The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 372

Third Person's POV

The second Trista reached the pack boundary, Alistair's gravelly voice cut through a mind-link directly to Abbott, "Get her out of here. Make sure no one catches her scent on the way out."

A moment later, the two stood beside the mud-splattered heavy-duty SUV.

"Miss Holmes," Abbott said softly, "I'll be trailing you in my car to make sure you get back to your den safe and sound."

"Did your Alpha get bitten while patrolling the border?" Trista asked out of nowhere, her gaze as sharp as a scalpel.

Abbott's head snapped down. His muscles locked up instantly, and he went as silent as a stone wall.

Trista knew she'd smelled the truth.

She stared Abbott down, her voice taking on the professional authority of a high-tier healer. "How bad is it, Abbott? Don't give me that PR garbage you feed the humans. Tell me the truth."

Abbott glanced around cautiously, making sure no one was listening, before lowering his voice. "Miss Holmes, you know his temperament. He's the spine of this territory. If he shows even a hint of weakness, the rogues lurking in the shadows will lunge for his throat in a heartbeat. He put a gag order on this—no one dares to breathe a word. I'm just the escort. Anything else... I really don't know."

Trista watched him for a long beat before pulling out her phone and handing it over. "Abbott, save my number. If the wolf inside him can't hold on, call me. If Alistair wants to rip your throat out for it later, tell him it was my idea."

They exchanged info, and Trista started her car, her mind racing.

If she was right, Alistair's injury was at his core.

He wouldn't let her get close because he was afraid that, as a healer, she'd see right through his crumbling Alpha facade.

What kind of trauma was so bad that he had to hide it from his own doctor?

The L.A. nights were always full of predatory violence.

Regardless of everything, Alistair had saved her life once. If Shadowfang was actually on the verge of collapse, she wasn't going to let that old wolf bleed out in the dark alone.

On her way back, Trista got a call from Wynn and detoured to the Imperial Club.

The moment she stepped into the lobby, she saw Cassian coming down the stairs, surrounded by a small entourage.

He was tall and imposing, his sharp, custom suit accentuating the cold, elite Alpha aura that made him stand out even in a crowded club.

Their eyes met across the room. Trista didn't blink; she simply stepped back to give him a wide berth.

Cassian signaled his assistants to go ahead and stepped down the last few stairs alone.

He stopped in front of Trista, his voice low and edged with a hint of an interrogation. "What are you doing here this late?"

Trista gave him a look she'd usually reserve for a total stranger—she didn't even give him the courtesy of a word. She simply sidestepped him and headed upstairs.

Cassian froze, watching her cold, final departure.

For a second, he felt like an invisible wire was tightening around his heart, digging into the flesh. He felt so suffocated he could barely stand.

Now, she didn't even think he was worth a polite brush-off.

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