“Or what?” He doesn’t step back. His chin lifts and his wolf presses against the air between us and mine presses back and the hallway hums with the weight of two Alphas refusing to give ground. “You’ll hit me? Go ahead. Hit me, Blackwood. Give me something honest for once instead of the blankets and the eggs and the soft knock at the door.”
“You need to leave.”
“You had her.” He steps closer until our chests are nearly touching and I can see the broken blood vessels in his eyes. “You had everything. The bond. The girl. The cabin and the promises. And you destroyed her on a Christmas morning because a photograph was easier to believe than her face.”
“I know what I did.”
“And now you get her back, not because you earned it, not because you grew, but because your blood matches hers and that’s
