Chapter 144
Lysander’s pov
I stumbled out of the doors of Darius’s house as it slammed shut behind me. My skull vibrated with pain as I held on to it.
I hit the freezing night air, my knees immediately giving out beneath me. I tumbled down the slick stone steps, my hands slapping into the cold mud at the bottom of the landing.
The mountain rain hit my face in a relentless, icy barrage, stinging the raw skin of my cheeks and soaking straight through my torn hoodie.
My whole body was shaking from the drugs Darius had forced into my system, it was finally starting to recede.
As the drugs slowly wore off, the dull, artificial numbness in my brain fractured, letting the raw, searing reality of what had just happened flood back in with agonizing clarity.
The unnatural paralysis in my limbs was fading into a violent, uncontrollable tremor that racked my frame from the inside out, starting in my jaw and making my teeth click together in short, rapid snaps.
I scrambled to my feet, my boots slipping in the mud, my chest heaving as I dragged cold air into my starved lungs. My throat felt like it was lined with shredded glass, every ragged breath burning all the way down into my chest as my hybrid senses painfully booted back up, sharp and overwhelming.
Run.
The command screamed through the dark, shattered remnants of my mind. Get away. Get out of here before he comes back.
I didn’t use the logging road. I plunged straight into the dense, dark thicket of the pine forest, my bare hands tearing through sharp briars and thorny undergrowth.
Branches whipped across my face, cutting into my skin, but I barely registered the pain. My nervous system was firing erratically, the lingering traces of the sedative leaving a sour, metallic taste on my tongue and making my vision swim with dark, disorienting static.
I couldn’t feel anything except the suffocating, heavy weight of the iron collar Darius had locked around my neck, a cold, phantom pressure that still seemed to linger against my skin even after his men had unlatched it and dumped me at the gates.
My strength was still gutted, suppressed by the lingering residue of the drugs. Every step was a battle against gravity. My legs felt like lead, my feet dragging through the soaked earth as I stumbled blindly through the fog, tears hot and bitter against my freezing cheeks.
I looked down at my hands as the haze cleared further.
My knuckles were bruised, caked in dried black ink, dirt, and blood, some of it mine, some of it Darius’s.
With my senses rapidly returning, the smell of his dark, heavy pureblood essence and cherry tobacco seemed to cling to my clothes, my skin, and my hair like an oily film that I couldn’t escape. It felt like poison seeped deep into my pores, sickening and thick.
You let him win, the dark voice in my head whispered, sharp and merciless. You broke Drake’s wards. You walked straight into his study. You brought this on yourself.
"No," I choked out, my voice breaking into a pathetic, breathless sob as I shoved my way through a heavy pine branch. "No, please..."
After what felt like hours of crawling through the dark, the dense wall of trees finally gave way to a cracked asphalt road illuminated by the flickering amber glow of a solitary street lamp.
At the edge of the road sat an old, abandoned gas station—a small, decaying brick building with a rusted sign swaying loudly in the wind. A small, neon light glowed faint and blue above a door at the side of the building: RESTROOMS.
I staggered toward the door, my shoulder slamming against the frame as I shoved it open.
The room inside was small, lit by a single, buzzing fluorescent bulb overhead that flickered erratically. The smell of bleach, damp concrete, and rusted iron hit my returning olfactory senses with overwhelming force, making my stomach roll. I stumbled straight toward the ceramic sink in the corner, gripping the edges so hard my white knuckles turned bloodless.
I looked up into the cracked, grime-stained mirror above the sink.
The person staring back at me didn’t look like me.
The figure in the glass was a ghost. Pale, hollowed-out skin, dark purple shadows bruised deep under bloodshot eyes, pupils still blown wide as the last of the drugs fought their way out of my bloodstream.
A dark, jagged smear of black ink and dried blood ran along my jawline, stretching down to my collarbone like a mark of ownership.
A harsh, gagging sound tore from my throat.
I slapped my hand down on the faucet, turning the tap all the way to the right. Freezing, rusty water blasted out of the spigot, splashing loudly against the stained porcelain.
I plunged both hands into the icy water, cupping it, and slammed it against my face.
"Get off," I rasped, my fingers digging hard into my skin, scrubbing at my cheek, my jaw, my mouth. "Get off me!"
I scrubbed until my skin burned, until the raw flesh turned bright red, but the feeling of Darius’s heavy, dominant aura pressing down on my chest wouldn’t wash away.
As the drug-induced cloud cleared completely, the memory of his laughter echoing in the quiet study, the heavy thud of my back hitting the oak desk, and the cold iron clicking around my neck slammed into my brain with terrifying, unfiltered precision.
I grabbed a fistful of harsh, brown paper towels from the metal dispenser, soaking them in the freezing water, and began frantically wiping down my neck and hands.
I scrubbed my wrists until the skin was raw and weeping, tearing at my hoodie, trying to wipe away every physical trace of that room, every drop of rain, every stain of ink that connected me to what had just happened.
The paper towels tore to wet shreds in my trembling hands, dropping onto the floor around my boots in dark, soggy clumps.
I leaned over the sink, my forearms resting against the cold porcelain, my forehead pressing flat against the damp mirror. I hyperventilated, my chest rising and falling in short, frantic jerks, tears dripping off the tip of my nose and mixing with the water swirling down the drain.
How do I go back?
The thought hit me like an iron blade straight through my heart.
Drake was probably back at the estate by now. He would walk up the floating stone stairs, call out my name, and find my studio empty.
He would check the perimeter wards, see the breach, and realize that the mate he had built a sanctuary for had lied to his face, abandoned his protection, and run straight into the arms of his enemy.
He would know. The moment I walked through the door, Drake’s ancient, unyielding senses would take me in. He would smell the cold rain, the dirt, the lingering scent of Darius’s pureblood magic, and the absolute destruction in my chest.
He would know I had betrayed him.
"Drake..." I whimpered into the quiet room, my fingers gripping the edges of the porcelain so tight my joints popped. "Drake, I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..."
I pushed myself away from the sink, my knees shaking, my whole body numb from the cold and the sheer, paralyzing exhaustion settling into my bones now that the drug shock was dissipating.
I pulled the hood of my soaked jacket over my wet hair, tugging the drawstrings tight to hide as much of my face as possible. I shoved my raw, scrubbed hands deep into my pockets, stepping back out of the bathroom into the dark, rain-soaked night.
The mountain road was empty and dead silent.
In the distance, high up on the fog-drenched ridge, the warm, amber lights of Drake’s estate glowed faint and steady against the black sky, a golden fortress pulsing with the distant, protective hum of his blood wards.
I took a single, heavy step forward onto the wet asphalt, dragging my feet through the dark, my heart breaking with every step as I began the long, humiliating walk home.