Chapter 8: Still His
2087 Words
Dominic didn’t sleep.
He sat at the edge of the bed, bare-chested, elbows resting on his knees, silver eyes fixed on the wall across the room—unblinking. Unmoving.
The fire had long since burned to embers, casting little more than a dull orange glow across the chamber.
And still… he watched her.
Thalia.
Curled on the opposite side of the bed, her knees tucked close, face buried in the furs.
She hadn’t stirred once since she’d pressed against him in her sleep—her soft breath warming his throat, her skin brushing his chest, her body moving with a quiet, instinctive trust that hadn’t belonged to him.
And never would.
That’s what bothered him.
Not the heat of her skin.
Not the curve of her body or the scent that clung to his sheets.
But the way she’d reached for him like she didn’t fear him at all.
Like he was… safe.
His jaw clenched.
The bond tugged faintly in the silence—an echo of her presence in his blood, in his mind.
He hated it.
He hated her.
And yet he hadn't pushed her away.
Not last night.
Not even when her breast pressed to his chest and her lips brushed the edge of his throat like a whispered plea.
He should have punished her for that.
Should have dragged her back to the dungeon floor where she belonged.
But instead…
He let her stay.
A mistake he wouldn’t repeat.
Not twice.
She woke to stillness.
Warmth.
And silence.
Thalia blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the narrow window above the bed. She didn’t move at first. Her body was still sore. Her limbs heavy. Her throat dry.
But she wasn’t in chains.
Not in the cold.
Not on stone.
She was in his bed.
And across the room—Dominic stood with his back to her, shirt half-buttoned, fingers working slowly over the clasp of his cloak.
She froze.
Every breath caught in her chest.
He hadn’t spoken.
Hadn’t turned.
Just… stood there like a shadow made of frost and fury, pretending she didn’t exist..
Thalia sat up slowly, the furs slipping down her arms.
She said nothing.
Did nothing.
But her wolf stirred faintly, uncertain.
He didn’t even glance her way.
“Get up,” he said flatly.
His voice held no emotion. No anger. No warmth.
Just the same cold dominance she’d grown used to.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed without protest, biting back a wince as her bare feet met the cold stone.
Still, she didn’t speak.
Didn’t dare.
Dominic finally turned.
His eyes swept over her once—clinical. Detached.
Then he crossed the room and opened the door.
Two guards waited outside.
“Escort her to the bathing chamber,” he ordered. “She smells like fear.”
And with that—
He walked away.
Never once looking back.
The bath was warm.
Too warm.
Thalia leaned against the side of the tub, steam rising around her in soft curls. Her muscles floated in the heat, loose and sore, her skin scrubbed clean by the maids who dared not speak to her.
They hadn’t met her eyes.
Just bathed her in silence.
And when they dressed her again in a soft shift and wrapped a robe around her frame, they left just as silently—leaving only her footsteps echoing behind the guards who escorted her back to his chamber.
Dominic’s room.
Again.
She didn’t ask why.
Didn’t dare.
She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed while a servant brought her food—a bowl of seasoned broth, warm bread, a small cup of water.
She ate.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Each bite forced down past the ache in her chest.
But then—
A sharp pain twisted through her lower stomach.
She sucked in a breath.
The pain vanished almost instantly, leaving her blinking at the wall, confused.
Another moment passed.
Then—again.
Deeper. Sharper.
This time she winced and pressed her hand to her belly.
Something was wrong.
The door opened.
Dominic entered.
He didn’t speak.
Just crossed the chamber with scrolls tucked under one arm and sat at the far table, his back straight, his eyes scanning parchment.
But his gaze—
It flicked toward her.
Once.
Twice.
He noticed the way she shifted in the bed. The way her shoulders stiffened. Her jaw clenched.
The way her face changed.
Like someone trying not to scream.
He said nothing.
But he watched.
And when the third wave of pain came—twisting like fire up her spine—Thalia dropped the cup from her hand and clutched the pillow beside her.
Her knees curled. Her body trembled. And this time—
She screamed.
Not loud.
But raw.
She clung to the pillow like it was her last breath, face buried in it, knuckles white.
Dominic's head snapped up.
His eyes narrowed.
He stood.
Watched.
And waited.
Another scream tore from her throat—louder, broken. Her body turned in the sheets, twisting, curling as if trying to escape something inside her.
She whimpered, another tear sliding down her cheek, her hands wrapped around her belly now.
Dominic crossed the room in two strides.
He stopped just short of the bed, nostrils flaring.
He raised his nose—
And smelled it.
Blood.
A flash of worry tightened his jaw. His brows twitched. His hands curled at his sides.
Not a wound.
No.
Her womb.
The scent was faint, but it was there—rich, sharp, familiar.
Menstrual.
His mate.
The first one since the bond had locked.
Unmated. Unmarked.
And her body was paying the price.
Dominic didn’t hesitate.
He scooped her into his arms.
She didn’t resist.
Couldn’t.
She just curled against him, sobbing, her body hot and limp as her breath stuttered against his chest.
“Please…” she whimpered, not even sure what she was begging for.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t look at her.
He carried her to the bathroom and set her down in the massive copper tub, already filled with warm water.
She tried to sit up, but another wave of pain hit her—and she screamed again, grabbing for him.
Fisting his shirt.
