Mid-morning, I left Roger's house and called Cora. I needed to inform her about what happened and enlist her help caring for Ella. Despite the doctor's optimistic prognosis, I feared Ella's recovery wouldn't be as swift as predicted. If anyone understood what to expect, it was her sister.
"Mr. Sinclair?" Cora answered hesitantly, as if questioning the caller ID.
"Good morning, Cora," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry to disturb you at work, but I have some bad news."
Her sharp intake of breath betrayed her anxiety. "Is Ella okay? Is the baby?" she asked softly.
"They're both at home resting," I replied, hoping to alleviate her worst fears. "But there was another attack last night."
"Another one?" Cora squeaked, her indignation rising. "I thought you were supposed to be this all-powerful Alpha? You're supposed to be keeping her safe! My sister has known you for a month, and she's already been targeted twice!"
I understood and shared her outrage. "I know. You have every right to be upset. I'm not happy with myself. I failed her," I confessed, exhaling heavily. "I'm not turning out to be a very good father."
Cora seemed at a loss for words. "Tsk," she cleared her throat. "Well, is she alright? Does she need anything?"
"She's a bit scraped up, but the worst damage was psychological," I explained. "It wasn't like last time. She... she didn't recognize me afterward." I pressed on, sensing her silence. "She's in a deep state of shock—the doctor used the word 'dissociative.' It was as if she completely disconnected from her body to protect her mind."
Cora swore, but didn't sound surprised. "I'll leave work now. I can be there within half an hour."
"Wait," I advised. "She's sedated, and I'm not sure when she'll wake up." I hesitated before voicing my next concern. Ella hadn't discussed her childhood much, but I knew she was fiercely protective of Cora. I remembered her behavior after the alley attack—refusing to show Cora her distress, insisting she was fine. "And... I don't want to sound insensitive, but I'm afraid if you're there, she'll focus on not worrying you, pretending everything's okay and ignoring her own well-being."
Cora considered this. "You're probably right. Ella's always been the caretaker... she doesn't know how to handle having the tables turned."
"So I've learned," I mused. "I think it's best to wait a couple of days."
"Alright," Cora agreed. "But I can still help. I know all her creature comforts. I can send you a list."
"That would be wonderful," I said, relieved I'd called before Ella woke. I could have her favorite things ready to comfort her.
"But Sinclair—" Cora interrupted.
"Please call me Dominic, Cora," I corrected gently.
"Dominic," she repeated patiently. "It's not my place to say this... but you should know..."
"Yes?" I prompted, a dreadful premonition seizing me.
"These attacks aren't the first trauma Ella's endured at the hands of men," she explained vaguely. "She went through a lot as a child... enduring some of it to protect me and the others." Cora trailed off, sounding miserable. Horrible images flooded my mind—Ella, even more innocent then, suffering at the hands of adults. "Be prepared that she'll be dealing not just with the trauma of the attacks, but all the bad memories they've dredged up."
"That's why you weren't surprised she dissociated," I guessed, hating the conversation. "You've seen this before."
"Yes," Cora confirmed remorsefully. "But you're not wrong. She wants to protect the people she cares about, even when she's not capable."
Something we have in common, I thought bitterly.
"I suppose it's two sides of the same coin," I said. "Whether she's protecting herself from pain or putting on a brave face, she's still repressing bad feelings."
"Oh," Cora murmured, as if having an epiphany.
"What?" I asked, disliking this turn.
"When you put it that way... maybe we're wrong about it being for someone else," Cora said. "Maybe that's how it started, but ultimately, she never learned to cope with these things."
Understanding hit me. If Ella had only ever repressed bad things, her sister's presence wouldn't matter; she'd try to do the same—because it's all she knew. Now I realized Ella hadn't just pretended to be fine with Cora after the first attack. She might have sought safety with me, but she was a hollow shell as I tended her wounds. When I encouraged her to share her feelings, she'd distracted me with an argument. She hadn't even cried about the attack, only my deception.
Fuck, I thought, furious at myself for missing this, for letting her outwit me.
"So what do I do?" I asked, hoping Cora had the answer.
"I've never been able to refuse Ella anything when she's hurting," Cora remarked, disheartened. "Especially when it's my fault. So I've never challenged her avoidance; I've... enabled her, letting her dictate what she wants without questioning if it's healthy."
Cora and I had more in common than I realized. She was sharper than I'd given her credit for. I might blame myself for endangering Ella, but I couldn't let guilt into coddling her. "But you're an Alpha," she pointed out. "Maybe you can do what I couldn't—not let her get away with pretending everything is fine."
"You can count on it," I nodded, taking this mission seriously. Ella was my responsibility; it was in my blood to care for my pack. She might be human, but she was pack now, and I knew her in ways her sister didn't. I also knew a thing or two about helping stubborn she-wolves find catharsis—and Ella would be no different.
"Thank you for telling me, Cora," I said sincerely. "And thank you for the advice. I'll call you when Ella's ready for visitors."
"Good luck," Cora offered. "Let me know if you need anything."
"I will." Hanging up, I realized talking to Ella's sister had completely changed my expectations. I'd prepared for Ella to wake up foggy or a basket case, but if the doctor was right and she was lucid—I'd likely be dealing with a very obstinate human in total denial.
Cora's email arrived, listing Ella's favorite foods, music, films, and amenities. I detoured to the store, stocking up on candles, essential oils, bubble bath, scrubs, masks, dark chocolate, flowers, and groceries. I planned how I'd set up my rooms before Ella woke, praying we were wrong about her burying her traumas.
My prayers weren't answered. Entering my rooms, I found Ella not only awake but instructing her dressmaker to sew sleeves onto her ballgown to cover her bandages. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about tonight's masquerade—but Ella hadn't.
She smiled, but I glared. "What in the Goddess's name do you think you're doing?"