Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate

Chapter 70

Chapter 70 – Ella Loses her Temper
Ella
I woke up in a thick haze of confusion, feeling as though I’ve been run over by a truck, but not remembering why. Muscles I didn’t even know I possessed are screaming at me, demanding ice packs and pain killers, and I have a thumping headache. For a moment I wonder if I somehow have a hangover, recalling the groggy morning afters I used to experience following nights out on the town.
Slowly the memories trickled in: the wild hunt taking a horrible turn; the chasing me in the forest; my near scrape with hypothermia; and fighting for my life while
rogue wolves knowing it will all be over once they catch me. When I reach the point where I’m reliving being trapped in the boulders, feeling their claws ripping into my skin as I try to hold them off, I rush to the bathroom.
Emptying my stomach into the toilet for reasons that have nothing to do with my pregnancy and everything to do with the sheer terror I feel, 1 collapse on the tiles and try to force the horrible memories from my brain.


Other unwelcome images crowd into my thoughts even as I struggle to bury this most recent horror, ghosts from my past seeing an opportunity to rear their terrible heads. Breathing deeply, I force them back into the iron safe in the back of my mind, shoving the memories of last night inside with them. It isn’t easy, but I’m well practiced at stowing unpleasant things away like this, protecting myself from their torment. When the work is done, I feel dazed and numb, but that’s better than wallowing in agony.
Pulling myself up off the floor, I study my bandaged arms in the mirror, realizing they’ll clash with my ball gown’s off-the-shoulder cut. I call the dressmaker first thing, asking her to hurry to my side. The morning papers tell me that the bl oody events of my first wild hunt went undetected from the media and the general public, but today is the Solstice itself it’s more important than ever that Sinclair and I make a strong showing.
The dressmaker arrives shortly, surprising my guards who apparently didn’t realize I was awake. She suggests tight-fitted sleeves the same color as my flesh, to disguise my bandages without compromising the gown’s design, and also offers to sew me a pair of matching gloves to help hide my injuries. I agree and she quickly makes the adjustments. By early afternoon the gown is complete, and I’m standing in front of the mirror studying the effect.


When Sinclair barges in halfway through the fitting, I’m expecting him to compliment my quick thinking. I smile at him, feeling proud of my efforts, but he only glares. “What in the Goddess’s name do you think you’re doing?
His growling voice sends a shiver down my spine, but I summon a soft chuckle. “Well I can’t very well go to the ball looking like a mummy.” I answer, nodding towards my white bandages.

Sinclair stalks forward, dismissing the dressmaker with a curt “Leave us.” Once the door closes behind her, he bears down on me, towering above me with a foreboding expression on his handsome face. “Ella you’re not going to the ball.”
“I’m sorry, are you auditioning to be my evil step mother?” I quip, astonished by his
anger.
apparent
“This isn’t a joke.” Sinclair informs me sternly. “A few hours ago you were bl oody catatonic.”
“I’m better now.” I shrug, turning back to the mirror and pretending I don’t see his thunderstruck expression. “I felt a bit groggy from all the doctor’s drugs at first, but that passed ages ago.”

him but it doesn’t work. “Dominic stop!” I insist, backing out of his reach and clutching the garment to my chest. “You should have talked

“I’m not denying it happened,” I correct him simply. “But it wasn’t a big deal. You’re fine, I’m fine. It was scary in the moment but it all turned out okay.”
I can see Sinclair wants to reach for me, to grab me and turn me to face him, but he’s obviously wary of touching my wounds. Instead he circles in front of me, again imposing on my personal space with his big body. “Ella nothing about this situation is okay!” He asserts firmly, searching my face for signs that his words are sinking in and becoming even more upset when they don’t. “And I don’t believe for one second that you are as unaffected by all this as you’re pretending.”

behave according to your expectations… but everyone handles trauma differently.” “Well if I thought you were handling it, I wouldn’t care what method you chose.” Sinclair grumbles. “What bothers me is seeing you ignore it.” “So what, you want me to be upset?” I inquire, aghast. “Why, so you can rush in and play the hero?” “Of course I don’t want you to be upset!” He rumbles, catching my waist.


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