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.

say something, anything, in her usual calculating manner, but she didn’t even

It was sealed.

what Ivan was

the encounter with Ivan and Miranda. He answered on the first ring, his signature

narrowed my eyes, my gaze fixed on some point in the distance. I had 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

answering his question, my voice

BeelShort

10:23 Sat, 22 Jun

Chapter 62

sound carrying clearly over the phone line.

already racing with the logistics of getting

“Okay what?”

“I’m on my way.

without another word, my mind already moving

private jet 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

off my suit, feeling a little more at case in my casual clothes. It was just 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

bar and poured myself a 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 brought the glass to my lips, feeling the coolness of the glass against my skin, then tipped it back, letting the liquid burn down

she used to look at me. I felt a pang in my chest, a familiar ache that I had been trying to ignore for months now. But it was no use.

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. I knew this

My mother’s.

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

had drawn us the best way any eight–year–old 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,

of anger and fear. “He’s not a part of my family. He is a monster.” My mother quickly covered my mouth with her hand, her eyes pleading. “Don’t let anyone here hear you say that,