Chapter 151 - 150

Chapter 151: Chapter 150

Drake’s pov

I opened the door to our bedroom with a sigh and closed it, leaning heavily against it.

I stood in the dim entry alcove for a long moment, my dark coat hanging heavy on my shoulders. The air in the room was warm, rich with the lingering scent of cedar soap, hot steam, and damp wool. But beneath those clean layers, sharp and unmistakable to my vampire senses, was the bitter taste of deceit and the microscopic, stubborn ghost of another man’s essence that my mind simply refused to forgive.

My jaw clenched so hard that pain radiated up into my temple.

I knew he had lied to me. Every instinct honed over centuries of living told me to step back, to keep my distance, and to play this cold war with surgical precision. I needed to act normal, to keep my hands steady, and to avoid backing him into a corner before my intelligence grid laid out every single detail of what he was hiding.

I took off my heavy coat, tossing it over the chair near the doorway, and unbuckled my shoulder holster.

My eyes shifted toward the grand canopy bed.

Lysander was lying there under the dark, heavy duvet, his body curled tightly into a small, fragile shape. His damp hair was scattered against the pillows, his long dark eyelashes resting still against his pale cheeks. He looked small. He looked soft, delicate, and entirely defenseless, the picture-perfect image of a traumatized mate resting after a long, exhausting night.

It was a performance. A beautiful, calculated shield meant to draw on my pity and keep me from asking the one question that would tear this sanctuary apart.

An ugly, simmering rage coiled deep in my chest. I wanted to drag the covers off him. I wanted to demand the truth, to demand every word that had been spoken behind my back until he had no more stories left to hide behind.

Yet, as I walked toward the edge of the mattress, my blood betrayal didn’t push me away from him. It dragged me closer.

The possessive pulse of the mating bond pulled at my core like a heavy iron chain. My mind knew he was hiding something, but my body didn’t care. I stared down at his sleeping form with a dark, ravenous hunger that defied all logic. I didn’t just want to monitor him; I wanted to consume him. I wanted to mark him so deeply, so brutally, that no lie, no ghost, and no outside influence could ever find a foothold on his skin again.

The mattress dipped heavily beneath my weight as I slid under the duvet.

The second I settled beside him, Lysander didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he stirred, turning willingly into my space. He reached out with both arms, wrapping them around my neck and burying his face straight into the crook of my shoulder. He held onto me with a tight, desperate grip, his chest pressing flush against mine without a single whisper of hesitation.

"Drake..." he whispered, his voice small, raspy, and thick with sleep.

His body yielded to mine completely. He tangled his legs with mine beneath the sheets, resting his forehead against my throat, offering himself up to me like a man seeking refuge from a storm.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

"Lysander," I rasped, my voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that filled the quiet space between us.

He tilted his face up willingly, his dark, glossy eyes searching mine in the dim light of the room. I could see the underlying tension in his gaze—the quiet, constant fear of being caught—but beneath it was an absolute, unyielding surrender to my presence. He wanted this touch just as much as I did. He wanted the heavy, suffocating distraction of my body crushing his into the mattress, anything to drown out the silence in his own head.

"Drake..." he whispered, his voice small, soft, and needy. "Come back to bed."

He was offering himself up as a shield, using his body to distract the monster leaning over him. It was a calculation. A bribe.

And God help me, my blood burned for it anyway.

I kicked off my boots, unhooked my holster, and slid beneath the heavy duvet.

I reached out, my large hand cupping the back of his neck, my fingers burying into his damp hair.

I leaned down, dragging my lips along his jawline. The fresh scent of cedar soap hit my nose, but as my lips brushed over his pulse point, my thumb pressed firmly against the raw, scrubbed skin of his collarbone.

My grip tightened. I pulled his face up, sealing my mouth over his in a kiss that carried none of my usual patience.

Lysander let out a soft, breathless gasp straight into my mouth, his fingers digging hard into the muscles of my back. I slid my tongue inside, taking him aggressively, tasting the sharp, sweet heat of his mouth while my free hand slid down his spine, gripping his hip and pulling him flush against my groin.

He groaned against my lips, his hips rolling up into mine on instinct. His skin was hot, slick with a light sheen of sweat, completely responsive to the heavy pressure of my hands.

"Drake..." he choked out as I broke the kiss, my mouth sliding down the sensitive line of his throat. "Please..."

"You think you can play these games with me," I growled softly into his skin, my teeth nipping at the junction where his neck met his shoulder, "and then just curl up in my bed?"

"No," he whimpered, his fingers clutching at my shirt, pulling my head tighter against his neck. "No... I’m here. I’m right here with you. Take me, Drake. Please."

The submission in his voice sent a dark, electric voltage straight down my spine.

I hooked my arm under his knees, flipping him onto his stomach in one smooth, powerful motion. Lysander didn’t fight the force. He pressed his face flat into the pillows, his breath coming in short, ragged hitches, his hips pushing back up against my thigh in a clear, desperate invitation.

"Look at me," I commanded, my voice dropping into a heavy, dark Sovereign register.

He turned his head over his shoulder, his lips parted, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire. "I’m looking."

I reached for the nightstand, grabbing the glass bottle of oil and pouring a heavy stream over my palm. I slid my slick hand down between his thighs, my palm cupping him from behind, spreading the warmth over his skin.

Lysander let out a hoarse noise, his fingers clutching the dark linen sheets as my fingers worked against his entrance. He flexed against my touch, his body opening for me, stretching around my fingers with eager, desperate compliance.

"So tight," I growled, sliding three fingers deep inside him, feeling the searing heat of his internal walls clamping around me instantly. "Your body knows exactly who it belongs to."