Dante's blue eyes burned into hers.
Not with rage.
Not with hatred.
With something far worse.
Desperation.
"Come back to me, Bella."
His voice was low, rough, raw.
"Before it's too late."
Bella's fingers curled into fists.
"What if I can't?"
Dante took a step closer.
"Then I will bring you back myself."
His presence was overwhelming, suffocating, unrelenting.
His wolf was fighting to reach her.
But Bella?
Bella didn't know if she wanted to be saved.
"And if I don't want to be?" she whispered.
Dante stilled.
His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths.
Then—
"Then I will destroy whatever is trying to take you from me."
Bella's stomach clenched.
Because he meant it.
Dante was a ruthless Alpha, a man forged in blood and war.
And he would rather see her dead than let something else own her.
Bella's throat tightened.
"I don't need you to save me, Dante."
His jaw ticked.
"I am not asking for permission."
Her breath hitched.
Because this wasn't a battle between them anymore.
This was a war.
A war for her soul.
And she wasn't sure who would win.