TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 143

CHAPTER OF THE OLD BASTARDY

CHAPTER 95: THE OLD BASTARD

KNOX’S POV

Ember disappears toward the bathroom and I let her go, even though every instinct in my body is

screaming at me to follow.

She needs space. She needs to breathe without an audience. And as much as I want to be the one holding

her together right now, some battles have to be fought alone.

Devika storms off in the opposite direction, muttering something under her breath, her designer heels clicking against the marble like the retreat of a defeated army.

Good riddance. If I never see that woman again, it’ll be too soon.

Maurice hesitates for a moment, looking between the bathroom door and his own trembling hands, before shuffling off after Ember with the pathetic determination of a man who knows he’s about to be rejected

but has to try anyway.

I consider stopping him, but something tells me Ember can handle herself. She’s been handling herself against worse monsters than a washed–up drunk with a guilty conscience.

Which leaves me at the table with Harrison Crawford, Logan Reeves, and Gale – still pinned to the wood by a fork and knife, still bleeding sluggishly, still whimpering like a kicked dog.

Cozy.

A servant appears to refill my wine glass and I let them, because fuck it, I might as well drink something decent while I figure out what game Harrison is really playing here.

The old bastard hasn’t done a single thing tonight without purpose. Every question, every revelation, every act of violence – it’s all been calculated. Orchestrated.

A symphony of chaos conducted by a man who gets off on watching people suffer.

I can respect that, in a twisted way. It takes a certain kind of ruthlessness to stab your own son at the dinner table without flinching.

A certain kind of cold that most men only pretend to possess.

Harrison Crawford isn’t pretending.

“Your girlfriend is quite something,” Harrison says, cutting into his steak with surgical precision, completely unbothered by the blood pooling on his tablecloth or the son sobbing three feet away from him. “I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to Devika that way. Certainly no one has ever struck her.”

“Ember has a way of surprising people.”

“Indeed.” He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully. “I confess, when Gale first brought her home, I thought she was rather… ordinary. Pretty enough, certainly. Compliant. Eager to please. The perfect omega wife, if such

CHAPTER DA THE OLD RASENY

a thing exists.” He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “I see now that I underestimated her significantly.”

“Most people do.”

“You don’t.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.

“No. I don’t.”

I think about Ember standing in front of that council, trembling but refusing to break. I think about her

singing in front of a room full of strangers.

I think about the way she looked at her mother before those slaps landed with nothing but the cold fury

of a woman who has finally had enough.

She’s magnificent. Terrifying. The kind of woman who could bring kingdoms to their knees if she wanted

1. to.

And she’s mine.

The possessiveness of that thought would disturb me if I had any capacity left for self–reflection, but I

burned that out hours ago.

Ember belongs to me. Not because I own her, not because she’s property, but because she chose me. Keeps choosing me. And I will destroy anyone who tries to take her away.

The thought surprises me.

Not the possessiveness – that’s been there since the moment I first touched her. What surprises me is the thirst for blood that Harrison lit in my veins, still unquenched, still burning under the surface even now.

And it did something strange inside me when he asked that question.

Do you love Ember?

There’s a pause. Even within myself, then and now.

Do I love her? Is it possible to love someone without the influence of a mate bond?

r

Is love similar to what it feels like when you’ve been drowning and someone gives you your first taste of oxygen – air that feels so good you consider never living without it?

Is love this feeling in my chest when i watch her sleep and realize the entirety of my heart and soul is right there beside me, teetered to one woman?

What even is love?

Love is dangerous. That much I know. Love destroyed me once. Love sank its claws right into my chest and ripped out every bit of the man I had been. Love kills, and love hurts, and love is… loss.

But Ember…

CHAPTER 36 THE OLD PASTARD

My beast almost sighs in beat with me.

Ember is everything. She reminds me of everything and forces out all these complicated thoughts.

These strange fears I’ve never had. This buzzing noise at the back of my mind that hits too close to what it felt like when I found Celeste with Kieran.

Would she… would she do that to me?

I’ve seen how Montenegro circles her like a fucking dog. I’ve seen how she looks at him. I’ve seen this play

one too many times, and for once, I am terrified to know its ending,

I am fucking terrified to answer those questions.

Do you love Ember, Knox?

Fuck that. Here’s a question of my own.

Can I trust her? Not in the petty sense of a trust fall, but in the consuming, gut–wrenching vulnerability that comes with handing your entire existence to one person.

Would she accept me for all that I am?

Would she leave?

Would she destroy me?

Would I be willing to let her?

But there it is again – the question that haunts me more than any other.

What wouldn’t I do for Ember Aragon?

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