The man approached, but instead of hostility, his head dipped low in respect. His tone was formal, deferential, something she wasn't used to hearing anymore.

"Miss. Veyra, don't be afraid. I am not here to harm you. Mr. Volkov needs your help."

Sloane blinked, unease prickling her skin.

Her thoughts leapt to the boy on the plane.

"Did something happen to Jeremy?" she asked sharply.

The bodyguard's face turned grave, voice carrying the weight of an oath.

"It would be best if you came with me and saw for yourself."

All sorts of things ran through Sloane's mind, and she rushed with the bodyguards. They entered the Volkov's estate and it was not something that Sloane hadn't seen.

She was not interested in luxuries or show off, she had lived her life as a decent wolf and would love to do that in the future too.

She was escorted straight to a room, and when Sloane entered it, she felt like she was teleported into a war zone.

The whole room was torn into pieces, and the orchestrator of the whole mess was growling in anger.

Solane's eyes widened as she noticed his little claws coming out, but as soon as they came, they were gone.

What the hell is wrong with him, Sloane wondered.

And on the other corner, the man was standing, still aloof, but anger radiating from him.

"Call him! Ask him how much time it will take," Dominic growled, his eyes focused on Jeremy.

Seeing Dominic's serious expression, Sloane jumped between them, trying to protect Jeremy from his uncle's wrath.

"He is a kid," Solane reasoned.

Dominic squinted his eyes.

"Don't worry honey. I am here." Sloane whispered to Jeremy.

The child who was ready to tear everyone apart smiled and ran to hug Solane.

"Don't touch," Dominic gritted his teeth. His Alpha aura flared, making people wince.

The temperature of the room dropped drastically; every eye was focused on Sloane and Dominic.

Ignoring Dominic and others' stares, she went down to hug him, and he preened like a cat under her touch.

Everyone's heart stopped; they were waiting for the bomb to blow, but to all their surprise Dominic chuckled.

The dead weight of the situation was weighing heavily on all the staff.

Sloane sat on the edge of the bed, one hand brushing gently through Jeremy's hair, whispering soft reassurances until the boy's trembling finally gave way to the steady rhythm of sleep. Around them, people lingered in tense silence, their eyes darting toward the tall figure in the corner.

Dominic.

Cold, unyielding, his very presence seemed to tighten the air. Shadows clung to him like armor, and no one dared to step too close. His reputation had already done enough damage, fear preceded him, filling the ruined room far more than the wreckage ever could.

When Jeremy's small breaths evened out, Sloane carefully rose to her feet. She tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders and turned toward the doorway, intent on slipping out quietly.

But before she could take a step, Dominic moved. A wall of muscle and ice, his hand came up to bar her path.

Her heart jolted, but she forced her face into something unreadable. "Move," she said firmly. "I need to leave."

His gaze swept over her, unreadable, but unflinching. "Do you know who I am?" His voice was smooth, deep, yet threaded with something darker.

Sloane let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes as if the room's tension didn't already weigh like chains. "Yes, I know. Alpha Dominic Volkov, the untouchable heir." She tilted her chin, daring him to argue. "Just because you're rich doesn't mean you get to bully people."

Something flickered across his face, not anger, not amusement, but a quiet calculation. Slowly, Dominic shook his head, as though her defiance was both irritating and oddly fascinating.

"I'm not here to bully you, Miss. Sloane," he said at last, his voice dropping lower, steadier. "I have a proposition in mind."

Sloane's brows arched, suspicion flaring. "A proposition? What proposition?"

Dominic didn't hesitate. "You'll look after Jeremy." His gaze cut toward the sleeping boy, softening only for a fraction of a second before hardening again. "And in return, I'll keep you safe."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint creak of the broken window frame in the wind. Sloane's chest rose and fell as she weighed his words. The offer was tempting, too tempting, and Dominic knew it.

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. "Fine," she said carefully. "But I have a condition."

His eyes narrowed, sharp with intrigue. "A condition?" His tone carried the faintest hint of challenge, as though he expected her to falter.

