Alpha's Private Plaything (Elsa and Drake Stone) novel Chapter 220

Chapter 220

Elsa

I slipped into the small hospital bathroom, turning on the faucet to

splash cold water on my face. My reflection stared back at me,

hollow–eyed and exhausted. I’d barely slept since Drake had been

wheeled away for emergency surgery, my mind replaying his threats

on an endless loop. Fucking nightmares. Every time I closed my eyes.

The nurses had informed me an hour ago that he was back from

surgery and stable. I should have felt relieved. Instead, anxiety coiled

in my stomach like a snake, twisting my insides into knots that made

me want to vomit.

I dabbed my face with a paper towel and tried to smooth my tangled

hair with my fingers. The thin hospital gown made me feel exposed,

vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door and

stepped back into the room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Drake was awake, propped up against the pillows, his broad chest

wrapped in fresh bandages. His face was pale, but his eyes followed

me with predatory focus as I moved to my bed. Without his customary

suit, he looked different–still dangerous, but somehow more human.

More vulnerable. And I hated that I noticed.

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Chapter 220

He shifted, wincing slightly as he reached for the water glass on his bedside table. His fingers strained, coming up short by mere inches. For a moment, I watched him struggle, a petty satisfaction warming

my chest, making my lips twitch with the ghost of a smile.

“Why don’t you call Taylor?” I asked, settling back onto my own bed.

“Isn’t that what he’s for? Standing outside the door waiting for your

commands?”

Drake’s jaw tightened. “Give me the water, Elsa.”

It wasn’t a request. The Alpha command in his voice made my inner

wolf flinch, a pavlovian response I hated. My muscles tensed

automatically, ready to obey before my brain could intervene.

I folded my arms across my chest, wincing as pain shot through my

injured arm. “I’m not your fucking servant.”

His golden eyes narrowed. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this

bed. I took a knife for you, or have you forgotten already?”

“If it weren’t for you, neither of us would be here at all,” I countered,

heat rising to my face. “And your wound reopened because you were

trying to assault me, not because of any heroics. You were being a

controlling asshole, as usual.”

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“Assault you?” He laughed, the sound harsh in the sterile room.

“That’s not how I remember it. In fact, I have photos that tell a very

different story about what happens when I touch you.”

My blood ran cold. The photos. Of course he would bring those up

now.

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