Page 48

His silence answers my question.

"That's what I thought," I say, crossing my arms.

Onyx enters the room, his presence immediately filling the space. "Problem?"

"Several," Evan replies coldly. "Starting with you."

Onyx's eyes narrow. "I go where Dahlia goes."

"Is that so?" Evan steps closer to him. "And what exactly is your relationship with Dr. Baldwin?"

"That's none of your business," I interject.

"It is when you're bringing him into my house," Evan counters.

The air in the room grows heavier, each second stretching tighter than the last. These two alphas circling each other like wolves on the edge of a fight make my heart pound.

A sharp knock at the front door cuts through the standoff.

"Now what?" Evan mutters.

Leo appears from the hallway and moves to answer it. I hold my breath, half-expecting government agents or more infected shifters.

What I don't expect is Axl Valentine standing on the doorstep, looking like he just stepped off a magazine cover in his leather jacket and torn jeans.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

Axl's eyes find mine immediately, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "I found you."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I blurt out.

"I missed you," he says simply, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes scan the room, "Nice place. Very... secure."

"How did you find this address?" Evan demands, stepping forward.

Axl shrugs. "I hired a private investigator. It cost me a fortune, but it's worth every penny." His gaze returns to me. "You're a hard woman to track down, Dahlia."

"So much for a safe house," Onyx mutters, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"You need to leave," Evan says to Axl, his voice cold enough to freeze hell. "Now."

"Not happening," Axl replies cheerfully. "I came to see Dahlia, and I'm not leaving without talking to her."

"This isn't a fucking concert venue," Evan snaps. "You can't just show up uninvited."

"And yet, here I am." Axl turns to me. "Can we talk? Privately?"

Before I can answer, Evan steps between us. "She's busy."

"I think she can speak for herself," Axl counters, his smile never wavering, though something dangerous flashes in his eyes.

"He's right," I say, finding my voice. "I can speak for myself. And right now, I need to check on my patient."

"Patient?" Axl's brow furrows.

"Yes, I have a critically ill patient downstairs who needs my attention."

"I'll wait," Axl says, making himself comfortable on the couch.