Sloane met his stare head-on, her own voice low but steady. "Not just here. Not just within these ruined walls, or in this territory." She stepped closer, chin lifting. "If I'm to do this for you, I need your protection everywhere, even beyond your borders."

For the first time, Dominic's lips curved, not quite a smile, but something close, a glint of interest, maybe even respect. His voice was calm, yet dangerous in its certainty.

"Bold," he murmured, tilting his head. "Very bold."

**

Back in the Blackthorn territory.

Damon Blackthorn woke with a pounding skull, sprawled across the leather couch, still in last night's clothes. No blanket, no comfort, just the stale taste of liquor and the stench of the room around him.

On the floor Caleb clutched a pillow in his sleep, face pressed against the carpet. The mess from the night before was brutal, half-empty bottles, overturned glasses, and a dark stain of vomit near the table.

Damon's jaw tightened, shadows cutting hard across his features.

"Where the hell is Sloane? Why hasn't this been cleaned?"

His voice cracked through the silence, harsh enough to rattle the air. But no reply came. Only the faint stirring of Caleb, jolted awake by the sharpness of his father's tone.

The boy blinked, and his face crumpled in pain.

"Ouch! It hurts, it really hurts!"

He clutched his arm, wailing in panic.

Damon's temples throbbed harder. His hangover roared, and the noise clawed at his nerves.

"Stop crying," he snapped, voice like ice. "You are an Alpha. What's wrong?"

Caleb's sobs cut short, replaced with hiccuping sniffles. "Dad. my arm. it really hurts."

The bruises stood out stark against the boy's pale skin, running the length of his arm. He tried to lift it, but the pain twisted his small face, leaving him frozen and trembling on the floor.

For a long moment, Damon only stared, tired, unblinking, unreadable. Then, with a low breath, he leaned back and pulled his phone from his pocket.

The first name in his contacts: Sloane.

His thumb hit the call button without hesitation. As the line rang, his expression remained like stone.

She was working overnight again. Always gone. Always leaving him to this chaos.

She should have quit by now. She should have been here.

Damon pressed the phone harder to his ear, jaw tightening as the automated voice echoed back at him: The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.

He lowered the phone slowly, eyes narrowing, the silence in the room thick with his rage.

"So, that's how it is?" he muttered under his breath, voice low and dangerous. His knuckles whitened around the device. "One fight, and now she thinks she can play games with me? She pulls that ridiculous bond-dissolution stunt, and now-what? Vanishes? Won't even pick up her damn phone?"

I am an Alpha, he smirked.

The bitterness in his tone was sharp enough to cut glass. He let out a dark, humorless laugh. "Fine. Let her. When she comes crawling back, and she will. And then I'll make sure she regrets every second of it."

His thoughts were interrupted by Caleb's cries, high-pitched and raw. He couldn't believe he was his son. The sound drilled into his skull, worsening the pounding hangover already tearing through him. Damon pinched the bridge of his nose and barked out, "Enough!" before dialing the pack doctor.

The man answered quickly, voice calm, too calm for Damon's liking. After a few questions, the doctor's verdict was clear: "He'll be fine, Alpha. Just bruises. With his wolf blood, he'll heal in less than a day."

Damon's irritation only deepened. His lip curled, and he exhaled a sharp breath through his nose. "Then stop wasting my time with noise," he snapped, his voice like the crack of a whip.

He shoved the phone into his pocket and turned on the others lingering in the room. "All of you, out." His glare silenced any protest. "Take Caleb to school. Now."

The order rang absolute, cold as steel.

No one dared argue.

Caleb's cries only grew louder when the attendants tried to tug him toward the door. He clutched his sore arm to his chest, tears streaking his face as he turned to his father.

"Dad, please! I'm not feeling well. I can't go to school like this!" His voice cracked with desperation.

Damon's head lifted slowly, his dark gaze pinning the boy in place. The room went deathly still, everyone sensing the storm about to break.

"So what if you're not well?" Damon's tone was ice, threaded with disdain. He rose to his feet, towering over his son. "You will be well. That's how it works. You are supposed to heal, to endure. Consider this your test as the next Alpha."

