Ella
It was easy to be reasonable when it was just me and Cora.
When my sister’s low, steady voice was talking me through all my misguided rationalizations, I didn’t
struggle to stay calm, I didn’t have to fight a tidal wave of raging emotions too tangled and convoluted
to ever sort out. I was able to listen and really interrogate my assumptions, to use logic and reason
without getting caught up in my emotions. However as soon as Sinclair appears, all that goes out the
window.
Just seeing his handsome face makes me want to burst into tears, and I’m so miserable and furious
that I don’t know what to do. A sense of utter betrayal slams into me, and for the first time I understand
why I was so afraid of being love bombed. He might not have been manipulating me, but I think I’ve
been falling in love with Sinclair all along – no matter how hard I tried to fight it.
Sinclair’s power washes over me the moment he enters the room. He barely pauses to greet Cora, his
attention clearly elsewhere as his sharp eyes scan the room, only stopping once they land on me. He
immediately crosses to the couch where I’m seated and kneels down in front of me. “Ella,” my name is
a sigh of relief, and he unwinds my arms from my body so he can look me over, as if he’s worried I’ve
somehow been injured in his absence. I try to resist his strength, but he makes a deep rumbling sound
and I instinctively surrender. His hungry gaze rakes over every inch of my skin before finally rising to
meet my eyes. He takes my face in his hands. “Are you alright?”
Knowing I’m playing with fire and not giving a damn, I shoot him a sulky glare. “What do you care?” I
hate myself as soon as the words leave my lips. I sound like such a child.
His brows knit, “That’s a no.” He assesses gruffly, pursing his lips as if he’s internal cursing himself. “I’m
so sorry about last night. I can explain–”
“I’m fine.” I counter sharply, not wanting him to see how badly I’m hurt. “I don’t give a damn what you
do or who you see when we’re not together.”
Sinclair arches one dark brow, leveling me with an expression so stern I want to crawl under the couch
and hide. “In that case we can go home and discuss the way you snuck out last night, without your
guards, without letting anyone know where you were going.” His powerful hand slides around to my
nape, and something deep and primal in my bones curls in on itself. “Not to mention crawling down
trellises in the rain, especially when you’re carrying precious cargo.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” I snap, hating to be reminded of how reckless I was with my
unborn child. “I came to Cora’s because I wanted to be with my sister and I’m going to stay here.”
“Then you have a choice.” Sinclair informs me, his voice like gravel. “Because I’m not leaving you when
you’re like this. So we can have this out here, in front of Cora, or we can go home and do it in private.”
I glance over his shoulder at Cora, who’s currently staring at me as if she’s never seen me before. I
know I’m behaving like a complete brat, but I can’t help myself. Sinclair turns me into someone I don’t
recognize in times like these, and though part of me thinks it must be the baby’s influence, I’d be lying if
I said it didn’t feel right. Pushing back against Sinclair seems like the natural thing to do, something the
voice in my head is demanding despite my better judgment.
“You need to leave.” I growl, a pitiful rumble sounding in my chest.
Sinclair’s eyes flash dangerously, and he flashes his fangs, showing me his inner wolf. “Have it your
way.” The next thing I know his shoulder is digging into my pelvis, and I’m being tipped upside. Before I
know it I’m slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. I yelp in surprise, feeling the blood rush to my
head. Before I can hope to orient myself, my hair spills down towards the ground, completely blocking
my vision of everything beyond Sinclair’s muscular back.
“Dominic! The baby!” I object, squirming vigorously.
“The baby is perfectly fine.” Sinclair promises, locking his arm over the back of my knees to cease my
escape attempts. “You, on the other hand…”
“Put me down right now!” I order, kicking my feet into his toned abs and remembering that his body is
constructed of pure steel. The pain in my toes only enrages me more, and so I start beating my
clenched fists against his firm backside. “This isn’t fair, you tyrant!” I snarl, fighting for all I’m worth.
“That’s right, you just get it all out of your system, baby.” Sinclair chuckles, patting my thighs. “But you
better believe I’m taking note.”
He carries me out the door and into the elevator, letting me vent my rage with so little reaction I wonder
if he even notices my attack. “Can you even feel this, you ogre!” I exclaim.
“Like ferocious little mosquito bites, sweetheart.” Sinclair taunts, earning himself another outraged
snarl. Of course, the big wolf only laughs. He carts me out of the building and onto the street, where
anyone can see us.
“Dominic, people will see!” I object, stilling my movements for the first time.
“Then you might want to stop making all those adorable little growling sounds. People are going to start
searching if they think there’s an angry kitten on the loose.” Sinclair informs me sagely.
“This isn’t funny!” I cry, hating him for making light of my misery. Sinclair deposits me into the back of
his limo, and I immediately slide over the seats and try to climb out the other side. Unfortunately
Sinclair’s shifter speed gets the better of me again, and I’m dragged back into the car. Furious, I move
into the seat across from him, biting down on my lower lip to stop it from quivering and betraying how
close to tears I am.
“I don’t think this is funny, Ella.” Sinclair answers, sounding so sober I wonder if this is the same man
who was teasing me a moment ago. “This is very serious to me, but I can’t help the way your defiance
provokes my wolf any more than you can help feeling provoked by me.” His glowing, emerald eyes are
boring into me, piercing straight through me with so much intensity I can’t doubt his honesty. “And I
admit, I find you too cute to bear when you get riled up this way… but I don’t find anything about the
situation we’re in amusing.”
I cross my arms over my chest, and suddenly I taste blood. I guess I was biting myself too hard, and
now of course Sinclair is beside me, tsking and tugging my crimson-stained lip from the prison of my
teeth. I pull away from him, not wanting to be soothed and coddled when I’m still so furious. Sinclair’s
jaw clenches, but he lets me go. “Ella, If you stopped fighting me for a minute I could tell you what
happened.”
“You might be able to bully me physically, but you can’t make me listen to you.” I snipe. “Whatever it is
you want to say – I don’t want to hear it.”
More like you’re afraid to hear what he needs to tell you. The little voice in my head observes.
So what if I am? I counter. It’s not like it will change anything. The writing is already on the wall. I don’t
need him to tell me how he thought he was over Lydia and didn’t realize he wasn’t until it was too late. I
don’t want to listen to his apologies or promises he can’t keep, about how this doesn’t have to change
our plan.
Maybe not, but you could at least try to be less petty about it.
She has a point. I don’t know why I get this way with him, I never suffered from immaturity before
meeting Sinclair.
You never had the option before. My conscience reminds me. You always had to be the grown up in
every situation you were in.
Then I should be able to act like one now. I think miserably, even though I know it’s a losing battle. I’m
about to be a mother. I can’t regress just because I got my feelings hurt.
Sinclair is still watching me, and I fight the instinct to squirm under his scrutiny. I take a few deep
breaths, trying to work myself up to an apology for my behavior, but unsure how I can word it without
also opening us up to a discussion. Before I can come up with the right answer, Sinclair’s familiar bass
breaks through my thoughts. “What upsets you more Ella, the way I handled last night, or the fact that it
happened in the first place?”
“What?” I reply, feeling my hackles raise defensively. Surely he’s not suggesting what I think he is.
A moment later however, my pulse begins to race as Sinclair repeats his question, this time cutting
right to the heart of the matter. “I’m asking: are you angry, or are you jealous?”
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