Page 25 of Rescued By Four Alphas
Evan's face hardens.
"I don't care if you think I'm controlling. I don't care if you hate me for it. As long as you're safe, I'll do whatever the fuck it takes."
Chapter 7 - Leo
Iwatch Dahlia storm out of the living room, her curls bouncing with each angry step. The sound of her bedroom door slamming echoes through the house like a gunshot.
"Well, that went well," Axl mutters, collapsing onto the couch.
Evan paces by the window as he grips his phone. "She doesn't understand the severity of the situation."
"Maybe not," I say, pushing myself up from my chair. "But she's right about one thing: we can't lock her up like a prisoner."
"We're not trying to lock her up," Onyx growls. "We're trying to keep her safe."
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the tension headache building behind my eyes. "I'll go talk to her."
"Good luck with that," Axl snorts. "She's in full mama bear mode."
"She might listen to you," Onyx admits reluctantly. "You've always been the reasonable one."
I leave them to their brooding and make my way down the hallway to Dahlia's room. Our house is designed with a master suite for all of us to share, but each of us also has our own bedroom for when we need space. Right now, Dahlia needs space.
I knock softly on her door. "Dahlia? It's Leo."
"Go away," comes her muffled reply.
"I just want to talk."
"If you're here to convince me to go to Switzerland, you can get out."
I lean my forehead against the door, choosing my next words carefully. "I'm not here to convince you of anything. I thought maybe you could use a hot bath."
The silence stretches so long I think she might have ignored me, but then I hear movement and the lock clicks. The door opens just enough for me to see one hazel eye glaring at me.
"A bath?" she asks suspiciously.
"Yeah. You know, with bubbles and everything." I offer a small smile. "I have no agenda. I just want to take care of you."
She studies me for a moment, then steps back, opening the door wider. "Fine."
I enter her sanctuary, taking in the familiar surroundings. There are books stacked neatly on her nightstand, a plush throw blanket folded at the foot of her bed, and a collection of small potted plants on her windowsill. It smells like her, and her scent has become more pronounced with her pregnancy.
She sits on the edge of her bed, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are red-rimmed, though I pretend not to notice.
"I'll run that bath," I say, heading toward her en-suite bathroom.
I turn on the faucet, adjusting the temperature until it's hot enough to soothe tense muscles but not too hot for a pregnant woman. I add her favorite lavender bath oil, watching as the water turns milky and the scent fills the steamy air.
When I return to the bedroom, Dahlia hasn't moved. She sits with her shoulders slumped, looking smaller and more vulnerable than I've seen her in weeks.
"Are you ready?" I ask gently.
She nods but doesn't stand. I move closer, bending to scoop her into my arms. She doesn't resist, which tells me just howexhausted she is. Her head rests against my shoulder as I carry her to the bathroom, her curls tickling my chin.
The bathroom is warm and fragrant now, and steam rises from the filled tub. I set her down carefully on the plush bathmat.
"Arms up," I say softly.
