Chapter 104: Terrorist attack
With Roman’s help, I manage to get Thorne into another bath. His body is burning, muscles tensing at every slight touch, a sure sign they’ve given him some sort of rut-inducing drug. My stomach churns at the thought, but I know how to fix this. Thank Luna, my mother’s teachings on herbs have always been invaluable, and right now, I need them more than ever.
"Drink this, love," I murmur softly, coaxing him to swallow the bitter mixture. He barely resists, his feverish state leaving him pliant, his eyes glazed over but trusting. I dry his damp hair with a towel, trying to soothe him. "See? You’re not dirty anymore," I whisper, more to comfort myself than him. His low murmur of agreement is enough to make me breathe just a little easier.
I guide him to the bed, my fingers trembling as I bandage his injured leg and arm. Every wince, every unconscious twitch of pain breaks my heart a little more. How could they do this to him? My Thorne, my strong, stubborn, fierce alpha reduced to this state. Eventually, sleep claims him, and I watch, unable to tear my eyes away from the way he grips my hand in his sleep. His breathing evens out, and in that moment, despite the rage boiling within me, he looks almost peaceful. Almost.
Twenty minutes pass before I gently untangle my hand from his grasp, careful not to wake him. I press a soft kiss to his forehead and quietly exit the room, closing the door behind me. Thorne will be out for a while, the potion ensuring he gets the rest he desperately needs. But I? I can’t afford to rest.
I change into warmer clothes and make my way to his office, the storm brewing inside me threatening to spill over. "Roman," I call out as soon as I step inside, my voice steady, but the simmering anger beneath the surface undeniable.
In minutes, Roman appears, the other sentinels close behind him. They can sense the shift in the air, the tension, the unspoken threat. All of them kneel before me without hesitation.
"It was a good day. A great day, even," I start, my tone deceptively calm as I pace around the room, my fingers trailing over the edges of Thorne’s desk. "Leona," I say, stopping directly in front of her. "Tell me what happened. Why is my husband in this state?"
Her report is detailed, precise—just as I expected. My network of spies and informants is thorough, and Leona doesn’t fail me.
"So..." I pause, my voice lowering dangerously as I process her words. "My husband was drugged and locked in a room with two omegas in heat?" The words taste like ash on my tongue, and the fury bubbling beneath my skin threatens to boil over.