Chapter 179

Chapter 179: Chapter 179

Julian’s pov

The blood dripping from my cheek was deliciously warm against my neck.

I let it soak directly into the crisp, white collar of my shirt, making sure the dark red stain spread in an ugly, jagged streak.

I scrambled out of the west wing corridor with breathless, uncoordinated strides, making enough noise to draw every servant and guard in the lower halls out into the open.

"Call security!" I gasped to a passing guard, clutching my face with a trembling hand, letting my voice crack with performative, wild panic. "He’s completely out of control! Get the High Sovereign!"

I didn’t wait for the guard’s response. I dashed straight up the grand stone staircase toward the private study in the east wing, my heavy leather heels clicking frantically against the marble.

I reached the massive double oak doors of Drake’s private sanctuary and threw them open without knocking.

"Drake!" I cried out, stumbling into the room, letting my knees buckle just enough to look utterly shattered as I caught myself against the edge of his heavy mahogany desk.

Drake was sitting in his high-backed leather chair, a stack of territorial maps spread out before him, a crystal tumbler of blood-wine held loosely in his long, pale fingers. He didn’t jump. He slowly set the glass down, his dark crimson eyes rising to lock onto my blood-stained face with a cold, terrifying stillness.

"What is the meaning of this, Julian?" Drake asked smoothly. His voice was flat, low, and laced with an icy warning that would have made any lesser vampire drop to their knees.

"It’s Lysander," I choked out, pressing my silk handkerchief against the four deep, bloody gouges on my cheek, forcing my chest to heave in short, ragged gasps. "He’s lost his mind, Drake. Completely lost it."

Drake’s dark eyebrows pulled together into a sharp, quiet line. The ambient temperature in the study plummeted three degrees in a split second, the air growing dense and heavy with his pureblood aura.

"Explain," Drake ordered, leaning forward, resting his forearms against the dark wood of his desk.

"I went to his quarters personally," I wept, forcing a tear to spill over my lower lashes, letting it drag through the fresh blood on my skin. "I wanted to ensure he was comfortable. I carried his dinner to him myself—I thought... I thought if I showed him kindness, if I tried to reason with him, he might calm down and accept his position."

Drake didn’t interrupt. He sat perfectly motionless, his red eyes burning with a dark, unreadable intensity as he watched me play the devastated victim.

"The moment I opened the door, he snapped," I continued, my voice rising into a sharp, hysterical pitch. "He screamed that he would never stay in this cage. He yelled that he belonged to Darius now, that you were a fool, and that he would burn this entire estate to the ground before he let you keep him!"

I paused, letting out a small, breathless sob, raising my hand to show him the bloody handkerchief.

"When I tried to calm him down, he attacked me," I lied, my voice trembling with theatrical outrage. "He lunged at me with a shattered piece of wood! He dragged his claws across my face, Drake! He shattered the antique glass sculpture your family brought from the old capital—the three-hundred-year-old heirloom! He smashed the crystal decanters, threw the wine across the walls, and destroyed the furniture!"

Drake’s face remained a carved mask of pale marble, but I felt the sudden, dangerous spike in his aura—a dark, suffocating wave of static that made the flames in the grand fireplace flicker violently.

"He destroyed the family heirloom?" Drake asked softly. His voice didn’t boom; it was a quiet, deadly whisper that vibrated straight through the floorboards.

"Yes!" I pleaded, taking a step closer to his desk, extending my trembling, blood-stained hands toward him. "He tore the entire room to pieces! He was screaming like a feral beast, Drake! The guards had to drag him off me! He is dangerous. He is an ungrateful, violent half-breed who has no respect for your house, your family, or your mark!"

I leaned over the desk, my silver-tinted eyes flashing with a sharp, triumphant light, delivering the final strike I had been planning for days.

"You cannot keep him in the west wing anymore, Drake," I demanded, letting my voice drop into a firm, urgent plea. "He is mocking you. Every second he stays in that comfortable room, he is telling the entire estate that he can betray you with Darius, destroy your ancestral heirlooms, attack your court, and suffer no real consequences!"

Drake slowly stood up from his chair. His towering frame completely swallowed the warm light of the desk lamp, casting a long, terrifying shadow over my face.

"What are you suggesting, Julian?" Drake asked, his tone dropping into a level, emotionless register that made my heart race with dark anticipation.

"Throw him into the lower dungeons," I urged, my voice laced with pure, unadulterated venom. "Put him in the subterranean iron cells beneath the earth. Strip him of his clothes, chain his wrists to the stone, and let the cold dark break his spirit! Teach him what happens to a traitor who dares to strike a member of your house! Punish him severely, Drake or the entire council will see you as weak!"

For three long, agonizing seconds, the study was drowned in absolute, suffocating silence.

Drake stared down at me, his crimson eyes unblinking, his sharp jaw locked tight as he absorbed my words. The blood dripping from my cheek hit the polished mahogany desk with a tiny, audible drip.

Slowly, Drake rounded the desk, his dark coat swinging around his legs as he walked toward the door.

"Show me," Drake commanded coldly.

A dark, victorious smile curled behind my blood-soaked handkerchief as I turned on my heel and led the High Sovereign down the corridor toward the west wing, ready to watch him crush the fragile hybrid once and for all.