Bad Love an Alpha’s Regret by Elise Sinclair

Chapter 326

EMILY

I don’t bother asking Axel what his punishment will be if I disobey

him and leave the house.

Instead, I turn on my heel and walk out on him, going to find

wherever Jessica ran off to.

I half expect Axel to follow me, but he doesn’t, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or annoyed.

No, I tell myself firmly. I’m definitely relieved.

But even I’m not buying my own lie.

When Axel had pulled me up against him just now in the office, for a second, I’d thought he was going to kiss me, maybe do even

more than that.

My body had all but melted like ice cream on hot pavement.

I wanted him.

Even worse now that I knew what it was like to come apart in his

arms.

Chapter 326

But I hated myself for that.

Did I have no self–respect?

2/5

The man has made no secret about his negative feelings toward

1. me.

Yet my body and my instincts–most especially my wolf–want me to surrender to him every time he turns that heavy gaze my

way.

find Jessica, but she’s with other pack members

to talk

her anyway, how I might present the idea of getting rid of Axel in

planning.

me closely as if he’s expecting me to just get up

at any second now.

ignore him, and it seems as long as I’m

want to watch a movie, and I almost instinctively look to Axel for permission which just pisses me off

even more.

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when did I start thinking I needed his approval to do

anything?

3/5

the urge to look over at him and tell

watch a movie.

some popcorn and grab some

and head into the mansion’s theater

but I’m sure he’s probably lurking in the hallway.

and we both cry and laugh and it feels like old

movie ends, and Jessica says she’s

Axel is just waiting

corridor and while Jessica heads upstairs, I tell

the hall, Axel appears out of the shadows.

Lurking.

I knew he

demands like the prison

Chapter 326

a book from the library,” I snap impatiently, stepping

doesn’t reply, just trails me into the library.

welcoming as it always is.

4/5

a fire in the hearth

and the pleasant smell of furniture

old books.

time walking up and down the shelves, until I find

poetry by Emily Dickenson I must have read a hundred times when I was younger.