Chapter 131 – Ella Dreams of Sinclair

Ella

“Sleep!” I beg my frantic wolf. “You need to conserve your strength! We need sleep!”

“I can’t rest when there’s danger,” she argues stubbornly. I’m frustrated, but I understand. Exhaustion from fear, anxiety, and pregnancy is pushing me to the brink, but I know rest is crucial. I need to stay alert.

I haven’t heard anything since the Prince’s visit. The servants brought food and fresh linens, but I didn’t trust them enough to eat. And though the bed looks comfortable, it’s nothing like my beloved nest. I don't feel safe here; how can I possibly relax enough to sleep?

If only I could talk to Dominic, reassure myself he’s safe, and warn him about what I learned. Then, a realization strikes: there is a way!

I pull a blanket off the bed, scanning the room—a space I’ve memorized after countless rotations. Three guards are stationed outside my door, two more below my third-story window. Finally, I clamber into the large wardrobe, desperate for the illusion of concealment, for walls around me, however flimsy.

I toss and turn, trying to relax and calm my wolf. My mind races, but the thought of soon dreaming with my mate gives me the needed resolve. When I open my eyes, I'm in the familiar moonlit forest of our previous dream encounters. I pray Sinclair is also asleep.

It happens gradually. The longer it takes, the more I fear he's too distraught to rest. But after what feels like hours, the air crackles with electricity. I sense him before I hear his voice, a deep bass that remains breathtakingly beautiful. “Ella!” Footsteps pound closer, and I’m scrambling out of the wardrobe, sprinting toward the sound.

Seeing him slows time. My vision blurs with tears. “Dominic!” I cry out.

He charges toward me beneath the stars, his ravenous gaze fixed on me with such intensity that a primal urge to chase him nearly overtakes me. I suppress it. We’re both in the same strange clothing we always wear here. As Sinclair nears, I see a black eye and fresh scratches marring his skin. I worry about unseen wounds, but he’s alive—and he’s here.

A few feet away, I throw myself into his arms, feeling no pain as my battered body collides with his. Powerful arms encircle me, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I want him closer, clinging to him with all my strength, my legs wrapped around his waist, my face buried in his neck. His scent fills my senses, and I weep with relief. He’s okay.

The huge Alpha nuzzles and pets me, murmuring endearments as his lips trace my skin. “Ella, my Ella. I’ve been so worried.” I can only whimper, running my fingers through his hair, hoping he feels my love as intensely as I feel his. “Such a clever mate, to think of our dreams! So perfect, so sweet.” He drops to one knee, but despite my attempt to fuse our bodies together, he gently pulls at my limbs. “I’m so sorry, my love. Are you alright?”

I whine and squeeze him tighter, but his protective instincts take over. He easily moves my body away. “Let me see, let me look at you.”

His eyes scan the gash on my head from the car crash, the black bruise on my temple from the wolves, and the swelling bruise on my cheekbone from Lydia’s slap, his expression agonized. His wolf whines, mirroring my pain. Sinclair fusses over each mark, dotting them with kisses and murmurs of sympathy. “Poor baby, what have they done to you?”

“The baby,” I hiccup, shaking my head and guiding his hand to my belly. He complies, equally concerned. “He’s kicking, but I can’t tell… is he alright?”

Sinclair dips his head to my neck, focusing on the energy pulses through his bond with our son, nibbling the spot on my shoulder where he claimed me last time. “He’s okay, but stressed,” he confirms. “He can feel your anxiety.”

It's not ideal, but an immense relief. I’d been terrified he was injured in the crash. “There,” Sinclair croons, stroking my tummy, inhaling my scent. “You see, that’s better already. Oh, my sweet mate, you must have been so afraid.”

“What about you?” I sniffle. “Are you hurt? What happened in the battle?” But Sinclair ignores my question, lifting me to the bed and removing my nightdress, apparently determined to examine every inch of my body for injuries. He growls at my attempts to object or push him away, his hands feather-light over my bruises, followed by kisses.

I’m reminded of a pet obsessively investigating its owner's clothes after a walk outdoors—a very growly, affectionate pet. Of course, I wouldn't voice this comparison to Sinclair. He won’t be satisfied until he’s checked me from head to toe, alternating between words of love and threats against the Prince.

Finally finished, he pulls me into his lap, wrapping me in a tight embrace, purring contentedly.

“I want to look at you, too. It’s my turn!” I complain, wriggling to reach the buttons on his shirt. He huffs but relents, and I undress him as he undressed me, a fresh wave of pain hitting me with every scar and abrasion I find. His ribs are bruised purple, and I feel guilty for squeezing him so tightly earlier. Yet, when I try to distance myself, he pulls me back, holding me captive.

“How are you?” Sinclair asks, his urgency undiminished. “Really?”

“I’m scared. For you, for me, and the baby,” I confess. “They killed Gabriel and the others for trying to protect me. I surrendered, and they still killed them!”

Sinclair growls, but this time, I sense anger directed at me. “They were always going to kill them. That's why you never surrender. Never. You know better, Ella. What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing!” I exclaim, hating his disappointment. I never want Sinclair’s anger, but it stings especially now, when I crave only comfort and support.

“Yes, you could!” He corrects firmly. “And when I get you back, I’m going to make sure you never consider such reckless behavior again. Not for me, not for anyone.” There’s a threat, yet his dominance strangely soothes me. It reassures me of his love, his refusal to give up on me for one mistake. “What else?” he asks, still in protective mode, demanding every detail.

A fresh wave of sobs threatens as I recall the events since my arrival. “Lydia’s an abominable cow, the Prince is an idiot… and I miss my nest,” I burst out, completely breaking down.

Sinclair clucks, purring louder. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Why is this happening?” I squeak, hating my weakness.

“The Prince is desperate,” Sinclair answers, kissing my hair. “But don’t worry, I’m going to fix this. I’m coming for you. Where is he keeping you?”

“I can’t tell you,” I state abruptly, remembering the overheard conversation. Sinclair stills, sensing my tension. “You can’t tell me, or you don’t know?” he clarifies.

“I know… but I can’t tell you,” I clarify, feeling the urge to cower. I peek at him from under my lashes, seeing the foreboding look on his handsome face. My wolf shrinks, but I stand firm. “I won’t tell you.”

Sinclair growls, and I know I’m in serious trouble.