Chapter 63: What am I becoming??!

Malachi sat against the headboard with Della curled against his chest, wrapped completely in his arms. The blanket had long since been pulled over her, hiding the torn clothes Rowan had quietly replaced before leaving them alone.

She still hadn’t stopped shaking.

Every few minutes another tremor would race through her body, making her fingers tighten weakly around his shirt before loosening again.

His hand never stopped moving, too.

Slowly, again and again, he stroked her hair, then her back, then returned to her hair.

Over and over.

As though if he stopped, she would shatter into a thousand pieces, "...You’re safe," he murmured for what had to be the hundredth time. His voice was rough, "I’ve got you."

Another shiver ran through her, and her breathing hitched before she buried her face even deeper into his chest.

Malachi shut his eyes, trying to shut out the image of what he’d seen... but it still haunted him.

Garrett’s hands.

His body against hers as he had forcefully bent her over.

The fear in Della’s eyes.

The sound of her begging.

Please don’t...

His jaw locked so tightly it hurt.

The Alpha inside him snarled violently, demanding blood. More blood. Every instinct screamed that Garrett was still breathing somewhere beneath his castle, and that alone felt like an insult.

What looked like claws pushed halfway through his fingertips before he forced them back.

Not now.

Not while she was in his arms.

Another tremble ran through Della, and she whispered something unintelligible, her brows knitting together, "...No..."

Malachi immediately tightened his embrace, "Shh." He whispered back, his lips brushing lightly against her forehead. "No one’s touching you again."

Her breathing slowly steadied.

His own didn’t. They couldn’t. He could barely keep himself sitting still like this. He wanted more blood in his hands. He wanted to keep hearing that man scream for mercy as he pulled out every organ from his body, every cell, little by little.

Hours passed, and the night had finally covered the sky with her dark wings. The window was a little open, and some streaks of moonlight seeped into the room, hitting the bed.

Neither of them moved much.

Sometimes Della would wake just enough to look around the room in confusion before realising whose arms she was in.

And every single time, she’d quietly tuck herself closer.

Without thinking.

Without questioning it.

As though somewhere beneath all the pain, her body still knew he was home. That realisation hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

She trusted him.

Even after everything.

Even after he’d failed her.

Eventually, the trembling lessened, and her breathing deepened. He didn’t stop stroking and whispering till he was very sure her body was completely surrendered to exhaustion.

She’d fallen asleep.

Malachi remained still for another long while, making sure she truly was resting. Only then did he carefully slide one arm away. He tried not to wake her as he carefully tried to lay her down on the bed.

He had barely shifted an inch when tiny fingers suddenly grabbed the front of his shirt, and his entire body froze.

"Don’t..." It was barely a whisper.

He looked down to see that she wasn’t awake.

"Please..." Her grip tightened, "Don’t leave me..." A tear slid down her eye.

Malachi stared at her, and something inside his chest simply broke. Without another thought, he settled back against the bed, and his arm slipped around her again.

Instantly, the lines of tension left her sleeping face, and her fingers loosened slightly, still clutching his shirt.

Satisfied he was still there.

He looked down at her for a long time, then finally exhaled slowly. It seemed like the torture and investigation would have to pause for a longer while, "I’m not leaving."

Not tonight.

Maybe not tomorrow either.

The room grew darker as the night grew deeper. At some point during the sleep, he noticed she started to shiver from cold and pulled the blanket around their bodies, keeping her head on his chest firmly.

Her temperature was a little high too.

Was she coming down with a fever?

His arms unconsciously tightened around her, and he went back to stroking her hair. He needed to get her to the healing wing for this, but any small movement might trigger her again, and he didn’t want to risk her.

His hand still carried a bit of Garett’s blood, and it made him feel restless, violent and possessive. It made his mind drift to places he didn’t want to.

Like how devastating this would have been if he had arrived a second later.

His gaze drifted to Della again. She looked impossibly small, sleeping against him.

Fragile.

Breakable.

Very... breakable.

His thoughts shifted against his own will again, to a place he wasn’t sure he could handle well.

Eight days.

In five days, he would have to choose the second option and break the bond. If that doesn’t kill her, it would weaken her body tremendously, and she wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.

Then, three days later...

The ritual.

His breathing stopped.

A hundred Alphas.

Hands.

Mouths.

Bodies.

Forcing themselves onto her while she screamed.

While he would have to sit there and watch.

The image struck him so hard he physically flinched. Garrett touching her alone had brought out the beast in him, which means there was no way he could sit there, watching as all that was being done to her.

But before then...the mate bond would be gone completely since he would reject her three days before.

He would probably feel nothing on that day.

Because it would all be for his Pack.

For his reputation.

Moreover...she was a rotblood.

You didn’t think she was a rotblood when your feet naturally carried you to the fields where you knew she’d be working.

And you definitely didn’t even bother a second about the mate bond, because when you had seen Garett on her...you didn’t react to the fear in the mate bond.

You reacted to HER.

"What am I becoming...?" he murmured into the darkness.

The question lingered unanswered, and only Della stirred faintly, letting out a sleepy breath as she unconsciously nuzzled closer.

His hand instinctively settled more firmly against her back.

Protective.

Possessive.

Natural.

The gesture came so easily that he didn’t even notice he’d done it, until he did.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he stared at his own hand on her back.

Then at the woman sleeping beneath it.

Five days until he had to choose.

Five days until everything he had built his life upon demanded one answer...and his heart whispered another.

For the first time since becoming Alpha, Malachi wasn’t afraid of making the wrong decision.

He was afraid that whichever choice he made...he would never be able to live with it.

Luna...or slave.

The answer was obvious. But... could he?!