Caleb's sobs shook his small frame. "But it hurts," he whispered, clutching tighter at his arm.

The sound grated against Damon's ears. His expression hardened, cruelty slipping through like cracks in stone.

"Pathetic," he bit out. His voice was low, but the sting of it was sharper than any slap. "Crying over bruises? You call yourself my son? You're a waste of Alpha blood."

The words cut through the boy like a blade. Caleb's face crumpled, his sobs turning ragged, but he didn't argue. He couldn't.

The others in the room lowered their gazes, fear and unease pooling in the silence. No one dared speak for the boy. Not when Damon Blackthorn had spoken.

The pack doctor lingered, shifting on his feet, then finally cleared his throat. "Alpha. forgive me for asking, but. are you well? Do you need anything for the pain? Medicine, perhaps?"

Damon's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing into a lethal glare. The cold edge in his voice froze the room. "I said everything is fine. Do I look like I need your pity?"

The doctor lowered his gaze instantly. "Of course not, Alpha." With that, silence swallowed the room again.

An hour dragged by, thick with Damon's brooding presence. He sat back in the chair, one leg crossed, fingers drumming against the armrest as his thoughts circled back to Sloane. Her absence, her silence, it clawed at him, but in a twisted way, it only fed his pride.

Then, a knock broke the quiet. Soft at first, then louder.

A smirk curved across Damon's lips. Finally.

"She's ready to crawl back," he murmured, standing. His phone buzzed at the same time, vibrating against the table. He didn't bother to look, certain it was her. Certain she couldn't stay away.

The phone buzzed again, insistently. His anticipation rose like fire in his veins, a heady mix of triumph and satisfaction. He answered without hesitation, his voice cool, mocking. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

But the reply wasn't Sloane's.

"Good afternoon, Alpha," a polite voice said. "We've arrived to begin redecorating young Master Caleb's room. May we come in?"

Damon froze. The smirk vanished, replaced with a blank stare. For the first time in hours, he said nothing, just silence, heavy and sharp.

The high he'd been riding crashed instantly, leaving only the bitter taste of disappointment in its place.

"Come another day." He didn't wait for a response, shoving the phone aside before sinking deeper into the leather chair, irritation clawing at his chest.

By evening, he sat at the long dining table, its polished surface gleaming under the warm lights. The staff moved silently around him, setting dish after dish, each detail perfect, just as it always had been. Damon picked up his fork, tasting the first bite. Familiar flavors. Order. Control. Nothing had changed.

For a moment, he let the food anchor him, ease the pounding in his temples. Good. Stable. Predictable.

But then he asked, almost absently, "Where are the mashed potatoes?"

The dish was placed before him quickly. Damon scooped a spoonful, brought it to his mouth.

And froze.

His expression darkened instantly. He set the spoon down with a sharp clink, the air around him crackling with tension. "What the hell is this?" His voice cut through the room like a blade. "I've never tasted something like this. Who let this leave the kitchen?"

The head chef stepped forward nervously, bowing his head. "Alpha, forgive me. I. I tried to replicate Luna's recipe. The staff have grown used to serving it her way. But-" He faltered, swallowing. "We ran out of her special sauce. That may be why it tastes different."

The name hit Damon like a slap. His grip on the fork tightened until the metal groaned.

Luna. Sloane. Always Sloane.

Even here, in his house, in his meals, she lingered like a shadow he couldn't shake.

He pushed the plate away, disgust and fury twisting in his gut. His jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed, sharp with promise.

"She thinks she can leave me behind. She thinks she can play her games and walk away untouched." His voice was low, almost a growl, meant only for himself.

Damon leaned back, a cruel smirk tugging at his mouth as his anger burned into resolve.

"She won't get far. I'll make her pay."

The emergency ward buzzed with the usual chaos, stretchers rolling past, monitors beeping, and the low hum of voices layered over the sharp calls of nurses. Sloane moved through it all with practiced calm, her white coat swaying behind her as she charted down vitals.

Jeremy trailed behind her like a little shadow, his small hand clutching the edge of her coat. Eight years old and far too quiet for his age, he followed wherever she went. She didn't mind, his presence had become something she'd grown used to, a steady rhythm in the whirlwind of the hospital.

