The Alpha's Mafia Luna novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Selene’s POV

The pain was sharp today.

Not the dull, lingering ache that haunted my ribs since I woke from the darkness–but a cruel, cutting heat that snapped across my skin.

as the doctor clipped the final stitch loose.

I winced. My jaw clenched, a whimper slipping out before I could

catch it.

Damian was beside me in a second.

His fingers wrapped around mine–warm, steady, too big for mine but somehow a perfect fit. I looked at him through watery lashes as the

doctor muttered something about “healing nicely.”

But I barely heard it.

“Breathe,” Damian whispered, kneeling beside the couch I was laid

out on. “It’s done. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I didn’t speak.

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I couldn’t. Not because of pain this time, but because of how tightly my throat coiled. Because his voice–rough and low–wrapped around

my bruised soul like a promise I didn’t ask for but needed anyway.

Dr. Moira gave a short nod, packed her tools, and left through the hallway. Her assistant trailed behind, carrying the little metal tray of

discarded sutures.

When the door shut, silence settled thick.

Damian looked at me, still holding my hand, thumb brushing lazy circles on my palm like he couldn’t stop. His suit jacket was still on- like he’d rushed here again in the middle of something important. As

always. Every time I flinched, he was there.

And yet…

“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes scanning my face for any twitch,

any flicker of discomfort.

I took a slow breath and pushed myself upright.

It hurt.

But I did it anyway.

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“I’m walking today,” I said softly. It came out raspy but clear enough

to catch the flicker of pride in his gaze.

“You’re not walking anywhere unless I carry you,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes and stood anyway.

Damian cursed under his breath.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re overdramatic.”

He blinked. “You were just cut open, Stitches just came out. You’re

still healing.”

“I’m a werewolf. We heal.”

“You’re my werewolf,” he snapped.

That shut me up for a second.

My?

That word sent a different kind of heat through me–one that had

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nothing to do with pain.

I tried to walk again, and to no one’s surprise, he moved right next to

me, hand hovering at my waist like I was seconds away from

collapsing.

Which, to be fair, I probably was.

سن

The hallway smelled like polish and pine, two maids whispering in

the kitchen just around the corner. His men stood like statues–two

by the front door, one at the stairwell, another at the back.

Home, but not really.

A gilded cage.

Still, I walked.

He didn’t say a word.

When I made it to the end of the hallway, I turned, feeling bold.

Brave. Tired. All at once.

I looked up at him, chin tilting just slightly.

“This is all thanks to you,” I said slowly.

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He smiled faintly, stepping closer. “Yeah, it is. I-”

“If only,” I continued, softer, “you hadn’t been on a tea date with your

ex–mate while I was getting kidnapped.”

Silence.

Dead. Cold. Silence.

Damian blinked.

Once.

Twice.

His jaw ticked.

My chest rose and fell with shaky breaths as I held his gaze.

Oh yes. I said it.

“You” he began, voice lower than ever, “-are pushing me.”

“I’m healing. Not deaf.”

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He stepped in closer. His scent wrapped around me again. Cedar.

Something darker. Possessiveness in a bottle.

“You think I wouldn’t have moved the world if I’d known where you

were?”

I didn’t answer.

“You think I didn’t burn every goddamn place to the ground looking

for you?” His voice cracked. “I thought–Selene, I thought you were

dead.”

I looked away. My throat tightened.

“You left me,” I whispered. “And he took me.”

Damian’s chest heaved. “Say that again.”

I looked at him. “You left.”

His hands were in my hair before I could blink. Gentle. But firm.

His forehead pressed to mine, lips ghosting over my skin like a prayer he wasn’t ready to speak.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

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My fingers curled into his shirt. “I know.”

“I swear to the Moon, Selene. If anyone touches you again—”

“They won’t,” I said, voice shaky.

He looked down at me.

“Because I’m never leaving your side again.”

We stood there for a long time.

Wrapped in silence. In pain. In all the words we didn’t know how to

say right.

Later that afternoon, I made it to the breakfast table on my own.

Barefoot.

A little slower than usual, sure, but it felt like freedom.

The kitchen smelled like eggs and honeyed toast. Mira grinned when

she saw me and immediately rushed over with a fresh glass of orange

juice.

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“Look who’s finally up and trying to be rebellious.”

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