A Broken Alpha Heiress' Revenge (Riley) novel Chapter 233

Chapter 233

Finished

Back to that day’s Stormridge Pack’s manor, Lucien Duskgrave pushed open the door to Riley’s chamber, the weight of her in his arms nothing compared to the weight of the things he hadn’t said.

Her scent–light, faintly tinged with herbs from the healer’s salve–clung to him. He set her down gently upon the bed, careful not to jar her leg. The mattress dipped beneath her slight frame, the furs folding around her like a protective cocoon.

He murmured a few low words meant to soothe, his voice rougher than usual, the kind of tone a wolf uses to calm a skittish mate. Then, without lingering, he turned to go.

From start to finish, his face remained composed–at least, it would have seemed so to anyone watching. But if Riley had looked closely, she might have noticed the truth betrayed in the faint, unnatural flush painting the tips of his ears.

Riley’s chest warmed at the sight of him retreating, a pulse of sweetness spreading through her. But the feeling soured almost instantly, as though the taste of it had been spoiled by a bitter root.

She thought of her own body–of what the Alaric had taken, of what could never be restored. The hearing she had lost in one ear. The limp she couldn’t hide on cold days. The absence of a kidney, a reminder carved into her with steel and pain.

What Alpha would want a mate so scarred?

What Alpha prince would bind himself to someone like her?

The thought landed heavy in her chest, pulling her shoulders in, making her fists curl into the blankets. She could hear the faint sound of his footsteps fading down the hall, and in the hollow that followed, a dangerous little ember of thought flickered to life.

Maybe… maybe I could try.

Maybe I could heal.

If there was a chance to mend what was broken–to walk without the limp, to hear fully again, to reclaim strength in her body -then perhaps she could stand beside Lucien without shame. Without the constant fear of being pitied or discarded.

The ember flared, lighting a spark of resolve in her eyes.

She shifted slightly, feeling the pull in her damaged leg, the familiar dull ache that came with the movement. She didn’t care. She would find a way.

Some wounds might never truly vanish, but she would fight to make them smaller, weaker, until they could no longer be used against her.

Across the manor, Lucien stepped into his own chamber. The air here was cooler, scented faintly of pine from the branches placed by the window. He moved without thinking into the washroom, the soft pad of his bare feet muffled by the thick rug.

The mirror caught him as he reached for a towel. He paused, almost startled by the reflection that stared back–a man whose composure was intact everywhere except for the betraying crimson still staining the edges of his ears.

He almost didn’t recognize himself.

He gripped the sides of the marble basin, his head lowering for a breath. Then it came, unbidden–the memory of the kiss.

It hadn’t been an accident. He could admit that to himself now. It had been deliberate, calculated even, meant to provoke Ronan Duskcliff, to draw that protective fury to the surface,

But the moment his lips had touched hers, the plan had shifted into something entirely different.

Warmth. Softness. The faintest catch of her breath.

He had tasted defiance and vulnerability in the same breath, a combination more intoxicating than any drink.

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