Kane’s POV:
What the fuck is happening? Seriously, can soone tell what I’m missing here?
My mate—yes, the sa one who kissed this morning, told to have a good day, and looked at like I hung the damn moon—is now glaring at as though she wants to bury six feet under.
And hates my guts.
She’s practically spitting venom with every word, and the worst part? I have no idea what I did wrong.
The accusations keep flying, too—she claims I was fucking soone else. What the hell? ? When? Where? I’d been at the office all day, dealing with boring alpha responsibilities and counting the seconds until I could co back ho to her.
And yet here she is, walking around like the embodint of rage, looking at like I’m supposed to know what I did. Like it’s written in bold letters across my forehead.
I’m wracking my brain for answers, but there’s nothing. Nada. Zip.
And my wolf isn’t helping either. In fact, he’s making things worse.
"This is your fault," he growls in the back of my mind. "If we’d marked her already, we’d know what’s going on. We’d be able to read her emotions, probe her thoughts, understand her better."
I snarl internally, shutting him up. This isn’t the ti for his lectures, and honestly, it’s not like he’s been a beacon of wisdom lately.
Still, his words sting because, deep down, I know he’s right. If I’d marked her, this wouldn’t be happening. But I didn’t want to rush her. I didn’t want to scare her off. I wanted to give her ti, space—whatever she needed to feel ready.
And now? Now I’m standing here in the middle of this storm, clueless and frustrated out of my mind.
She won’t talk to . Won’t explain what’s going on.
She’s shutting out completely.
And damn it if that doesn’t hurt more than her anger.
What the hell just happened?
She cos ho late, her eyes red and swollen—clearly, she’s been crying. Before I can even say a word, she marches straight past , heading to our room like a storm ready to tear everything apart.
I follow her, bewildered, only to find her digging through the closet. She pulls out a dress—a dress so stunning, so sinful, that it feels like a slap to my face just imagining anyone else seeing her in it.
That dress is for my eyes only.
She strides to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. I’m left standing there, jaw tight, trying to piece together what the hell is going on.
By the ti she walks back out, my mind goes completely blank.
She’s breathtaking. Her skin glows, her hair tumbles in loose curls that scream perfection, and that dress—fuck, it hugs her curves like it was made for her.
I can’t even form a coherent sentence as I watch her bend down to put on those white heels.
God help , I’m a goner.
But then reality slaps in the face, hard.
She’s not seriously planning on going out dressed like that, is she? Not with the tension in the air, not when she looks like she’s trying to slay every man in sight with one look.
Hell no. Not happening.
"You’re not going anywhere dressed like that," I growl finally, my voice low, sharp, commanding.
She freezes for a mont, then turns to with a laugh—a laugh that isn’t lighthearted or amused. No, this one is dark and full of mockery.
It’s like a blade to my chest.
"And who’s going to stop ? You?" she throws back, arching a brow, her defiance cutting through the room.
"Elena," I say, my tone a warning now. I’m losing my patience. I’m fed up with the guessing gas. Can’t she just tell what the fuck is wrong so we can sort this out like adults?
But no.
She cuts off with a venomous glare and words that leave frozen.
"Your words an nothing to , Kane," she spits, her voice full of venom. "They lost all aning the mont you fucked that lousy bitch."
What the actual fuck is she talking about?
I stand there stunned, my mind reeling as she brushes past like I’m nothing more than a piece of furniture. She doesn’t even look back.
Fine. You want to play it this way, Elena? Fine.
I’m done trying to figure out what the hell is going on. If she won’t tell , then I’ll just follow her.
Let’s see where this goes.
Nope. Nope. I’m not liking where this is going. Not one bit.
The mont she steps outside, I see it—a damn cab pulling up to the driveway. She’s called a cab? Really?
I move quickly, sliding into my car and starting it up just in ti to follow the stupid yellow vehicle as it pulls away with my mate inside.
My mate.
My grip tightens on the wheel as I rember watching the driver’s eyes flick to the to her when she walked over to the car and his gaze linger a second too long. His gaze had slide over her figure, taking her in, and it was enough to make my blood boil.
A low growl had rumble up from my chest, a sound deep and dangerous, even in my own ears.
The cab driver flinched visibly, his shoulders stiffening as though he heard it through the space between us. Good.
It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to throw the car door open, storm over, and yank the bastard out of his seat for daring to admire what is mine. But no, I keep my cool—for now.
And it’s only the cab driver.
What the hell am I going to do when she steps out of that car and walks into a sea of n? Drunk, leering n who won’t even try to hide their interest.
My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, urging to take control, to claim her and remind her who she belongs to.
"Not now, Ash," I murmur through clenched teeth, gripping the wheel tighter as I trail the cab from a safe distance.
This is going to be a long night.
A very long night.
And if a single one of those bastards so much as looks at her the wrong way...
I take a steadying breath, but it does little to calm the storm raging inside .
I just hope I can keep my composure long enough not to end up killing any of my male pack mbers tonight.
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