Chapter 186

Chapter 186: Chapter 186

Drake’s POV

The private study was drowned in a suffocatingly quiet, save for the low, rhythmic crackle of pine logs burning to ash in the grand stone hearth and the faint, digital hum of the encrypted comms console resting on the desk.

I sat motionless behind the wide mahogany desk, my hands resting flat against the leather trim of a territorial report I hadn’t read in over an hour.

Across the glowing holographic interface hovering before me, Vesper’s sharp, aristocratic silhouette flickered in quiet impatience. The high-tier delegate from the western trade council had been detailing the logistics of a multi-million-credit supply route across the mountain borders for the last twenty minutes, but my focus remained completely fractured.

"The trade route through the lower pass requires your explicit signature, Drake," Vesper’s digitized voice echoed smoothly through the room, cutting through the silence. "Other regional scouts have been encroaching on the northern supply lines. If we do not finalize this territorial pact tonight, the entire western sector risks economic stagnation. Are you listening to me, Drake?"

"I hear you, Vesper," I murmured, my voice flat, low, and laced with an icy detachment that made the delegate pause. "The terms are acceptable. Route sixty percent of the heavy iron shipments through the high ridge and double the armed escort at the boundary line. My seal will be transferred to your council by midnight."

"Very well," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly through the transmission as he picked up the cold, lethal static radiating off my aura. "I trust your domestic affairs are not interfering with domain security, Sovereign."

"My domain is secure," I growled softly. "We are finished here."

I severed the connection with a single flick of my thumb, the holographic screen dissolving into thin air and plunging the study back into amber-lit shadows.

My senses were stretched thin, anchored completely to the far side of the estate to the quiet, heated rooms of the west wing where my elite guards kept silent watch over a locked iron door.

Every instinct in my marrow was screaming at me to walk down that stone corridor, unlock the deadbolt, and demand answers from the hybrid who had broken my trust into jagged pieces. But every time I remembered the bitter, distinct scent of Darius clinging to his skin, the cold wall of my pride snapped back into place, pinning me to my chair.

The double doors of the study creaked open softly.

Julian stepped into the room, his movements fluid, unhurried, and entirely silent. He carried a small silver tray, upon which sat a single crystal tumbler filled with dark, spiced blood-wine.

The four deep scratches across his pale cheek were still faintly visible beneath a layer of cosmetic spell-craft, a subtle, constant reminder of the disaster he had staged in the west wing just twenty-four hours prior.

He didn’t speak immediately. He crossed the hardwood floor with practiced elegance, setting the crystal glass down on the desk right beside my forearm.

"You’ve been sitting in the dark for hours, Drake," Julian murmured, his voice dropping into a smooth, melodic purr that echoed softly off the high paneled walls. "The council delegates from the northern border are demanding a response regarding the boundary patrols, but you’re drowning yourself in paperwork."

I didn’t look up from the leather binder. "I am managing the domain, Julian."

"You are tormenting yourself," Julian corrected gently. He reached out, his cool, manicured fingers lightly brushing against my broad shoulder before sliding down to rest near my wrist. "Drink. It’s the old vintage from the high vaults. It will clear the static from your head and help you focus."

I stared at the dark liquid in the crystal tumbler. I didn’t care about the wine. I didn’t care about the vintage.

But the dull, persistent ache behind my eyes needed quiet, a reprieve from the constant, agonizing calculations spinning through my mind regarding Lysander’s condition and the uncertain timeline of his pregnancy.

I picked up the tumbler, brought it to my lips, and drank half the glass in a single, continuous swallow.

The liquid was rich, heavy with mountain spices and dark fruit, coating my throat in a sharp, comforting heat that spread quickly through my chest.

Julian’s silver-tinted eyes flashed with a sudden, dark satisfaction as I set the empty glass back down onto the tray.

Before I could pull my hand away, Julian moved.

He didn’t step back toward the door as propriety demanded. He rounded the corner of the heavy desk with breathtaking speed, his loose linen shirt catching the dim amber light of the hearth. He slid smoothly into my lap, his knees framing my thighs, his arms curling around the back of my neck with a suffocating, familiar weight that made my jaw clamp tight.

"Julian," I growled low in my chest, my crimson eyes flaring with an instant, cold warning. "Get off."

"Why should I?" He whispered into my ear, his breath hot, sweet, and laced with the sharp, artificial perfume of dark orchids. He leaned down, pressing his lips against the hard column of my throat, his hands sliding down my chest, fingers hooking possessively into the open buttons of my shirt. "He’s locked in a cell, Drake. He betrayed you."

"Julian—"

"Forget him," Julian purred dirty against my ear, his fingers digging into my back, his mouth sliding up toward my jawline with urgent, desperate hunger. "Let him rot in the dark. You don’t need a half-breed wolf playing games with your heart and mocking your authority. You have me. You’ve always had me. Let me make you forget the smell of him... let me remind you what real pureblood skin feels like under your hands..."

He shifted his hips, leaning his entire weight into my chest, his lips reaching for mine in a sharp, ruthless attempt to claim my mouth and cement his place back in my bed.

BANG!

The double doors of the private study were violently thrown open, slamming back against the stone walls with a deafening crack that shattered the quiet room like a glass figurine.

"Get your filthy hands off my son-in-law!"

Elena stood in the threshold, her thick coat soaked through with mountain rain, her dark hair clinging frantically to her face, her eyes burning with a wild, unhinged fury that completely ignored the two armed estate guards scrambling behind her.

"Sir, we tried to stop her—" the lead guard gasped, reaching frantically for her arm.

"Touch me and I’ll tear your throat out!" Elena screamed, shoving the guard’s arm away with surprising, frantic force. She stormed straight into the study, her muddy boots leaving wet, dark tracks across the expensive rug, her trembling finger pointed like a blade directly at Julian’s face. "Where is my son, Drake?! What have you done with Lysander?!"