Dominic's POV
I clenched my jaw as I stepped out of Ashen's room, shutting the door behind me.
For once, I listened.
For once, I didn't push.
But fuck, it killed me to walk away.
He had shoved me off like my touch burned him, like I was just another person trying to control him. And maybe, in his mind, I was.
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.
Ashen was a fighter. Stubborn. Resilient. But I had seen the cracks in his armor tonight—the way his voice broke, the way he cried. And I hated that I couldn't do anything about it.
His words rang in my head. Why did you help me? You should have let me be in pain.
That was what hurt the most. That he truly believed he deserved to suffer. That someone had convinced him he was nothing more than a burden, a mistake.
I wanted to find whoever had done this to him. I wanted to rip them apart.
But more than that, I wanted him to let me in.
With a frustrated growl, I turned and stalked down the hall, fists clenched.
I wasn't giving up on him.
Not now. Not ever.
I barely made it to my office before I slammed my fist against the doorframe, breathing heavily. Every part of me was screaming to turn back to go to him, to shake some sense into him, to make him see what I already knew.
That he wasn't worthless. That he wasn't weak. That he sure as hell wasn't some slut, no matter what lies had been drilled into his head.
But he didn't want to hear it.
He shoved me away. Told me to leave. And for once, I had forced myself to listen.
The rage simmered just beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed. My wolf was restless, pacing in my mind, demanding we do something anything to fix this.
I forced in a slow breath. Then another.
And then the door swung open.
Ryker.
His sharp blue eyes flicked over me, immediately reading the tension in my shoulders, the way my fists were still clenched at my sides.
"Fuck," he muttered, stepping inside. "What happened?"
I turned away, bracing my hands against the desk, trying to steady the emotions clawing at my throat.
"He broke," I said finally, voice rough. "For just a second. And then he put his walls back up and shoved me away."
Ryker exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "That kid's been through hell, Dom. You can't expect him to trust you overnight."
"I don't," I growled. "But I do expect him to stop tearing himself apart."
Silence.
Then, Ryker let out a quiet chuckle. "You've got it bad."
I shot him a glare. "This isn't a fucking joke, Ryker."
"Never said it was." He held up his hands, but the amusement didn't fully leave his face. "I'm just saying you're treating him differently. If this were anyone else, you'd have already forced them to talk."
I didn't answer.
Because he was right.
I had never been patient. Never been the type to wait for someone to open up at their own pace. I commanded. I took. I demanded.
But Ashen wasn't just anyone.
And whether he wanted to admit it or not—he was mine.
I let out a long breath, rolling my shoulders. "He needs to sleep this off. But tomorrow… I'm done letting him run."
Ryker's smirk widened. "Now that sounds more like you."
I avoided him the rest of the day.
The next morning, I found Ashen exactly where I expected alone, near the training grounds, pretending like last night hadn't happened.
Too bad for him.
I approached quietly, watching as he focused on a punching bag, fists striking in sharp, controlled movements. His stance was solid, but there was tension in his shoulders—something raw, restless.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
I leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, waiting.
Seconds passed. Then a minute.
Finally, his body stilled, his breathing heavy as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"That bag do something to piss you off?" I drawled.
Ashen stiffened at the sound of my voice but didn't turn around. "Go away."
I smirked. "See, now that's just rude. After everything we shared last time?"
That did it.
He spun, eyes blazing, his entire body radiating murder. "We didn't share anything."
I lifted a brow. "Really? Because I remember you moaning my name and—"
He lunged.
I dodged easily, laughing as he swung again. Gods, he was so easy to rile up.
"Don't you dare talk about that," he snapped, breath ragged. "It was a mistake."
"A mistake?" I mused. "Because you liked it?"
His nostrils flared. "Because it shouldn't have happened."
I stepped closer, forcing him back. "Why not, Wolfe?"
He swallowed hard, but his glare didn't waver. "Because I don't want you."
I grinned. "Your body says otherwise."
He shoved at my chest, but I caught his wrist, yanking him just close enough for him to feel the heat between us. His pulse was wild beneath my grip. His scent was sharper today, still carrying the faint traces of heat, even as he tried to pretend otherwise.
"Let go," he ground out.
"Not until you admit it," I murmured.
"Admit what?"
"That you want me."
His breath hitched.
For a split second, his lips parted, his body betraying him.
Then he tore himself away, chest heaving. "Go to hell."
I chuckled, watching as he stormed off.
Gods, he was adorable when he was pissed.
I stretched, rolling my shoulders.
Let him run for now.
I had all the time in the world.
And Ashen Wolfe?
He was already .
I let Ashen storm off earlier, but the image of him—flushed, panting, wrecked with heat—lingered in my mind like a damn brand.
And I wasn't even sorry for it.
So when I caught sight of him in the hallway later, stiff-backed and brooding, I couldn't resist.
"Wolfe," I called smoothly, dragging out the name just to piss him off.
He barely glanced at me. "Go away."
I smirked. "Can't. You're in my packhouse."
He let out a sharp breath, probably counting to ten in his head to stop himself from throwing something at me.
Oh, this was fun.
I stepped closer, just enough to make him aware of me. "You sleep well last night?"
He shot me a glare so sharp it could've gutted me. "Go fuck yourself."
I hummed. "Not when I have you to do that for me."
His face flamed.
Bingo.
"I hate you," he snapped.
I grinned. "Yeah? Then why'd you moan my name?"
He stiffened.
His lips parted, but no words came out—just a stunned, betrayed silence.
Ah. There it was.
"You—"
"Loud, too," I mused, tapping my chin. "Thought the whole pack might hear you for a second."
His eye twitched. "You asshole—"
"What?" I leaned in, voice dipping lower. "You want me to say it louder? Make sure they all know how pretty you sound when you're desperate?"
He lunged—whether to hit me or shut me up, I wasn't sure.
But I was faster.
I caught his wrist, twisting him effortlessly until his back hit the wall.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Pressed this close, I could feel his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady. Could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his body reacted even as he hated himself for it.
"Tell me," I murmured, my nose ghosting over his temple. "Was it me you were dreaming about last night?"
His breath hitched.
Silence.
Then, he did the only thing he could.
He lied.
"No."
I chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet his furious, flustered gaze. "You're a terrible liar, Wolfe."
His hands trembled at his sides, like he was caught between fighting me and something else entirely.
I released him, stepping back.
He stayed pinned against the wall, fists clenched, breaths uneven.
But he didn't move.
Didn't run.
I smirked. "Come find me when you're ready to admit it."
Then I turned, leaving him standing there—angry, shaken, and exactly where I wanted him.