Chapter 216 – Silent Treatment

(Third Person)

As soon as Sinclair left Roger and Cora alone, the human turned toward the door, determined to flee. They had talked about the mating ceremony for over an hour, but as soon as they finished making plans, Cora bolted.

Before her hand touched the doorknob, however, Roger's voice stopped her. "Oh, so you're back to ignoring me, are you?"

Cora stiffened, turning back to the newly minted Beta. "I sympathized with you when your brother was dead, but now that we know Dominic is alive, I see no reason to pretend." She shrugged, trying to push away the memory of the huge wolf's arms around her. Of course, that was easier said than done—her mind carried her back to that emotional night, and she found it nearly impossible to forget how her heart had raced when he touched her.

Roger's tears gradually subsided as Cora held him, breathing in her delicate scent and letting her gentle touch soothe his raging wolf. Soon, his breathing was low and steady, and Cora's soothing murmurs fell quiet. It shouldn't have been so electrifying—to hold a grieving man in this way. But as the worst of the storm passed, the embrace became more intimate, and Cora became acutely aware of Roger's powerful body pressed against hers. She could scarcely breathe.

She felt his hands burning through her clothes, and his warm breath on her neck sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Goosebumps rose on her arms as he emitted a soft rumble of appreciation, and Cora wondered why her mouth suddenly felt so dry. Even though the big wolf had been vicious and unhinged minutes before, Cora felt safe and content in his arms, and—more alarmingly—she realized she didn't want him to let go.

That was the last straw. As a doctor, Cora was used to constant physical contact, and during the refugee crisis, she'd done more than her share of hand-holding. But no one had ever blurred the lines between professional and personal like this, evoking such deep emotions—especially not for a man who infuriated her as much as Roger.

Cora pulled away too abruptly, but attempted to cover her action with a hasty cough. "You'd better let me take a look at your feet," she suggested, glancing at the debris-strewn floor. Wolf's blood mingled with glass and splintered wood, and Cora wasn't sure how to cross the wreckage, but Roger lifted her into his arms and carried her through the worst of it, ignoring her protests.

"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, wriggling in his strong grip.

"My feet can't get any more beat up than they already are—yours can," he explained, pulling her closer.

"I'm wearing shoes!" Cora countered, rolling her eyes.

"Well, you can never be too careful," Roger replied easily, though she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He carried her into the bathroom and reluctantly set her feet on the ground, but he didn't release her immediately. Instead, he leaned her against him, as if worried she might fall.

Cora pulled away, becoming increasingly flustered. "Have a seat," she instructed, searching through the cabinets and retrieving first-aid supplies. Roger sat on the edge of the tub and patiently waited. If she had looked at him, Cora would have seen the hungry way he followed her with his dark eyes, or noticed the smirk twisting his lips as he listened to her pounding heart and racing pulse.

Trying to still her shaking hands, Cora sprayed warm water over the wolf's torn feet, wincing at the glass shards embedded in his soles.

"How were you even standing?" she asked.

"It helps that I'm very drunk," Roger replied, his eyes locked on her face. He found it very difficult to control himself around the beautiful human, especially given her courageous defiance. He knew it must not have been easy for her, and though part of him was proud, her skittishness was thoroughly provoking his wolf's predatory instincts.

Cora's knees were weak, but the familiar motions of her work helped steady her. She methodically removed the glass from Roger's feet with sharp tweezers, then cleaned and bandaged the wounds with careful precision. "There," she said, wiping sweat from her brow, even though the room was cool. "You should stay off those for the rest of the night."

"But how will I get to my bed?" Roger asked, arching a brow. Cora didn't like the sultry note in his deep voice, and she glanced toward the bedroom. "I think you'll find your bed is in pieces. I think maybe you should sleep in the tub."

She rose, cleaning up her supplies, and Roger's heart sank. He didn't want her to leave, partly because he enjoyed her company, but also because he simply didn't want to be alone. He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember the pain that had driven him to wreak such havoc. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved earlier," he said, catching Cora's hand before she could leave.

Cora frowned down at him. "I've seen worse," she answered honestly. "But I think you shouldn't be alone tonight."

"Is that an invitation?" Roger asked hopefully.

"My medical opinion," Cora corrected. "The same I would give anyone in your state."

"Everyone I care about is in the same condition—or thereabouts," Roger lamented, feeling sorry for himself. "They shouldn't have to deal with me on top of everything else."

Cora studied him. They were in an opulent palace with dozens of servants and guards. Finding someone to stay with the wolf wouldn't be difficult—even arranging a new room would be simple. So why was she so tempted to offer her own company? Why didn't she want to leave him? Why was she so tempted to feel his touch again? "I could stay with you," she blurted, before she could reconsider. "If you like."

Roger blinked, surprised but pleased. "Really?"

"As long as you behave yourself and don't get any wise ideas," Cora answered, tilting her chin.

"I think we have plenty of proof that wise ideas aren't my forte," Roger replied, gesturing to the demolished suite.

"You can say that again," Cora snorted, sweeping her gaze around. "But I'll be damned if I'm going to spend the night in this death trap. I'll ring downstairs to borrow a wheelchair, and then you can come to my room."

"Thank you, Cora," Roger squeezed her hand, but Cora pulled away and crossed her arms. "You don't know what this means to me."

Cora's cold expression wavered, a flash of genuine empathy appearing. Still, she didn't let her guard down. "I mean it, Roger. No funny business." She stalked away before he could reply, giving him a delightful view of her retreating backside.

"Ah, so that was just pity, was it?" Roger asked, bringing Cora back to the present.

"That and my oath as a doctor," she shrugged. "I couldn't exactly leave you bleeding and practically suicidal."

"U-huh, and I suppose you hold all your patients that way?" Roger pressed, closing the distance between them. He stopped only when he towered over her, and the delectable scent she'd come to know spiked with adrenaline. "And let them sleep in your bed even though you insisted they stay on the couch?"

"Only the ones who are giant crybabies like you," Cora retorted, hands on her hips.

"Come on, admit it, Cora," Roger purred, stroking a lock of hair from her face. "You're warming up to me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she insisted. "I showed you compassion in a time of need. That doesn't mean I've forgotten your past crimes."

"You're the only one who hasn't," Roger reminded her, moving closer. "I'm not saying I deserve it, I just find it curious that you can't move past things that your sister and my brother have forgiven. After all, they were the targets, not you."

"All that means is that I hold a higher standard for my sister than she would for herself," Cora argued, backing away until her shoulder blades hit the door. She froze, realizing she was cornered, nervously licking her lips as Roger continued to advance.

"I have a different theory," Roger said, placing his hands on either side of Cora's head. "Would you like to hear it?"

Cora shook her head, speechless.

"You like me," Roger declared, enjoying the surprise and anticipation in her eyes. "You don't want to, but you can't help it. But instead of dealing with that fact, you've turned me into a monster."

Anger and fear battled in Cora, even as heat pooled in her stomach. "I have news for you," she hissed, fire blazing in her veins. "I didn't have to turn you into anything. You helped Damon start this war. You targeted my sweet, innocent, pregnant sister because you couldn't handle coming second to your brother. You're trying to rewrite yourself as deep, complicated, and tortured, but all you truly are is a little boy with a fragile ego and major mommy issues." Cora pushed his shoulder, and Roger stepped back, eyeing her warily. "If I'd known you were going to twist things this way, I never would have shown you an ounce of humanity. But let me be clear, I won't be making that mistake again."

Without another word, Cora turned and stormed out. Roger listened to her receding footsteps, and though she didn't know it, the sound stayed with him for the rest of the day and well into the night.