Dominic's POV
I can hear her crying through the wall.
Each broken sob feels like a knife sliding between my ribs, twisting deeper with every breath she takes. My wolf claws at my insides, demanding I go to her, comfort her, make the pain stop.
I press my forehead against the door connecting our rooms and force myself to stay still.
You can't. You won't.
Another sob. Quieter this time, like she's trying to muffle it with her pillow.
My hand is on the doorknob before I realize I've moved. I yank it back like the metal burned me and stumble away, putting distance between myself and temptation.
Stop, I growl at myself. At my wolf. At the universe for being this cruel.
The room Garrett gave me—of course it's right next to hers—is smaller than my quarters in the Beta wing. One bed, one window, one door that leads straight to Maya's bedroom. Like a trap designed specifically to torture me.
I start pacing. Five steps to the wall. Turn. Five steps back. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, restless and furious.
Go to her. She needs us. She's in pain.
She's Garrett's daughter, I say out loud, trying to reason with an animal that doesn't understand reason. She's twenty-three. I'm thirty-eight. I'm her guardian.
She's hurting.
And I can't fix it. The words taste like ash. I can't fix any of this.
But my wolf doesn't care about what I can or can't do. All he knows is that Maya is on the other side of that door, crying, and we're not allowed to help.
I grab a glass from the nightstand and hurl it at the far wall. It explodes into a thousand pieces, glittering on the floor like broken stars.
The crying stops.
Silence. Then footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. Moving toward the connecting door from her side.
No. Don't come closer. Don't make this harder.
Dominic? Her voice is small and broken through the wood. Are you okay?
The question is so absurd I almost laugh. She's the one who just lost her father, who got humiliated in front of the whole pack, and she's asking if I'm okay.
That's Maya. Always thinking of everyone else.
I'm fine. My voice comes out rougher than gravel. Go to sleep.
Silence. I can picture her standing there, hand pressed against the wood, so close but impossibly far away.
I heard something break.
Just a glass. It's nothing.
More silence. The air feels thick, charged with everything we're not saying.
Dominic... what did my father say to you? Before he died?
Everything in me goes still.
I see Garrett in his bed three weeks ago, skin gray and breathing labored. The pack doctor said heart failure—nothing anyone could do. But Garrett grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.
Promise me something, brother, he'd whispered.
Anything.
Protect her. Not just from enemies. From herself. From pack politics. His grip tightened. Give her what I couldn't—someone who truly sees her strength. Someone who'll stand beside her, not above her. Promise me.
I'd promised. Of course I'd promised. Garrett saved my life when I was twelve years old, feral and dying. I owed him everything.
But standing here now, I wonder if I understood what he was really asking.
He asked me to protect you, I tell her through the door. Truth, but not all of it.
I don't need protecting. I need— She stops. Takes a shaky breath. Never mind. It doesn't matter what I need.
Those words hit harder than any punch. I know what she needs. Have known for years. But acknowledging it means crossing a line I swore never to cross.
Maya. I don't know what I'm going to say until the words come out. I know this isn't what you wanted. Having me as your guardian is humiliating. But your father's will is law, and I will keep you safe. Whether you like it or not.
Cold. Distant. Exactly the tone that will push her away.
It's better this way.
Right. Her voice goes flat. Just following orders, like always.
Footsteps moving away. Her bed creaking as she lies down.
I close my eyes and lean against the wall, hating myself.
You're hurting her, my wolf snarls. You're supposed to protect her, and you're making her cry.
I'm protecting her from me, I whisper.
I sink onto my bed, holding my head in my hands. Garrett's last words echo in my memory.
Give her what I couldn't—someone who sees her strength.
What if he didn't mean a mentor? What if
No. That's insane. Garrett would never have wanted me to have feelings for Maya. She's too young. Too good for someone like me.
My wolf disagrees. Violently.
She needs us.
She needs someone better.
I lie back, staring at the ceiling. The house settles around me, creaking. Downstairs, pack members are probably still drinking, making bets on how long Maya will last.
Let them talk. I'll prove them wrong.
I'll train her. Protect her. Help her claim her birthright. And I'll do it while keeping my distance, keeping my promise, keeping my hands to myself.
That's the plan.
Simple.
Clear.
Then I hear it—a soft thump against the wall we share. Like she's pressed her hand against it from her side.
Without thinking, I move to the wall and press my palm flat against the same spot.
We're touching through wood and plaster and all the reasons we shouldn't.
I'm sorry, I whisper, knowing she can probably hear me with her wolf hearing, even though she hasn't shifted yet. I'm so sorry, Maya.
For what, I'm not sure. For her father dying. For becoming her guardian. For wanting her when I have no right.
For all of it.
Her hand stays pressed against the wall for a long moment. Then it's gone, and I'm alone again.
I stay there until dawn, palm against the wall, listening to her breathe on the other side.
Protecting her the only way I know how.
By staying away.