The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 43: Attend To Me

Aurora’s POV

​The drive was suffocatingly quiet. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the passing streetlights as they blurred into long, golden streaks. Every bump in the road felt like a knife twisting in my ribs, and every breath was a shallow, jagged struggle. Beside me, Dom Raymond radiated a dark, vibrating energy—a mixture of protective instinct and something that felt like raw guilt.

​He didn’t speak, and neither did I. My mind was too busy spinning. Alpha. The word echoed over and over. If he was an Alpha, he wasn’t just some high-end club regular. He was a predator of the highest order.

​We arrived at my apartment complex far too quickly. He killed the engine, and for a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the cooling metal.

​"Aurora," he started, his voice cracking the silence. "I am so sorry. I never knew... I never imagined one of those men would dare follow you. I would have killed him where he stood if I had seen him touch you."

​I kept quiet, clutching my stomach as I fumbled for the door handle. I didn’t want his apologies. I wanted to be away from the smell of leather and that familiar, haunting cedar scent that clung to him. I managed to get the door open and winced, a sharp cry escaping my lips as I tried to step out.

​He was around the car before I could even find my footing, his hand steadying my elbow. I tried to shake him off, but he followed me like a shadow all the way to my door.

​"Do you have a first aid kit?" he asked, his green eyes scanning my battered face.

​"Yes," I managed to rasp, leaning against the doorframe. "Please... just leave. You’ve done enough."

​"I can’t be at rest until I know you’re okay," he refused, his tone shifting back into that commanding tone. "I’m coming in."

​"No—" I started, but as I turned the key, he didn’t wait for an invitation. He placed a hand on the door and pushed himself in right behind me, his massive frame making my small living room feel microscopic.

​"Don’t be scared," he murmured.

​I froze. The way he said it—the soft, low vibration of his voice—it was a mirror image of the way Alpha Oliver had spoken to me in his room just twenty-four hours ago. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought. It was the trauma. It had to be.

​I stumbled toward the bathroom and brought out the first aid kit, setting it on the coffee table with trembling hands. He immediately took it from me.

​"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the sofa. "I’ll do it."

​"No," I snapped, my pride the only thing left intact. "I can do it myself."

​He stepped into my personal space, the heat radiating off him making my skin prickle. He held my gaze, his voice dropping to a whisper.

​"Aurora, if you want me to leave, then just let me do this. Let me fix what I can. Then, and only then, will I go."

​I looked at his gloved hands, then up at the mask that hid the face of my parents’ killer. I was too tired to fight him anymore. My body was failing, and the room was starting to tilt. I sank onto the sofa, my breath hitching as he knelt between my legs, opening the kit.

​He worked on my face first, his touch surprisingly light for a man who had just cracked marble with his bare knuckles. As he dabbed a disinfectant wipe against the cut on my lip, I hissed in pain, my hands clenching the fabric of the sofa.

​"Easy," he murmured, his voice thick with a strange, jagged tenderness.

​He was so close. Even with the leather mask obscuring his features, the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity of those forest-green eyes were overwhelming. The heat coming off him was alluring. Despite the mask, I knew this man was devastatingly handsome. He looked away for a second, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting back an explosion, then moved to my arm. There were no open wounds there, just dark, blooming bruises where the man had grabbed me. He traced the marks with his gloved thumb, and I could feel the anger radiating off him—not at me, but at the fact that I had been hit.

​"You have to lift up your dress," he said suddenly, his eyes dropping to where I was clutching my ribs.

​"Hell no," I snapped, pulling back.

​"Aurora, don’t be difficult," he said, and for a split second, that cold, commanding Alpha authority bled through. "It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I need to know if the ribs are broken or just bruised." 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

​He was right, and I was too exhausted to argue. I wanted him out of my house, and this was the only way.

With trembling fingers, I pulled the fabric of my dress up just high enough for him to see the damage. He let out a low, sharp breath—a hiss of pure anger—at the sight of the purple and blue mottling my pale skin.

​He began working, his hands surprisingly steady as he applied a cooling gel to the area. I hissed in pain, my breath hitching, and instinctively, I reached out, my hand landing on his broad shoulder to steady myself.

​I looked down at the top of his head, watching the focused way he tended to me, and a terrifying realization washed over me. Why do I feel safe?

​Normally, I should have been screaming for help. I should have been terrified, clawing at the door to get away from a man who was an Alpha, an assassin, and a monster. But as he knelt there between my knees, caring for me in the dim light of my room, there was a strange feeling of ease. A sense of comfort that I couldn’t explain. My heart was still racing, but not from fear—it was something deeper, something that felt like a magnetic pull I was powerless to fight.

​"There," he whispered, his hand lingering for a moment too long against my waist. He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine, and for a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. "The ribs aren’t broken, but you’ll be sore for a week."

​He stood up slowly, packed the first aid kit back into its box with jerky, agitated movements, and for a moment, I thought it was over. I thought he was finally going to walk out that door and leave me to my questions and my bruises.

​"Get some rest, Aurora," he urged, his back to me. "And visit the hospital tomorrow."

​He started to turn toward the door, but then he stopped. He froze, his head bowing as if he were fighting a losing battle with his own soul. Suddenly, he spun around. Before I could even gasp, he was back on his knees between my legs, his hands framing my face with a terrifying intensity.

​Then he slammed his lips against mine.

​Fuck.

​My brain screamed at me to pull away. He’s a monster. An assassin who might have killed your parents. But as his mouth crushed mine, the logic disintegrated. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, possessive, and thick with the same hunger that had nearly consumed me on the floor of the Pack House.

​I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to. My hands, which should have been pushing him back, instead tangled into the dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.