Chapter 158

Chapter 158: Chapter 158

Lysander’s pov

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely flick open the metal latches.

Inside sat rows of sterile gauze, antiseptic wipes, a small surgical scalpel, glass pipettes, and three small, sealed test tubes containing chemical testing strips, generic hormone and toxicity indicators designed to test blood and organic compounds for field guards.

I grabbed a scalpel, a glass pipette, and one of the sealed testing vials.

My breath came in short, shallow hitches as I sat down on the wooden stool beside the sink.

What if it’s positive? The thought hit my chest like a physical blow. What if my body really is changing? How do I explain this to him when he already thinks I betrayed him?

"You have to know," I whispered to the empty room, my voice a broken rasp. "You have to know the truth."

I took a deep breath, unwrapped a sterile alcohol wipe, and rubbed it over the pad of my left thumb. The cold alcohol stung my skin, making me flinch.

I picked up the small scalpel, the silver steel gleaming dull in the gray afternoon light. I pressed the edge against my thumb and dragged it quickly across the skin.

A sharp sting shot up my arm. A thick, dark crimson bead of blood welled up instantly, pooling over the pad of my thumb.

I picked up the glass pipette, drawing the fresh blood into the narrow tube, and squeezed three drops into the chemical testing vial.

The clear liquid inside the tube immediately turned a murky, dark pink.

I set the pipette down, my fingers digging into the edge of the wooden table as I watched the testing strip inside the vial.

The paper strip was designed to react to chemical markers, one blue line for negative, two blue lines for a positive reaction to hormonal shifts in humans.

One minute passed.

The quiet in the studio was absolute, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the high glass windows and the frantic, erratic thudding of my own heart.

A faint, pale blue line appeared at the top of the strip. The control line.

I held my breath, my chest locking up so tight it felt like my ribs were cracking. My whole body went stone-cold, sweat running down the back of my neck as I leaned closer to the glass vial.

Slowly, agonizingly, a second line began to form beneath the first.

It wasn’t faint. It didn’t flicker. It bloomed dark, sharp, and unmistakably blue against the white paper.

Two lines.

The vial slipped from my numb fingers, dropping onto the wooden table and rolling toward the edge before coming to a stop against a jar of brushes.

My mind went completely, terrifyingly blank.

Pregnant.

The word echoed through my head like a deafening bell. It wasn’t poison. It wasn’t Darius’s dark magic tearing my blood apart. My essence was shifting because a new, fragile life was taking root deep inside my core, a child forged from my blood and Drake’s royal essence.

A broken, ragged sob tore from my throat. I covered my face with my hands, my shoulders shaking as tears finally spilled over my lashes, hot against my freezing skin.

It was Drake’s. It had to be. The timeline, the magic, the deep, instinctive pulse in my core, it was all his.

And yet, he was standing in the kitchen an hour ago looking at me like I was a monster. He smelled Darius on my skin. He thought I had broken my vows, walked into the dark, and brought another man’s sin back into his home.

The quiet click of the studio lock disengaging shattered the silence.

I froze, my blood running stone cold.

The heavy glass door slid open.

Standing in the doorway was the head house guard, his broad frame blocking the light from the corridor, his dark crimson eyes scanning the studio before locking onto me sitting at the worktable, the scalpel gleaming beside the open medical kit, the blood pooling on my thumb.

"Lysander," the guard said, his voice flat, heavy, and dangerous. "Lord Drake instructed that you were not to enter this room."

I scrambled to my feet, my hand flying over the testing vial on the table, trying to hide it behind my back as my chest heaved in pure, unadulterated panic.

"I... I just needed some fresh air," I choked out, my voice cracking wildly.

The guard didn’t move toward me. Instead, he pulled a small, silver communication tablet from his belt, his thumb pressing the direct channel button.

"My Lord," the guard said quietly into the device, his eyes never leaving my pale, terrified face. "He is in the studio. And he has been drawing blood."

The air in the bedroom was suffocating, thick with the lingering shadow of Drake’s scent and the quiet, heavy threat of my own body.

It was too much for me to bear, I was tired and exhausted. My head was pounding deep down and I thought it was over now that the guard had reported to Drake.

He is going to come and demand to know why I was drawing my blood, what was I supposed to say then?

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my hands pressed tight against my lower abdomen. My skin was hot, my pulse racing in a fast, erratic rhythm that felt completely alien.

I didn’t need a medical panel to tell me what was happening anymore. My hybrid blood was shifting, blooming with a strange, sweet warmth that carried the undeniable signature of new life.

Pregnant.

The word felt like a physical weight crushing my lungs. But beneath the raw, terrifying shock of it, a darker, colder realization began to take root.

Darius.

My mind flashed back to that day and because of the suppressant, he had taken advantage of me.

What if he lied?

What if the dark blood rites he dabbled in, the forbidden magic he used to bind souls and resurrect monsters like Gideon had done something to my essence?

What if the changes inside my body weren’t just a natural shift, but a corrupted, dark alteration designed to destroy me from the inside out?