CHAPTER 41

 Beatrice’s POV

The Aftermath

The instant we emerged from the rest area, the cold wind of the grand hall brushed against my skin, but my tight chest would not ease.

My heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The music, the conversation, the sound of clinking glasses — it all felt far away and muffled, like I was under water. What had just happened was so heavy it pushed against my ribs, and I could hardly breathe.

I had been cornered.

Hunted like prey.

And I would have fought — I was ready to fight — but Xander had beat me to it.

Now I was in his arms being carried through the grand hall as though I weighed nothing.

His hold was strong but gentle, his arms fastened around me, a snugness that said both safety and ownership. He radiated heat, solid and unyielding, but I could feel the tension in him — the quiet, simmering rage lurking just under the surface.

“Put me down,” I whispered to myself, and I knew my voice was weak.

I felt weak.

And I hated it.

Hated it.

“No.”

His response was immediate. Firm. Final.

I gulped, furious at how easy I was in that exchange. “Xander, I can walk.”

Anyway, he wouldn’t even look at me.

His eyes were fixed straight ahead and his long strides never wavered.

“I’m not putting you down.”

I stiffened, the embarrassment prickling up my spine into recognition of something else —

People were watching.

It was as if a hundred stares hovered above and all around — an irrevocable gravity draped over me as a long black cloak.

The room had gone quieter.

Not entirely quiet, but quiet enough that I heard the whispers.

The murmurs behind fragile masks.

The whispered voices, tinged with curiosity, scandal and something dangerously close to envy.

Who is she?

Why is Xander Thane getting her?

What happened?

But that wasn’t what turned up the volume on the whispers.

It wasn’t simply that I was in Xander Thane’s arms.

That his mask was off. It was that simple.

His sharp, chiseled features were illuminated by the golden glow of the chandeliers. The strong, angular jaw. The infinitely chiseled cheekbones. The ice blue eyes that had deepened with voiceless rage.

At events like these, Xander never took off his mask.

Never. He was the powerful Lycan king.

But now, he was strolling through the throngs — unmasked, unbothered, and downright lethal.

I didn’t know if he had removed it through negligence or because, in his anger, he was simply indifferent to it.

And that scared me.

The Xander I had known — the one who so ruthlessly caliphated his world of haunts and dreams — was always composed. Always in control.

But the Xander who’s holding me right now?

He was anything but.

His jaw clenched, his grip possessive; his whole frame was pulled tight like a predator about to give in.

I could sense the anger crashing off him in waves.

And yet, he never slowed. Never faltered.

He marched me through the middle of the large hall, around stunned guests and murmuring elites, until we got to the exit doors that led to the private passageways.

Only after that — away from the prying eyes of the crowd — did he finally stop.

His breaths were slow and controlled, but his arms didn’t loosen from around me.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

Between us lay silence, thick with unspoken words, raw honesty neither one of us had prepared to give a name.

Then finally — softly, but audibly — I said the words:

“Xander.”

His hold on me tightened, a little.

Then, after what seemed like forever, he finally glanced at me.

And when he did — when those ice-blue eyes connected with mine — I saw something under the fury.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Things that told me this is not over.

He had always been a man of weight, a walking storm, but now …

Now, he was a different kind of something.

A king who had just delivered a silent, undeniable warning to everyone in that room.

Touch my stuff, and you will pay.

I was tuned into the heat of the attention fixed on me, to the curious, judging eyes of women who had once guffawed at me, and to the envious glances of men who would have given anything to have Xander’s authority.

My cheeks burned, but I wouldn’t look away.

When we arrived at the grand entrance, Ryder was already there, waiting, his expression peaceful, but knowing.

Xander hardly paused as he spoke. “Take care of the rest of the event. I’m taking her back.”

Ryder nodded slightly. “Understood.”

I turned my head to Xander, temper resurfacing. “I don’t need to go back. I—”

“You do need to rest,” he cut in, the finality in his voice making argument impossible.

I opened my mouth to protest again, but just one look at his face — the quiet, deadly rage that lingered in his eyes — made me stop.

Xander wasn’t reclaiming me because he thought I was weak.

He was escorting me home because he needed to know I was safe.

I exhaled slowly, pursing my lips.

Fine.

The return ride to the hotel was silent.

Xander shrunk next to me in the backseat of the sleek black car, one arm draped over the door while his fist lay balled up on his lap.

I could sense the anger washing over him in waves, but it wasn’t directed at me.

It was for the man in the restroom.

At who had ever dared to come near me with so much audacity.

At himself, perhaps, for losing track of me.

I wasn’t sure what to say.

I wasn’t even sure if I should bring it up.

So I stayed, hands on my lap, replaying the scene in my head again and again.

What if Xander hadn’t come?

I felt a chill at the thought.

I balled up my fists, shutting my fear out. I wouldn’t let myself think that way.

Not when Xander had come.

Not when I was safe.

Xander guided me from the car when we reached the hotel, his hand still steely, still reluctant to release me.

He was so much, such a silent presence surrounding me, daring anything—anyone—to get close.

The elevator ride up was just as quiet, the tension between us palpable, but not uncomfortable.

It was something else.

Something unspoken.

When we got into the suite, I took a deep breath, finally letting myself sink into the soft plush of the couch.

Xander didn’t sit.

He strode over to the minibar, seized a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and placed it in my hand.

“Drink.”

I arched a brow at him. “I’m not a child, Xander.”

“Drink, Beatrice.”

His tone was gentler this time, but then I saw something in his eyes — something that looked worried — that made me accept the bottle without question.

I took a sip.

Then another.

And only after I had chugged half of it did Xander finally make a move, crouching down in front of me so we were face to face.

His fingers caressed my knee. “Are you okay?”

I hesitated.

Was I?

I still had ghost of that man’s touch, still had the lingering unease deep in my chest.

But Xander was here.

And somehow that made breathing feel a little easier.

“I’m fine,” I murmured.

Xander looked me over for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying anything, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair away from my face, his touch gossamer.

I swallowed hard.

This man…

He was dangerous.

Not just because his have strength.

Not only because he wielded power as if he was born to it.

But he had the power to leave me broken.

To make me feel.

And that scared me more than anything.

Xander exhaled slowly, then stood and held his hand out to me. “Come on. You need to rest.”

I blinked. “I can sleep on the couch—”

“No.” There was no arguing with his voice. “The bed.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, I sighed and gave in to his tugging, allowing him to haul me on my feet.

The second my body hit the mattress, fatigue hit me like a tsunami.

The adrenaline, the fear, the tension of the night — it all hit at once.

Xander was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me carefully.

I rolled over onto my side, curling up some. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Yes, I do.”

I frowned, but just as I went to object, I felt the bed move.

Xander sat next to me and slung an arm over my waist in a way that was both possessive and oddly comforting.

His warmth enveloped me, his smell — woodsy, masculine, quintessentially him — wrapping around me like a shield.

I wanted to argue.

Wanted to tell him. That we couldn’t keep walking this tight rope.

But I didn’t.

Because for the first time in quite a while…

I felt safe.

My breathing evened out, my eyes drifting closed.

And just as sleep was arriving, I heard Xander’s voice, low and almost tentative.

“You’re mine, Beatrice.”

My heart stuttered.

But before I could reply — before I could even comprehend the gravity of those words —

Darkness pulled me under.