Chapter 6

The man approached, but instead of hostility, his head dipped low in respect. His tone was formal, deferential, something she wasn’t used to hearing anymore. “Miss. Veyra, don’t be afraid. I am not here to harm you. Mr. Volkov needs your help.” Sloane blinked, unease prickling her skin. Her thoughts leapt to the boy on the plane. “Did something happen to Jeremy?” she asked sharply. The bodyguard’s face turned grave, voice carrying the weight of an oath. “It would be best if you came with me and saw for yourself.” All sorts of things ran through Sloane’s mind, and she rushed with the bodyguards. They entered the Volkov’s estate and it was not something that Sloane hadn't seen. She was not interested in luxuries or show off, she had lived her life as a decent wolf and would love to do that in the future too. She was escorted straight to a room, and when Sloane entered it, she felt like she was teleported into a war zone. The whole room was torn into pieces, and the orchestrator of the whole mess was growling in anger. Solane’s eyes widened as she noticed his little claws coming out, but as soon as they came, they were gone. What the hell is wrong with him, Sloane wondered. And on the other corner, the man was standing, still aloof, but anger radiating from him. “Call him! Ask him how much time it will take,” Dominic growled, his eyes focused on Jeremy. Seeing Dominic’s serious expression, Sloane jumped between them, trying to protect Jeremy from his uncle’s wrath. “He is a kid,” Solane reasoned. Dominic squinted his eyes. “Don’t worry honey. I am here.” Sloane whispered to Jeremy. The child who was ready to tear everyone apart smiled and ran to hug Solane. “Don’t touch,” Dominic gritted his teeth. His Alpha aura flared, making people wince. The temperature of the room dropped drastically; every eye was focused on Sloane and Dominic. Ignoring Dominic and others’ stares, she went down to hug him, and he preened like a cat under her touch. Everyone’s heart stopped; they were waiting for the bomb to blow, but to all their surprise Dominic chuckled. The dead weight of the situation was weighing heavily on all the staff. Sloane sat on the edge of the bed, one hand brushing gently through Jeremy’s hair, whispering soft reassurances until the boy’s trembling finally gave way to the steady rhythm of sleep. Around them, people lingered in tense silence, their eyes darting toward the tall figure in the corner. Dominic. Cold, unyielding, his very presence seemed to tighten the air. Shadows clung to him like armor, and no one dared to step too close. His reputation had already done enough damage, fear preceded him, filling the ruined room far more than the wreckage ever could. When Jeremy’s small breaths evened out, Sloane carefully rose to her feet. She tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders and turned toward the doorway, intent on slipping out quietly. But before she could take a step, Dominic moved. A wall of muscle and ice, his hand came up to bar her path. Her heart jolted, but she forced her face into something unreadable. “Move,” she said firmly. “I need to leave.” His gaze swept over her, unreadable, but unflinching. “Do you know who I am?” His voice was smooth, deep, yet threaded with something darker. Sloane let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes as if the room’s tension didn’t already weigh like chains. “Yes, I know. Alpha Dominic Volkov, the untouchable heir.” She tilted her chin, daring him to argue. “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you get to bully people.” Something flickered across his face, not anger, not amusement, but a quiet calculation. Slowly, Dominic shook his head, as though her defiance was both irritating and oddly fascinating. “I’m not here to bully you, Miss. Sloane,” he said at last, his voice dropping lower, steadier. “I have a proposition in mind.” Sloane’s brows arched, suspicion flaring. “A proposition? What proposition?” Dominic didn’t hesitate. “You’ll look after Jeremy.” His gaze cut toward the sleeping boy, softening only for a fraction of a second before hardening again. “And in return, I’ll keep you safe.” For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint creak of the broken window frame in the wind. Sloane’s chest rose and fell as she weighed his words. The offer was tempting, too tempting, and Dominic knew it. She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. “Fine,” she said carefully. “But I have a condition.” His eyes narrowed, sharp with intrigue. “A condition?” His tone carried the faintest hint of challenge, as though he expected her to falter. Sloane met his stare head-on, her own voice low but steady. “Not just here. Not just within these ruined walls, or in this territory.” She stepped closer, chin lifting. “If I’m to do this for you, I need your protection everywhere, even beyond your borders.” For the first time, Dominic’s lips curved, not quite a smile, but something close, a glint of interest, maybe even respect. His voice was calm, yet dangerous in its certainty. “Bold,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Very bold.” ** Back in the Blackthorn territory. Damon Blackthorn woke with a pounding skull, sprawled across the leather couch, still in last night’s clothes. No blanket, no comfort, just the stale taste of liquor and the stench of the room around him. On the floor Caleb clutched a pillow in his sleep, face pressed against the carpet. The mess from the night before was brutal, half-empty bottles, overturned glasses, and a dark stain of vomit near the table. Damon’s jaw tightened, shadows cutting hard across his features. “Where the hell is Sloane? Why hasn’t this been cleaned?” His voice cracked through the silence, harsh enough to rattle the air. But no reply came. Only the faint stirring of Caleb, jolted awake by the sharpness of his father’s tone. The boy blinked, and his face crumpled in pain. “Ouch! It hurts, it really hurts!” He clutched his arm, wailing in panic. Damon’s temples throbbed harder. His hangover roared, and the noise clawed at his nerves. “Stop crying,” he snapped, voice like ice. “You are an Alpha. What’s wrong?” Caleb’s sobs cut short, replaced with hiccuping sniffles. “Dad… my arm… it really hurts.” The bruises stood out stark against the boy’s pale skin, running the length of his arm. He tried to lift it, but the pain twisted his small face, leaving him frozen and trembling on the floor. For a long moment, Damon only stared, tired, unblinking, unreadable. Then, with a low breath, he leaned back and pulled his phone from his pocket. The first name in his contacts: Sloane. His thumb hit the call button without hesitation. As the line rang, his expression remained like stone. She was working overnight again. Always gone. Always leaving him to this chaos. She should have quit by now. She should have been here.