Holding on like she’d drown without him.
Dominic said nothing.
He stepped into the water fully clothed and sat behind her, pulling her into his lap.
Her back against his chest.
His arms around her stomach.
Holding her through the pain.
And when her breath caught—
When she cried harder—
When she broke all over again—
He tightened his grip.
Firm.
Grounding.
Silent.
He mind-linked the maids. Bring clothes. Pads. Towels.
No one would see her like this.
No one else would touch her.
By the time the pain eased, she was slumped against him—soaked, weak, half-asleep from exhaustion.
Dominic bathed her himself.
Wordless.
Efficient.
Gentle in ways he didn’t know he could be.
He dried her skin.
Dressed her in soft, loose clothes.
Secured the pad to the undergarment himself, his face unreadable, though something in his throat tightened as he worked.
She didn’t even flinch.
Didn’t speak.
She just let him move her like a broken doll too tired to lift its head.
Once she was clothed, he carried her back to the bedroom.
The sheets had already been changed.
He laid her down carefully and pulled the blankets over her.
Then turned.
Prepared to return to his scrolls.
But her fingers caught his wrist.
He froze.
She didn’t look at him.
Just… held on.
Then she tugged.
Harder.
Until he sat beside her.
Her body moved again—slowly, trembling—and she climbed into his lap.
Wrapped her arms around his neck.
And cried.
Not like a woman broken by a king.
But like a girl crumbling under her own skin.
Her head tucked beneath his chin. Her tears wetting his collarbone.
Dominic didn’t push her away.
Didn’t speak.
But his hand moved once—to hold the back of her head.
And his other arm—
It wrapped around her waist, keeping her close.
Her breath hitched again.
The pain returned in sharp waves.
But this time, she didn’t scream.
She just clung to him.
And for the first time since this bond began…
Dominic held her through it.
Because he knew—
Without him…
She wouldn’t survive the day.
The sun rose higher.
But time meant nothing to her.
Pain had stolen the hours, stretching them into slow, burning agony.
Thalia remained curled against Dominic’s chest, her cheek pressed over his heartbeat, arms wrapped tightly around his neck like she could vanish inside him and escape what her own body was doing to her.
He hadn’t moved.
Not even once.
She shifted slightly, and the ache in her lower belly clenched again—harder this time. Her breath caught, and she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulder.
Dominic’s jaw twitched.
She didn’t see it.
Didn’t feel the way his fingers had curled tighter at her waist.
Didn’t hear the quiet, controlled inhale through his nose—like he was keeping something savage at bay.
But he held her.
Still.
Silently.
He didn’t soothe her.
Didn’t comfort.
Just… endured her presence like a burden no one else was allowed to carry.
By noon, she was limp again.
Damp with sweat.
Her eyes swollen from exhaustion.
Her voice gone from crying.
Dominic lifted her again without a word, carried her to the bath once more and rinsed her with warm water, his touch cold, precise, never lingering. He changed her pad himself, adjusted her clothes, and carried her back to bed.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t ask why.
She just clutched his wrist when he tried to leave.
Again.
And again.
Until finally—
He lay beside her.
Fully dressed.
Arms folded behind his head.
Eyes closed.
But not asleep.
She curled toward him slowly, the pain still flaring every few minutes, and when it did, her fingers searched blindly for him in the blankets—gripping his cloak, his arm, his chest.
She never called his name.
Never begged aloud.
But she needed him.
And he knew it.
He just wouldn’t say it.
Afternoon shadows crept across the stone floor.
A soft knock came from the other side of the door.
Dominic didn’t answer.
Didn’t rise.
He simply growled low in his throat.
The knock vanished.
Silence returned.
Then another cry—this one ragged, near broken.
Thalia twisted in the bed again, her knees drawn tight, hands trembling as she gasped for breath.
Dominic opened his eyes.
The wolf inside him stirred.
Not because of her blood.
Not because of the scent that clung to her body and called to him with feral hunger.
But because he could hear it.
Something in her cracking.
Beneath all the obedience. Beneath the quiet.
Her soul was folding in on itself.
He sat up slowly.
Reached for the cloth on the table.
Dampened it.
Then pressed it to her forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung to her brow.
Her lashes fluttered.
She looked up at him—barely.
And whispered—
“Why?”
Just that.
Nothing more.
Dominic didn’t answer.
Not with words.
But he sat with her again.
Let her lie against him again.
Because for all the cruelty he’d taught her—
All the pain he’d forced her to endure—
This?
This was the first lesson she hadn’t failed.
Not because she was strong.
But because she was breaking in silence.
And somehow—
That made him stay.
Even when the sky darkened.
Even when the fire died low.
Even when his scrolls sat unread.
He stayed.
And when her body curled against his again that night—her hands trembling, her breath shallow, her face buried in his neck—he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t push her off.
Didn’t scold her.
He simply placed a hand on her back.
And held her there.
Because the bond had teeth.
And now, it had sunk them into both of them.
Whether they wanted it or not.
She didn’t know when sleep took her.
Only that Dominic’s scent was in her lungs.
And his heartbeat was the last thing she heard.
But somewhere, beneath the fog of pain and blood and trembling hands—
A new ache stirred.
Not from her body.
From something deeper.
Something she didn’t have a name for.
And it terrified her more than all the whips in the world.
- Writer
