Bonds

Chapter 62

-Alex’s POV-

I stood there, watching Amaya flee the scene, my wolf surged forward, urging me to chase after her. But I knew better. I knew I shouldn’t have been there in the first place, inserting myself into her life like a wedge. I had been a fool to think I could just show up and pretend like nothing. had changed. My wolf was still reeling, and now it was pushing me to go after her, to claim her as mine. But I knew that was a recipe for disaster.

Ivan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity as he turned his attention back to me. His mask was slipping, revealing a glimmer of the darkness beneath. I almost smiled, knowing that no one could be that perf that put together, without hiding something.

And Ivan was definitely hiding something.

“Why won’t you leave her the f*ck alone?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing.

I met his gaze, my expression neutral, but my wolf seething beneath the surface. He must really have a death wish, I thought, to challenge me like this. I didn’t back away, though. I just stared at him, my eyes locked on his, daring him to make a move. My wolf was lunging against the surface, eager to break free and defend me, but I kept him in check.

Ivan’s eyes darkened, and his alpha aura hit me like a wave. It was a dark, tainted energy, one that made me question my previous assessment of him as harmless. There was more to Ivan than met the eye, and I made a mental note to dig deeper. His aura was like a punch to the gut, making me almost take a step back.

Almost.

Miranda’s voice broke through the tension, her tone tiny and fragile. “Ivan,” she whispered, her hand on his arm. “Let’s just go.”

She sounded like a scared little girl, her usual manipulative demeanor replaced by a quivering uncertainty. I allowed myself to look at her, and she looked scared. Scared of what Ivan would do. Her touch on his arm finally snapped him out of it, and he backed away, his eyes returning to normal. His gaze clashed with mine, and I still had a neutral expression on my face.

“Stay away from Amaya,” he growled, before turning and walking away, leaving me and Miranda in an awkward silence.

to say something, anything, in her usual calculating manner, but she didn’t even look at me. She

It was sealed.

needed to know what Ivan was hiding, what he was capable of. The questions swirled in my head, making my

number, my mind still reeling from the encounter with Ivan and Miranda. He answered on the first ring, his signature drawl dripping with boredom. “Are you calling to

almost forgotten about our last encounter, what with everything that had been happening, Christian had a habit of provoking me, pushing my buttons until I snapped. And he had taken it a little too far last time. But I wasn’t in the mood for his games

instead of answering his question, my voice

BeelShort

10:23 Sat, 22 Jun

Chapter 62

sigh, the sound carrying clearly over the phone line.

I said, my mind already racing

“Okay what?”

“I’m on my way.

the call without another word, my mind already moving on to the next

for takeoff. Less than thirty minutes later, I was boarding the plane, Ruth, my efficient assistant, already having everything I needed waiting for me on board. I really needed to double, if not triple, her salary. She was the most efficient person I knew, always anticipating

me on the plane, which was exactly how I liked it. I couldn’t stand the air hostesses‘ lingering gazes, their flirtatious smiles. There was a time when it had entertained me, but ever since she came into my life, everything changed. A bitter pill I

drink, the amber liquid glowing in the dim light of the plane. I sat down, swirling the liquid in the glass as the pilot announced it was time to take off. I

I tried not to remember flood my mind. Amaya’s smile, her laughter, the way she used to look at me. I felt a pang in my chest, a familiar ache that

rested my head against the seat, Amaya’s face vanished, replaced by another woman’s face. This woman still had a smile on her face, but it was a sad one, tinged with a hint of melancholy.

My mother’s.

long suppressed. I was eight years old, holding up a crude drawing for her to see. “What is this?” she asked,

would–like stick figures. But my mother’s face fell, a frown immediately growing on her face. She gently pushed my hand down, the painting going along with it, and looked around nervously to see if anyone had noticed. There were some of my father’s men lurking in the background, pretending not to pay attention, but I knew they were watching us, watching my

of anger and fear. “He’s not a part of my family. He is a monster.” My mother quickly covered my mouth