But then she noticed it.

Near the far corner, an injured man lay on a gurney, surrounded by a wall of black-clad bodyguards. Their presence was a sharp contrast to the sterile hospital scene.

The shadowclaw territory was deep in war like situation. The territory was rich therefore mant packs wanted the share of it.

Sloane frowned. Security details weren't uncommon, but the way they stood, unyielding, tense, made the air feel heavier.

She straightened her shoulders and approached.

"I need to check on him," she said firmly, stepping closer. "I'm the attending doctor."

One of the bodyguards blocked her path instantly, his glare cold enough to burn. "You can't touch our boss." His voice was laced with disdain. "You're not worthy enough."

Before she could react, his hand shoved her back, not hard enough to injure, but enough to humiliate. Sloane's breath hitched, her jaw tightening.

"Hey!" Jeremy burst out, stepping forward with his little fists balled up. But when he tried to shield her, the bodyguard shoved him too. The boy stumbled backward, almost hitting the ground.

That was when the air changed.

A surge of power swept through the ward, invisible yet suffocating. The hairs on the back of Sloane's neck stood on end as a deep, primal energy pressed down on everyone present.

Dominic had entered.

His eyes burned with fury, his Alpha aura unfurling like a storm. The bodyguards faltered, their hands twitching, feet shifting nervously as fear prickled through them. Even the injured man on the gurney seemed to stir under the weight of it.

But before the man could speak, before Sloane could even reach him, the bodyguards dragged him away in a rush, vanishing down the hall with mechanical efficiency.

The tension lingered in the air like smoke after fire.

Sloane turned, her pulse still racing, and found Dominic's gaze locked on hers.

For a heartbeat, the chaos of the ward seemed to fall away. His eyes held hers, dark, intense, carrying the weight of power and something else she couldn't name. She felt it deep in her chest, a pull she hadn't expected.

Jeremy clung to her side, but neither she nor Dominic looked away.

Something had shifted.

Sloane fell into step beside Dominic as the gurney disappeared down the corridor. The silence between them pressed heavier than the Alpha's aura still lingering in the air. Finally, she asked, her voice steady though her chest was tight,

"Do you. know that man?"

Dominic's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed forward. But he didn't answer. His silence was louder than any words.

Sloane's brows furrowed, unease pricking her. She shook it off and pushed open the doors to the emergency room.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense, panic humming beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. The injured man lay pale and sweating on the table, his chest heaving, while several doctors and nurses clustered around him. Their hurried movements carried an undercurrent of fear, not competence.

When their eyes landed on her, the shift was instant.

"You shouldn't be here," one doctor snapped. "Leave at once."

"I'm a doctor," Sloane replied firmly, stepping closer to the bed.

The man groaned low in his throat, his hand curling weakly against the sheet. His aura was volatile, barely contained, as if his very presence burned.

The male nurse nearest to him rounded on Sloane. "Can't you see his anger? You'll only make it worse. Step back before you endanger us all."

Another doctor moved toward her, hand raised to usher her out. "You're too young. Treating him isn't something you can shoulder."

They were seconds away from physically escorting her out when the door slammed open behind them.

Dominic entered.

The room stilled immediately, his presence commanding silence. His gaze cut through the doctors before settling on Sloane. "What's happening here?"

One of the senior physicians spoke quickly, nervously. "Alpha, with respect, letting her near him is a risk. She insists she can treat him, but she isn't experienced enough. This is beyond her capacity."

Dominic's eyes flicked back to Sloane, his expression unreadable. "Are you confident you can treat him?"

Every gaze in the room turned toward her, the weight of skepticism pressing down.

Sloane lifted her chin. "Yes. I am blessed with the Moon Goddess's divine power." Her voice did not waver, even as the room erupted in disbelief.

"That's reckless!" one of the doctors argued. "My Alpha, trusting her is a gamble. If she fails, the consequences"

"Enough." Dominic's tone cut like steel.

He didn't look at them. His eyes never left Sloane's.