Chapter 217 – Silent Treatment

[Third Person POV]

As soon as Sinclair left Roger and Cora alone, Cora turned toward the door, determined to flee. They had discussed the mating ceremony for over an hour, but as soon as they finished making plans, she made a run for it.

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. "Your brother's death earned my sympathy," she said with a shrug, "but now that we know Dominic is alive, I see no reason to pretend." She tried to push away the memory of the huge wolf's arms around her. Of course, this was easier said than done; her mind kept returning to that emotional night, and she couldn't forget her racing heart when he touched her.

Roger's tears gradually subsided as Cora held him, breathing in her delicate scent and allowing her gentle touch to calm his raging wolf. Soon, his breathing evened out, and Cora's soothing murmurs fell silent. It shouldn't have been so electrifying—to hold a grieving man in this way. But as the worst of his emotional 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 contentment, and Cora wondered why her mouth suddenly felt so dry. Even though the big wolf had been vicious and unhinged moments before, Cora felt safe and content in his arms, and, more alarmingly, she realized she didn't want him to let go.

This 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 intense emotions—especially not for a man who infuriated her as much as Roger.

Cora pulled away too abruptly, attempting to mask her actions 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 the glass and splintered wood, and Cora wasn't sure how to even cross the wreckage. But Roger scooped 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 down, but he didn't release her immediately. Instead, he leaned her against him, as if worried she might fall without his support.

Cora pulled away, increasingly flustered. "Have a seat," she instructed, searching the cabinets for first aid supplies. Roger sat on the edge of the tub and patiently waited. Had she dared to look at him, Cora would have seen the hungry way he followed her with his dark eyes, or noticed the smirk that twisted his lips as he listened to her pounding heart and racing pulse.

Trying to steady 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 answered, his eyes locked on her face. He was finding it very difficult to control himself around the beautiful human, especially given her courageous defiance. He knew it couldn't have been easy for her, and though part of him was proud, her skittishness was intensely 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 precision. "There," she said, wiping sweat from her brow, despite the cool temperature of the room. "You should stay off those for the rest of the night."

"But how will I get to my bed?" Roger asked, arching an eyebrow.

Cora disliked the sultry note in his deep voice and glanced toward the bedroom. "I think you'll find your bed is in pieces. I think you should sleep in the tub."

She rose to her feet, cleaning her supplies, and Roger's heart sank. He didn't want her to leave, partly because he enjoyed her company immensely, 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 such destruction. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved earlier," he said, catching Cora's hand before she could escape.

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'd give anyone in your condition."

"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 closely. 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 for him 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 up at her, surprised but incredibly 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, surveying the wreckage. "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, crossing her arms. "You don't know what this means to me."

Cora's cold expression softened, a flash of genuine empathy appearing on her face. 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 her 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 this way?" Roger pressed, closing the distance between them. He towered over her, and the delectable scent she'd come to love was 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, 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 dilated 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 within 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 against 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, unbeknownst to her, the sound of her pounding heart stayed with him for the rest of the day and well into the night.