Vengeance in His Bed

Dorrent’s hand clamped around her wrist with sudden, staggering force, the heat of his palm searing through the cool dynamic between them. The sharp movement rattled the small wooden bowl of crushed green pulp in her lap.

"What the hell are you putting on me?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a rough, low growl. His eyes locked onto hers, dark with suspicious intensity.

Jannah didn’t even flinch. She let her wrist remain trapped in his iron grip, her gaze dropping to his thick fingers before rising to meet his glare with cool, unbothered defiance.

"I’m only trying to help you, Alpha," she murmured, a sharp, dangerous little smile playing at the corner of her lips. She leaned in just an inch closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Besides, I wouldn’t kill you that quickly. You have to suffer in my hands first. So you can rest assured... it isn’t poisonous."

Dorrent stared at her, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticked beneath his stubble. The malice in her words should have repulsed him, but instead, it sent a strange, electric jolt straight down his spine. Slowly, deliberately, he let his fingers uncurl from her wrist, releasing her, though his gaze never wavered.

"As much as I don’t trust you," he rasped, his chest heaving slightly , "I will let this pass. I only hope I’m still alive when you’re finished."

Jannah let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh. Without another word, she dipped two fingers back into the cool, pungent herbal paste. She bypassed the vast expanses of his chest and shoulder that the hospital had already meticulously wrapped in bandages . The only exposed flesh left was a small, jagged tear near the edge of his ribs—a spot where Dorrent’s stubbornness and movements earlier had stretched the skin and ripped the fresh wound open again.

She applied the herbs to that spot, her touch surprisingly light despite the hostility radiating from her. Dorrent watched her every move, his breath hitching slightly as the cool, stinging medicine met his feverish skin.

When she was done smoothing the pulp over the tear, Jannah paused. Then, tilting her head slightly, she leaned down, her face hovering mere inches from his bare torso, and blew a soft, concentrated breath across the tiny wound to soothe the sting.

Dorrent froze entirely.

The world around him seemed to lose all sound. Her warm, sweet breath fanned across his sensitive skin, sending an immediate, blinding shockwave straight to his core. His fingers dug convulsively into the mattress beneath him. He could see the delicate curve of her neck, the stray hairs escaping her braid, and the proximity was suddenly suffocating.

"Stop," Dorrent choked out, his voice suddenly thick, rough, and laced with a heavy, warning weight. He stared up at her ceiling-bound profile as his body hardened instantly beneath the sheets. "Stop it right now if you aren’t ready for what comes next."

Jannah slowly lifted her head away from his skin, her dark eyes glittering with amused mockery as she looked down at his rigid posture. She didn’t pull back entirely, keeping her face close enough that he could feel the static of her presence.

"It’s just your dirty mind at work, Alpha," she scoffed softly, her tone dripping with casual disdain. "The blow meant absolutely nothing."

Dorrent’s chest rose and fell in cycles. A profound sense of surprise washed over him as he stared at her. Jannah was never this kind to him. She was never this attentive. In the turbulent months she had spent under his roof, every interaction had been a battle of wits, a trading of barbs, or a cold, clinical transaction. He genuinely could not recall the last time she had treated him with even a shred of gentleness—unless she needed something from him.

His eyes narrowed as the corporate king inside him reassumed control, searching her face for the hidden angle.

"Say what you want, Jannah," he ordered flatly. "What is it?"

Jannah straightened her spine, setting the wooden bowl down on the bedside table with a deliberate click. She crossed her arms over her chest, the soft light of the room catching the stubborn tilt of her chin. "I want to go to the monthly mate seeking party tonight. I want to resume my singing as Diva."

The shift in Dorrent’s expression was instantaneous. The lingering warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a wall of absolute authority.

"No," he barked, the single word echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room. "You can’t."

Jannah’s eyes flashed with immediate fire, her defensive walls slamming down. "Why?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch. "It’s my talent, Dorrent. And more than that, it’s a part of how I make my own money. You have no right to lock me away."

"Because you are no longer the ungrounded, wild girl you were two months ago," Dorrent growled, pushing himself up slightly against the pillows, ignoring the sharp protest from his bandaged ribs. His gaze was fierce, heavily saturated with a suffocating possessiveness he couldn’t hide. "You are a soon-to-be wife. My wife. And you should start behaving like one, instead of going around in public, standing on a stage, and seducing crowds of strange men with your voice."

"Seducing men?" Jannah let out a bitter, incredulous laugh, taking a step back from the bed. "I am a singer! It’s an art. You can’t stop me from pursuing my passion and my livelihood just because of your own twisted insecurities."

Dorrent’s jaw clenched so hard the bone reached its limit. "If it’s an audience you want, I can be your audience," he countered savagely, his voice deep and commanding. "I will pay you as much as you want. Name the price of the venue, name the price of the performance, and I will wire it to your account before you even open your mouth. You don’t need their eyes on you."

Jannah shook her head, a look of profound frustration crossing her features. "That is exactly what you don’t understand, Dorrent. That isn’t what I want at all. You wouldn’t understand it in a million years."

"What can I not understand?" Dorrent pushed, his voice turning into an angry rasp as he leaned toward her. "Isn’t your sole intention to get everyone’s attention? To have thousands of men gawking at your silhouette and begging to see what’s behind your mask? If it’s validation and attention you crave that badly, I can give it to you." He paused, his eyes darkening as a vivid memory surfaced in his mind. "In fact... I liked the song you sang that night. The one in the dressing room. If you sing it for me again, right here, I will let you name your prize. I will pay you whatever you want."

Jannah stared at him, genuinely stunned by the staggering scale of his arrogance and the weight of his control. "You are insane," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You can’t possibly be this possessive of me. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want your private audience."

As she turned her face away, Dorrent suddenly felt a sharp, internal prick of restraint. The booming voice of his father echoed in the back of his mind, a stern reminder delivered days ago: "You cannot always be harsh to her, Dorrent. If you want this arrangement to stand, you must learn to treat her well."

He swallowed the fury rising in his throat, forced his muscles to relax, and took a deep, steadying breath. When he spoke again, the harsh command had dropped into a low, stubborn compromise.

"Fine," Dorrent muttered, looking away from her sharp gaze. "If you are going... then I am tagging along. And Shadron is coming with us."

Jannah rounded on him, her eyebrows drawing together. "There is absolutely no need for that. I will be perfectly okay on my own. Unless..." A wicked, teasing smirk suddenly cut across her face, her voice dripping with sudden malice. "...unless you and Shadron are only going because you both want to seek mates for yourselves tonight?"