Chapter 180

Chapter 180: Chapter 180

Lysander’s pov

The alarms in the corridor had finally cut out, leaving behind a ringing, suffocating quiet.

I was still sitting on the cold hardwood floor amidst the wreckage, my knees pulled tightly to my chest.

The floorboards were slick with spilled blood-wine and littered with jagged, razor-sharp splinters of three-hundred-year-old crystal. My hands were wrapped around my lower abdomen in a frantic, instinctual effort to shield my stomach from the nightmare unfolding around me.

My spine throbbed with a dull, sickening ache where Julian had thrown me against the table. I was shivering violently, my breath coming in short, shallow hitches, my charcoal hoodie soaked through with cold sweat.

Heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed down the stone hallway outside.

My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird. I closed my eyes, my forehead dropping onto my knees as tears cut hot, stinging tracks through the dried salt on my cheeks.

He’s coming, I thought, my chest heaving with a dark, hopeless panic.

I knew what this looked like. Julian had played his hand with terrifying perfection. He had bled on his own collar, smashed Drake’s ancestral heirlooms, and run straight to him with a mouth full of vicious lies.

And why wouldn’t Drake believe him? I was the liar. I was the traitor locked in a high-security cell. I was the unfaithful hybrid who smelled like Darius.

In Drake’s eyes, I was already a monster. To him, a violent, unhinged tantrum was probably the most believable thing I could do.

The door swung open.

The air in the room instantly froze, dropping to absolute zero in a split second. An oppressive, ancient pureblood pressure flooded the space, so heavy and dense it made the sharp glass splinters on the floorboards vibrate.

I shrank back against the wall, my fingers digging into the thick wool over my middle, refusing to look up. I prepared myself for his cold, lethal voice. I waited for him to order the guards to chain my wrists and drag me down to the subterranean iron cells beneath the earth.

I heard the crunch of boots stepping over shattered crystal.

"Look at him, Drake!" Julian’s voice echoed through the doorway, laced with a breathless, theatrical outrage that made my stomach churn. "He destroyed the room! He attacked me the moment I tried to offer him food!"

Drake didn’t answer.

The heavy footsteps stopped right in front of me. The familiar, deep scent of his sandalwood essence cut through the sour smell of spilled wine and copper—rich, heavy, and suffused with a sudden, razor-sharp edge.

I kept my head down, my shoulders trembling, my teeth clamped shut to stop my whimpering.

"Lysander."

Drake’s voice was low, flat, and chillingly quiet. It didn’t carry the roar of anger I was expecting. It carried a strange, heavy stillness that made the air in my lungs freeze.

Slowly, agonizingly, I raised my head.

Drake stood towering over me, his dark coat swinging around his broad frame. Beside him, Julian was hovering with a bloody silk handkerchief pressed to his cheek, his dark, silver-tinted eyes flashing with a triumphant, cruel light.

Drake’s crimson eyes weren’t looking at the broken decanters. They weren’t looking at the ruined sideboard or the blood-wine splashed across the white walls.

He was looking at me.

His ancient senses, honed over centuries of war and pureblood dominance were scanning every inch of my trembling body. His nostrils flared slightly, taking in the ambient air of the room, sifting through the layers of scent, sweat, and magic.

He picked up the sour, metallic tang of the fresh bruises blooming across my spine. He picked up the distinct, signature of Julian’s pureblood aura still clinging aggressively to the fabric of my sweater and the roots of my hair where Julian had yanked me back.

He smelled the absolute, genuine terror radiating off my skin, completely devoid of the hot, erratic adrenaline of a person who had thrown a rage-filled tantrum.

Drake took a slow step closer, stepping directly over a pool of dark wine.

Julian’s sneer faltered slightly. "Drake, don’t get too close to him. He’s feral—"

"Be quiet, Julian," Drake commanded smoothly.

He didn’t raise his voice, but the sheer weight of the command made Julian’s jaw clamp shut instantly, a flicker of surprise darting across his pale features.

Drake slowly sank down onto one knee in front of me, bringing his large, imposing frame down to my level on the cold floorboards.

My breath caught in my throat. I flinched backward on instinct, pulling my knees tighter to my chest, my dark eyes wide and terrified as I looked into his carved marble face. I expected his hand to grab my collar again. I expected his fangs to show.

Instead, Drake reached out with agonizing slowness.

His large, warm hand came up, his fingers gently hovering over the side of my face before lightly cupping my jaw. He didn’t press hard. He didn’t lock his grip. His thumb dragged with surprising, feather-light care across my pale, tear-stained cheek, wiping away a streak of dried sweat and dust.

A sudden, intense warmth bloomed in my chest, a sharp, aching contrast to the freezing terror that had held me all morning.

Despite everything, despite the cold war between us, despite Julian standing right behind him, despite the door and the guards at the threshold, the gentle, possessive warmth of his touch cut straight through my defenses.

My heart gave a violent, desperate thump against my ribs. For a fraction of a second, the crushing weight of the world lifted, and my soul desperately wanted to lean into his palm and weep.

Drake’s eyes softened just a fraction, his gaze dropping to the high collar of my hoodie, where the faint, dark outline of a bruise was already forming on my neck.

He took a deep, deliberate breath right over my pulse point, taking in the exact molecular footprint of the violence in the room.

"These marks did not come from a tantrum, Julian," Drake said softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

He didn’t look back at his former lover, but his thumb continued to stroke my jaw, anchoring me gently as my eyes filled with fresh, hot tears.

"They carry your blood," Drake whispered into the quiet room. "And your aura."