I bit him, hard, tasting blood instantly. His breath hitched, but he didn’t release me. If anything, his grip became even more possessive, his free hand slipping beneath my robe.
My breath caught. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Panic flared inside me, and I struggled harder, pushing at his chest. “Benedict, get out!” I spat.
But he didn’t move, his fingers trailing my skin with infuriating ease. “You need me too, don’t you?” His voice was low, coaxing, as if I had any reason to desire him.
A tremor of rage passed through me. “I hate you,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
That made him stop. Benedict went still; his gaze locked onto mine. Something flickered in his eyes—something like hesitation.
Then, without another word, he released me and stalked toward the door. The slam echoed through the room, shaking the walls. I clutched the robe tightly around myself, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. My hands trembled.
For the next few days, Benedict didn’t return to the packhouse.
I tried calling him. Not because I wanted him back—Goddess, no—but because I needed to make him sign the rejection papers. He ignored every attempt.
By the weekend, I was seated in the living room, submitting applications for work, when the front door opened. The scent of pine and cedar filled the room, unmistakably his.
I looked up. He looked different. More worn. His usual confident stance was still there, but his eyes were shadowed, his jaw tighter than usual.
I forced myself to remain calm, closing my laptop before meeting his gaze head-on. “Since you’re finally back, let’s talk about the divorce agreement.”
Benedict’s expression hardened. “I already told you; I won’t divorce you.”
My fingers curled into fists. “Then why are you here?”
“To remind you that we have a pack gathering tonight.”
I exhaled sharply. Every month, Benedict and I were expected to attend some pack meetings. His relatives despised me. Before, I endured it because I loved him, because I believed he loved me too. But after what I saw, I refused to pretend anymore.
“I’m not going,” I said firmly. “Go without me.”
Benedict’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Stop acting like a kid throwing a tantrum.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You think this is a tantrum? I just want to be free of you.”