Betrayed luna: daughter stolen by her mate Chapter 03

The drive to Santa Monica was beautiful. Red desert. Massive rock formations. Infinite horizon.

Some stretches of road were completely empty. Just asphalt and endless red plains under a brilliant blue sky.

“Layla. When we’re old, let’s retire out here. No people. No complications.”

“Sounds nice.”

I gave a distracted reply and glanced at the navigation on my phone.

“Our son can buy us some land. Close to the suburbs, near the city. That way if he ever needs us, we can be on the first flight out.”

I twisted open a bottle of Coke and held it to his lips.

“You think so far ahead. Here. Drink.”

He turned and smiled at me, like that imagined future was right in front of him.

I knew he’d never see it.

He handed the unfinished Coke back, rolled down the window and let the wind carry the liquid out in a hard spray.

“Why’d you toss it? I wasn’t done.”

“You’ve had enough. Too much, and things could go wrong.”

I finished speaking and flung the bottle into the brush on the side of the road.

I watched that flash of red disappear into the grass before I slowly rolled the window back up.

“Oops. Littering. My bad.”

I looked at Dante and gave him a mischievous grin.

He reached over and stroked my hair, his face full of fond amusement.

I quietly unbuckled his seatbelt.

Ten minutes later, on the road to Santa Monica Beach, the SUV lost control at full speed. The front end fishtailed wildly. The car veered toward the shoulder, hit a patch of uneven ground, and flipped into the brush.

It rolled once in the air. Landed on its roof. Smoke started billowing from the hood in under two minutes.

I shook my head hard and clawed my way out of the passenger side. Half my body was covered in blood.

Even knowing what was coming, I still broke an arm and a leg. Dante, with no seatbelt, was in much worse shape.

Ignoring the black smoke pouring from the engine, I grabbed a crowbar from the trunk and pried open the crushed door.

Dante was bad. Really bad. I wasn’t sure if he’d die. I didn’t have an Alpha’s constitution.

He was unconscious. Blood all over his face.

Looking at him, I laughed. I laughed harder than I’d ever laughed in my life.

My plan had worked. I’d been planning this for so long.

I wedged his legs apart. I took the sharp end of the crowbar and drove it down hard, right in the center.

He let out a low grunt but didn’t wake. The sedatives I’d put in his Coke kept him under.

Good thing he stayed out. I didn’t want to kill him. And I didn’t want it to be that easy for him either.

When I was done, I called 911. I tossed my phone into the wreckage.

The last thing I remember was dragging Dante’s broken body toward the road. There was an explosion behind me. A wall of heat. Then nothing.

I woke up in a hospital bed. Two weeks had passed.

My injuries were severe. When the car first lost control, even half-conscious, Dante’s instincts had kicked in to protect himself. He’d exposed the passenger side—me—to the worst of the impact.

But he was the one without a seatbelt. Not me.

The outcome was exactly what I’d dreamed of.

The corner of my mouth twitched upward. I was dying to see what Dante looked like now.

No one had noticed I was awake yet. I turned my head, searching, and found him in the bed next to mine.

He was staring at the ceiling. Blinking like he’d forgotten how.

“Dante.”

I tested his name a few times before he slowly turned to look at me.

“Layla. You’re awake.”

“How are you doing?”

He gave me a reassuring smile. But it was bitter.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

Fine?

Had I missed?