“Her room. Now,” I demand.
Joseph’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing into slits. “That one.” He points to the last door in the hall, and I move toward it while he pulls his phone from his pocket.
I enter Cleo’s room. Her scent envelops me, a mixture of jasmine and something uniquely her, intoxicatingly sweet, making my mouth water.
I begin to gather her things, each item a piece of the life she’s leaving behind— and the life we’re about to build together. Joseph paces behind me, his phone to his ear as he waits for her to answer. She does and he places the phone on loudspeaker.
“Hey, Dad,” she answers, and I smirk hearing her voice.
“Where are you? Why is Zayn saying you’re at his place? What about Boyd!” he demands, not even bothering to say hello, and I growl at his tone.
We both wait for her answer. She is quiet for a second.
“Because I am, Dad,” she finally says, her voice echoing in the silent room.
The phone slips from Joseph’s hand, landing on the carpet with a muted thud. His face pales, the lines of his face seeming sharper in his shock. The world seems to hold its breath.
A moment of heavy silence follows that announcement. You could hear a pin drop. Then Joseph fumbles for the phone again, scrambling to pick it up from where it lies forgotten on the floor.
“Boyd… You are supposed to marry—” he stammers into the phone.
“He isn’t my mate, Dad,” Cleo responds firmly. “Zayn is.”
There’s a finality in her tone that has Joseph reeling back as if slapped. He looks at me then, betrayal etched across his features. But there is also a grudging acceptance there; an understanding that there is no denying a mate bond.
“Cleo,” Joseph starts again and she cuts him off this time.
“I love you, Dad,” she says, and I can almost see her there with us in that room, standing her ground just like I was doing. “But I’m not rejecting my mate. You promised me if he was my mate, you’d find a way out of that deal with Dane, he is my mate.”
Her words hang in the air. “Dad?” she asks when he says nothing. He looks on the verge of having a panic attack.
“I’m here, I’m trying to process what you’re saying,” he mumbles, falling heavily onto the edge of the bed.
I continue packing, listening as he tells her he has to go. Tossing her belongings into a duffel bag with more force than necessary, unable to shake off the bitter taste of victory. Thereis no triumph in tearing a father from his daughter, even if it means claiming what’s rightfully mine.
Joseph ends the call without saying another word.
I zip up the bag, feeling the weight of it as I toss it on the bed beside him.
“Can you think of anything else she needs from here?” My voice slices through the tension as I pivot to face Joseph. He’s still perched on the edge of the bed staring at the phone in his hand, his worry carving deep lines into his weathered face.
He looks at me, and for a moment, I see the years of worry, the weight of an Alpha pressing down on him. I know this must be hard losing a daughter and a pack to his rival. That sympathy evaporates when I remember the pain he’s inflicted on her—the woman who owns my soul.
Joseph swallows, his eyes flicking to me then away from mine, a silent admission he cannot win now with a mate bond involved.
When he doesn’t answer I move to grab the bag to leave when Joseph’s eyes harden, the blue of them like chips of ice.
“You can’t have her,” he mutters defiantly, clinging to his crumbling authority.
A dark chuckle escapes me, rumbling through the tension-thick room. “Not for you to decide,” I shoot back, my voice laced with contempt. Zarek bristles beneath my skin, but I keep him in check—for now.
“Either you tell me what Dane has over you and let me help you, or…” I let the words hang, a silent ultimatum that vibrates through the air between us.
Joseph’s jaw clenches, and he looks away, the internal battle clear on his face. I’m not here for his inner turmoil, I’m here for her. The thought of Cleo waiting for me only makes me want to leave more.
“Dane knows things; things that could destroy this pack,” he spits out, the word heavy with defeat.
“Like what?” I prod, stepping closer, crowding him with my presence, my senses hyper-aware of every shift in his posture as he stands. “Although I am pretty sure I already know.”
