8. Dylan

Dylan

Chapter 8

Tristan left for the night, taking a piece of me with him. Logically, I knew he would heal. Shifters were good like that, but right now, I would've done anything to be able to take some of the pain I knew he must've been feeling. It was hard to watch him bleed, staining his wolf's beautiful fur.

My panther wanted to bury our face into that fur, to lick and clean and preen him, to sleep cuddled into his side. We would make a stunning pair side by side, the contrast of our fur in midnight-black and snow-white.

My mate and his packmate weren't the only two to leave, of course. So did the losing families. They went home to tend to their wounds and bruised egos. My father would continue working with them, business as usual, but they had missed their chance at making a serious profit. As for the winners? Their clans seemed more reluctant to leave, planning instead to ride the high until the early hours of the morning. They would no doubt use this opportunity to play mind games on tomorrow's competitors, hoping to make them lose their nerve.

I didn't stick round to watch their machinations. It was too much of a risk to have my omega hormones added to the volatile mix of alphas. My father escorted me back up the stairwell to the main part of the house. Even though it was well after midnight, I wasn't even a little tired. I had no idea how I was supposed to go to sleep after the fear and adrenaline. And the anger…

My pulse throbbed in my temples, a headache building. How the hell did we get here? Once upon a time, I used to be happy. Either that or I was somehow blind to how bad things were behind the scenes. When my mother was still alive, my dad smiled, he laughed! These days, the stretch of his lips was nothing more than a sad imitation of a grin. His eyes remained dull. The only emotion that lit him up from within now was fury, and I pitied the soul who pushed him too far.

The door at the top of the basement stairwell clicked shut behind us, effectively closing out the raucous roar from downstairs. It was like another world up here, one where opulence and splendor reigned, not a single drop of blood in sight, no hint of this night's violence. As we crossed the main entry hall, the light from the chandelier refracted across the walls, sparkling stars of light off the polished marble floor.

I headed straight for the wide main staircase, my steps muffled by the rich carpet. I was eager to lock myself up in my suite. I was vaguely aware of my father following behind me, but I refused to even look at him right now. This was all his fault.

As much as my father claimed this competition was to choose a strong mate for me, I knew it had more to do with him and what he wanted. The powerful alliance he would make, the authority it would grant him. It made me sick. Didn't he understand this was my life he was toying with?

I went to turn down the hall toward the residential wing, however my father stopped me. "Come with me," he said without explanation, but he left no room to argue. Gritting my teeth, I turned and followed him back toward his office. What the fuck did he want now? Wasn't owning my entire future enough for him?

When we turned the last corner, I saw two of his guards bracketing the door. That was odd, since he wasn't in the room to protect. They opened the double doors ahead of us, and I filed in behind my father. I hadn't been able to see around his broad frame, but as soon as he moved to the side, I saw what awaited us inside.

I choked on a gasp, the floor unsteady under my feet as I looked around in confusion. "Father, what—?"

Edgar, my usual shadow, was kneeling on the floor on top of a white sheet, his shirt rumpled and untucked, steely gaze focused on a distant point. I hadn't even thought about him since he'd escorted the viper from the basement, but now I realized he'd never returned. There was another guard standing behind him, gun in hand.

My father took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his desk chair. "Edgar neglected to do his job in protecting you. That kind of failure is unacceptable."

My stomach dipped low, a prickling sensation crawling up my spine. "What are you talking about? He stopped the guy. I'm fine."

He hooked a finger into the knot of his tie and loosened it, pulling it loose from his collar and setting it gently over his jacket. "You left the premises unguarded last night." He held a hand up when I opened my mouth to dispute it. "Don't try to lie about it. I was alerted the second you used your credit card." I cursed my stupidity. Of course it was being tracked!

"But Father, it was my birthday!" I said in my defense, my eyes darting to where Edgar still knelt. "I just wanted to have a drink, dance a little. It was harmless fun."

Father unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and began rolling up the sleeves. "The guards are for your own protection. It may have seemed harmless at the time, but you could've been targeted by any number of dangerous men. You could've been hurt, killed, taken. You're lucky you only brought home a stray."

My panther balked at his description of our fated mate, but I bit down on the snarl that threatened to force its way out.

"And if I'd said I wanted to go out for my birthday, you would've allowed it as long as I took a few guards?" I was skeptical, proven correct when my dad just shook his head, looking disappointed in me.

He sighed. "If I'd known you wanted to celebrate, we could've thrown a party here, invited all your friends."

"What friends?" I spat, my temper bubbling over. "The only people you allow me to associate with are all your buddies' kids. Do you honestly think any of them actually like me? No more than those alphas downstairs actually want me as their mate. This is all about you! My entire life has been about what you want!"

