Page 156 of The Beta's Blind Date

Wesley says nothing, but his eyes are on me, a wordless question held within them. Reid’s grip on me is unwavering, his hand on my stomach, his nose pressing into my shoulder as he tries to calm himself.

“Please, Taryn,” he says, almost in a whisper.

I shake my head and cover his hand with mine. “I don’t want to talk to him,” I say. Reid’s entire body relaxes against mine, a sigh of relief passing through his lips before he kisses my shoulder blade. “But I do want to hear what he has to say when King Malachi questions him. If that’s all right.”

“Of course.” Wesley stands from his desk chair. “You are the pack’s beta female, and you have every right to be involved in these situations. Not to mention you are one of his victims—the primary victim, if we’re honest—and I believe all victims have the right to face their abusers. It can help them get closure.” He walks around the desk to the door and pulls it open, glancing at Ben. “Would you like to join us?”

“No. I need to get back to my pack. We’re feeling the strain of the guests much harder than you are here, and I hate to leave my beta in charge for too long. I’ll make sure to keep Dominic’s return under wraps,” he adds, walking by Wesley and out the office door.

“I’ll call you if we find out anything important or if we need your assistance with anything.”

“Sounds good.”

Ben waves to us and then leaves, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks down the hall.

Wesley watches him go, then turns and looks at us, his brow raised. “You ready?”

Reid grunts, and I close my eyes to hide the eye roll I can’t hold back. “Yes. We are ready.”

“Reid?” Wes asks, leaning forward an inch to look closer at his beta.

“Give me like five minutes,” he says, his voice muffled by my coat.

Wesley’s lip twitches, and he steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. “I’ll see you at the cells,” he says right before the door clicks shut.

When the door closes, Reid grabs my knees and twists me so I’m sideways in his lap, my legs draping over the arm of the chair. His hand moves to my cheek as his mouth descends to mine, his lips warm, gentle, and soothing as he kisses me.

His fingertips press against my skin as he pulls back and rests our foreheads together, and my arms drape around his neck as he speaks. “I thought for sure you’d want to talk to him. I was prepared for an argument, a fight, especially with how willing you were to heal him when we were at Silver Ridge.”

My head shakes. “That was when he wasn’t healing and was unconscious. Now he’s making demands and expecting we will listen—expecting I will listen. And I’m not about to let him start thinking he can demand anything from me. He’s delusional if he thinks I will waltz in there and give in to his whims.”

“And he’s failed to realize he’s in no position to make such demands. The king is here, and he will find out the truth—whatever it may be—by any means necessary.”

I swallow and pull my face back an inch so I can look him in the eyes. “You mean torture?”

He grimaces a little and his skin turns an almost greenish hue. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

My brow raises. “I thought you hated Dominic? Why would you hope he isn’t tortured?”

“Oh, I think he deserves it. Don’t get me wrong. I just… don’t handle torture very well, so I’d prefer to not have to witness it if that’s what the king decides needs to happen.” He shudders and closes his eyes. “Can we talk about something else now? Please?”

I chuckle and lean forward to kiss him. “Let’s go to the cells. They’re waiting for us.”

I stand up, untangling myself from his arms and lacing our fingers together. We leave Wesley’s office, hand in hand, and exit the packhouse to head for the cells.

We keep our pace casual, acting as though we’re just two mates meandering across the pack grounds, taking in the clear skies and sunshine even with the icy temperatures. The storm was the perfect backdrop for the chaos of our relationship and everything we worked through together. Now, the sun acts as a mask, a facade, a front for the turmoil we’re dealing with, mirroring how we’re pretending there isn’t anything important going on, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Reid leads us to a nondescript building near the edge of the training fields and close to the line of trees where the forest begins, and he enters the code, making sure I see it as he punches it in. We step inside, and the door slams shut behind us, locking again, the sound echoing off the bare, white walls of the cells.

It’s much warmer here than in the packhouse, so I remove my coat and hang it on the hooks near the door. Then Reid leads me down the hall to a door at the end that the others left propped open for us.

Inside, the room is set up like an interrogation room, with a one-way window looking into where the prisoner is. But instead of a chair with cuffs, there is a full hospital bed and other hospital equipment, monitors, and an IV stand among them. Dominic lies on the bed, his wrists and ankles shackled with silver, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, and his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

The warmth from when I healed Reid and when I wanted to heal Dominic up at Silver Ridge forms beneath the skin of my hands, a tingling, peaceful sensation urging me to heal and protect. It’s an instinct I can’t control, much like a mate’s urge to claim and mark or a parent’s urge to protect their pup.

I pull the sleeves of my sweater down to cover my hands and hide the golden glow and clear my throat. The king, Wesley, Haven, Nolan, Sebastian, and Dr. Russo all turn to glance at us.

“I told them you didn’t want to talk to him,” Wesley says.

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