself days ago and sent the remains to the dump.
Nothing was left.
The rooms had been scrubbed spotless.
Rage slammed through him. He pounded the wall, then tore the place apart.
He yanked open his closet–and froze.
Every suit hung in perfect order. Not a single piece missing.
He’d always assumed I was vain and would take the valuables when I left.
Yet when I left, I hadn’t even taken my own clothes.
His throat closed.
He kept searching until he pulled a timeworn journal from a desk drawer.
Alpha Dorian’s hand lay there in steady strokes:
Chapter 6
Galato
–
[2017 Atticus was in a car crash.
I begged Seraphina Lark to keep him alive with the pack’s secret incense.]
[Term: ten years. If Atticus betrays her, cut the incense. Once it stops, he dies.]
So few lines; a death sentence all the same.
Cold sweat crawled down his spine.
Regret and fear flooded him.
14
A memory jolted him: I used to tuck an emergency Moonbinding incense balm into his suit pocket.
Hope sparked. He lunged for the closet.
Empty. The suits were gone.
While he reeled, Anya breezed in, humming.
She tipped her chin up, smug light in her eyes.
“I had the housekeeper send your suits out. They should be back from the dry cleaner by now.”
She let a sly gleam show and twisted the knife.
“That Seraphina is vicious. She stuck a balm into every pocket. If I hadn’t found them first, you’d be dead by slow poison already.”
Chapter 6