He wasn't listening anymore. He'd crossed the room to stand in front of Edgar. "Do I need to bind your hands?" he asked the man on his knees.

"No, sir. I won't fight you," Edgar replied without blinking.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked, frozen on the spot as I realized there was no avoiding the inevitable.

My father turned to glare at me, eyes dark. "I told you. He failed, and now he must pay the price."

"No," I whispered, then again, louder. "No! It's not his fault. You can't punish him for me sneaking out."

"I can, and I will. Let this be a lesson to you as well, Son. There are consequences to your actions. Now, you will watch this play out, and next time, I hope you will reconsider."

I wished I could stop him, but what was I supposed to say? I wanted to apologize, and more importantly, I wanted to mean it, but it was hard to regret what I'd done. I had to believe it was worth any price—even if I wasn't the one paying it.

Without another word, my father balled his hand into a fist and brought it down like a hammer. Edgar's head whipped to the side, but he didn't make a sound. Another blow, and another. Father had left his rings on, and the sharp edges split Edgar's cheek open. Blood spattered onto the sheet covering the floor to protect the rug.

My father paused between blows, his chest heaving. "How could you be so stupid, sneaking out?!" he growled, rounding on me. "And inviting a total stranger to compete? How can you trust him?"

"Trust? Like you trust Azar? That man is a lunatic, and you know it! You seem to think you can throw a collar on him, keep him leashed, that he'll be your lapdog, but he's borderline feral. You know what all those competitors downstairs have in common? Their families are rich and dangerous. So in the end, this entire bullshit competition is all about money and power for you. But I'm the one who will have to live with them. Tristan is the only one I can trust!"

Roaring, he slammed his fist into Edgar's face again. Unprepared, the force drove Edgar to his hands and knees, but he managed to push himself back up, raising his chin for another blow.

"What about security?" my father yelled. "Did you ever consider for one second that I'm trying to keep you alive?!" Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to calm down, but it was a lost cause. He was drowning in rage, his eyes golden, black fur sprouting down the length of his bare forearms. "If that nobody you picked wins, do you have any idea the danger you'll be in? You'll be left weak and unprotected when someone inevitably comes after you. After the way your mother died…" His voice cracked, eyes glassy. "No, forget it. I'm sorry, but what you think you want doesn't matter. I'm not taking any chances with you."

"Daddy, he's my mate!" I shouted before I could stop myself. His whole body went rigid, and Edgar braced himself for what might be a fatal blow. I stepped between them. "Surely you can remember what that love felt like. He's all I can see. He's the air I breathe, the water that sustains me, the food that nourishes my soul." But my dad was like a statue, refusing to look at me. "How can you argue against fate?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, but slowly, the anger seemed to leach away, leaving in its wake an unfathomable grief. "Fate is nothing but a curse," he said softly. "You'll thank me one day." Holding a hand out to the guard at Edgar's back, the man passed him a white handkerchief that my dad used to wipe the blood off his hands. "Go to bed, Dylan. It's been a long night."

My lip quivered, vision blurring, and I spun on my heel and stormed toward the door. I paused on the threshold long enough to say, "I'm sorry, Edgar." Then I ran all the way to my suite, slamming and locking the door behind me. I had no doubt there would be guards outside the door all night, and probably outside my window as well. They were taking no risks with my "safety."

Without bothering to turn on a light, I flopped down across my bed, beyond frustrated. I was tempted to punch and kick the mattress like a fucking toddler who'd been sent to bed without dessert. Who the hell did he think he was, gambling against fate? Things would play out exactly as they were intended.

That thought was like a punch to the gut. I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. If our futures were already woven even before we were born, then that meant my mother was fated to die. And my father was fated to suffer through the loss of half his soul…

Who was to say the same might not be meant for me?

Maybe I was destined to meet Tristan, only to lose him. Maybe it would even be my fault, inviting him here to a competition he had no business entering.

Tristan is ours, my panther insisted. He is alive. He couldn't understand why I was grieving for him as if he'd died.

I know, but what if? I prompted. Imagine he dies and it's our fault. If we never get to mark him, claim him as ours. Never get to bear his children. Never get the chance to grow old with him. My beast took everything literally, but the more I painted the image for him to help him grasp the concept, the more real it became in my own imagination.

How was it possible to feel this much for someone I just met? I clutched at my chest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing through me, getting sharper by the second. The longer we were apart, the more intense this feeling grew. I didn't just want him. I needed him!

I gave up trying to hold back the tears, and they spilled freely down my cheeks until I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, sobbing. The fabric did its damnedest to soak them up, but not even the high thread count could keep up.

As much as I hated to admit feeling any amount of sympathy for my father, I was finally starting to understand what he'd felt every day since my mother's death. If Tristan died, I wasn't sure I would survive it—but I refused to settle for anyone else.

The only option was for Tristan to win.