Danae’s POV
The awkward shift in his tone made me curious enough to crack my eyes open.
Galen’s face had gone strangely rigid—like he’d just arrived at a calculation that hadn’t gone his way.
“An accident?” Eirwen’s voice rose.
“She could have died, Galen.”
“Lower your voice.” Flat.
Dismissive.
“You’re being dramatic.
She’ll be fine.”
His indifference lit something in my chest.
Slow-burning, patient.
My eyes opened fully.
I shifted on the hospital bed.
Galen’s head snapped toward the sound.
“Danae?” His face restructured itself in a single second—irritation replaced by performance of concern.
“You’re awake.”
I nodded.
Let my eyes take in the room slowly.
The IV in my arm.
The heart monitor.
Galen hovering at my bedside, reaching for my hand.
I let him take it.
“How are you feeling, babe?” His thumb moved in small circles against the back of my hand.
The gesture that used to comfort me now made my skin want to climb off my body.
“It’s terrible,” I managed, my voice still thick.
“Water?”
Eirwen filled a cup from the plastic pitcher and handed it over.
I sipped slowly. The source of this chapter is g.com.
The water gave me time.
The time gave me the words—words I had been assembling quietly since I’d first heard them from Eirwen on the bathroom floor this morning.
“Galen.” I set the cup aside.
“Hold me.
Please.”
Surprise crossed his face before the practiced warmth moved in to replace it.
“Of course, babe.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, mindful of the IV, and gathered me carefully into his arms.
I rested my head against his chest.
His heartbeat was strong and steady and entirely unaware of what was coming.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against my hair.
“You’re safe now.”
I took one breath.
Then:
“I, Danae Ashgrave, reject you, Galen Bryneholm, future Delta of the Ashmoon, as my mate.”
His body went rigid.
The heart monitor accelerated with my own pulse.
The room held its breath.
“What did you just say.” A whisper.
Dangerous, precise.
“You heard me.” I pulled back from his arms.
“I reject you as my mate.”
A tremor moved through him—deep, involuntary, starting somewhere central and radiating outward.
He let out a sound from the bottom of his chest, like something had been torn.
His fingers found my arms and tightened.
When he looked down at me, his eyes had changed.
Amber irises ringed with wild, animal light.
His face contorted in a grimace that was half fury and half agony.
“You bitch,” he snarled, fingers digging in.
“You think you can just walk away from this.”
Fear moved through me, sharp and instinctual.
“Let go of me, Galen.”
“After everything I’ve done for you?” His voice was barely human now—the wolf pushing through every consonant. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“This is just the beginning.
You’ll regret this.”
“You’re hurting me,” I gasped.
“Good.” His grip tightened.
“Maybe pain will remind you where you stand.”
“Where I stand?” Something overrode the fear.
It rose up through my chest and steadied my voice like a spine being straightened.
“My place was never to be your puppet.
I know about Drusilla.
I know about your son.”
That hit.
His grip loosened—just a fraction—and shock briefly disrupted the rage.
“Eirwen!” I didn’t wait.
“Get the nurse!”
Eirwen lunged for the call button and held it down.
Galen released me with a shove that sent pain through my whole midsection.
He stood, his body visibly shaking, fists clenched at his sides, looking at me like I was something he was going to take apart at a time and place of his choosing.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
Each word placed with cold precision.
“There will be consequences.”
He walked out.
The door closed behind him.
The heart monitor kept beeping.
My arms still throbbed where his fingers had been.
Eirwen crossed the room quickly and wrapped both arms around me, and I let my forehead drop against her shoulder.
I was terrified.
I was also, for the first time in five years, entirely free.