Chapter 198

Chapter 198: Chapter 198

Drake’s pov

Darkness pulled at my mind like thick mud, heavy and unnatural.

In the deep fog of my sleep, there was no room for dreams or thoughts, only a smothering, artificial weight pressing down on my senses. But then, deep within my marrow, something snapped.

A sudden, sharp spike of heat flared straight through my chest.

It wasn’t my own pureblood magic flaring. It was the bond, the thin, precious thread connecting my soul to the child taking root in Lysander’s core. The pulse hit my heart like a burning needle, carrying a wave of raw, frantic terror that didn’t belong to me. A desperate, silent cry echoed across the bond, shredding through the thick haze of the narcotic in a single, violent second.

My eyes snapped open.

I gasped, my lungs pulling in a sharp, ragged drag of cold air. My head throbbed with a dull, lingering ache, but the pureblood static in my blood surged instantly, burning away the remaining fog in my mind.

I was sitting in my leather chair, my head tilted back against the rest, the empty crystal tumbler sitting on the desk beside me.

My gaze locked onto the glass. The faint, sweet smell of the aged wine still hung in the air, but beneath it lay a subtle, synthetic stillness, the unmistakable trace of a sleeping draught.

Julian.

A realization struck my chest. I pushed myself up from the desk, my broad frame swaying for a fraction of a second before my balance locked into place. I checked the digital clock resting on the corner of the workspace.

I had been asleep for twenty minutes.

I stretched my pureblood senses outward, sweeping across the stone walls of the estate like a net. I searched for Lysander’s familiar aura, the soft, thrumming heat that usually rested quietly in the west wing.

Nothing.

The west wing room was empty. His aura wasn’t in the corridor, nor was it in the lower halls.

Then, the bond pulsed again, fainter this time, cold and shivering, moving rapidly away from the main palace structures toward the western ridge. He was crossing the boundary line.

"No," I growled low in my throat, the sound a deep, physical vibration that rattled the crystal glass on the desk.

I didn’t call for the guards. I didn’t wait to grab my heavy coat. I moved with blinding pureblood speed, blurring through the open doorway of my study and tearing down the grand hallway. The two guards posted in the corridor straightened up in complete shock as I passed them, their hands flying to their weapons.

"Sovereign—" the lead guard gasped.

"Seal the estate gates!" I commanded, my voice a freezing, absolute roar that echoed off the stone walls. "All units to the western perimeter!"

I didn’t slow down to explain. I turned down the narrow service passage, shoved open the arched wooden exit door, and burst straight out into the roaring mountain storm.

The icy rain hit my face like a shower of needles, washing over my thin linen shirt and soaking through the fabric in seconds. The wind howled through the courtyard, whipping the pine trees into wild, thrashing shadows against the dark sky. Thunder crashed overhead, shaking the ground beneath my boots.

I stopped in the center of the wet stone courtyard, my boots splashing through deep puddles, and closed my eyes to track the bond.

The signal was cold, moving along the narrow forest path beyond the disarmed boundary wall. But mixed with Lysander’s lingering scent was something else, the faint, silver-tinted magic of an outsider, weaving around his steps like a leash.

He wasn’t running. He was walking. His steps were measured, rhythmic, and unnaturally smooth against the muddy slope.

Compulsion.

The realization sent a wave of pure, unadulterated rage crashing through my chest. Someone had bypassed my wards, drugged my cup, and laid hands on my mate’s mind.

"Lysander!" I roared into the storm, my voice cutting straight through the thunder and the howling wind.

I launched myself forward, my feet tearing across the wet courtyard tiles, crossing the disarmed boundary line in three long, powerful strides. I pushed through the thick pine branches bordering the estate, my pureblood pressure expanding outward in a wide, lethal wave that flattened the wet grass beneath my feet.

Ahead on the muddy ridge, through the curtain of gray rain, three figures were moving through the trees.

Julian stood near the edge of the slope, his dark cloak billowing around his pale frame as he kept watch. Beside him stood Gideon, his right hand extended toward Lysander’s head, his fingers glowing with a pale-blue light that bound the hybrid’s movements.

And between them was Lysander.

He was wearing only his thin linen tunic, soaked through with rainwater, his hair plastered to his pale forehead. He was walking forward step by step, his body moving like a wooden doll, his face completely expressionless under the dark spell.

"Stop right there!" I commanded, my voice dropping into an ancient, terrifying register that made the surrounding trees shudder.

Julian whipped his head around, his silver eyes widening in sheer, breathless horror as he saw me charging through the rain. "Impossible... he was supposed to be asleep for hours!"

Gideon turned, his sharp face tightening as he saw the pureblood aura flaring bright around my shoulders. He didn’t drop the spell. He tightened his grip on the invisible thread, forcing Lysander to take another two steps down the muddy path toward the valley border.

"Lysander!" I called out, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed, my crimson eyes locked onto his blank, unblinking face. "Lysander, stop!"

For a fraction of a second, as my voice reached his ears, I felt a sharp, violent tremor ripple across the bond. Deep behind his unmoving eyes, his spirit was clawing desperately at the mind spell, trying with everything he had to break free and turn toward me.

"Drake..." a faint, silent whisper echoed across the bond—a desperate, weeping cry from inside his trapped mind.

"Get him down the slope!" Julian screamed frantically to Gideon, grabbing at his cloak. "Move!"

Gideon pulled the invisible thread hard, driving Lysander’s forced body over the edge of the boundary ridge and down into the dark, mist-shrouded valley below, right as I reached the crest of the hill.