Chapter 125

Chapter 125: Chapter 125

Soren tried to stand.

His legs buckled beneath him, the muscles atrophied from weeks of stillness. He crashed to the stone floor, his palms scraping against the ancient rock, and an insane headache struck him like a physical blow. He groaned a deep, animal sound that echoed through the underground chamber and pressed his hands against his skull as if he could physically hold his head together.

The four beasts that guarded the chamber drew back. Their ember eyes flickered with something that looked almost like fear. They had guarded him for weeks, protected him, watched over his motionless body. But this this creature on the floor, groaning and clawing at his own head was not the still, silent prince they had known. This was something else. Something wild. Something hungry.

Soren’s eyes blazed bright golden in the darkness. His fangs extended, long and sharp. His claws emerged from his fingertips, scraping grooves into the stone floor. He was still in human form, but barely. The Lycan blood that had fought off the poison was surging through his veins now, demanding release, demanding action, demanding prey.

He tried to stand again. This time, he made it to his feet, though he staggered like a drunkard. He used the stone table for support, then the wall, his claws leaving scratch marks in the ancient stone. Step by agonizing step, he made his way to the door.

The headache struck again. He roared a deep, primal sound that vibrated through the walls and shook the door on its hinges. Dust rained down from the ceiling. The beasts cowered in the corners.

He slammed his fist against the door. The ancient lock the same lock that had required Thornridge blood to open shattered under the force of his blow. The door swung open, revealing the dark corridor beyond.

Soren paused at the threshold. He looked back at the chamber at the stone table where he had lain for weeks, at the beasts who had guarded him, at the fading remnants of the golden barrier that had kept him suspended between life and death.

"Freedom at last," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse. He turned back to the corridor, his golden eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Where is my prey?"

The inn at the outskirts of Millbrook was small and quiet, the kind of place where travelers passing through could rest without drawing attention. The woman at the reception desk was middle-aged and friendly, with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Just the one room, please," Corvin said, his voice smooth and pleasant. "My wife and I have been traveling all day. We’re exhausted."

The receptionist glanced at Nyra, who stood behind Corvin with her hood pulled low over her face, obscuring her features. She couldn’t see the woman’s face at all, but she could see the way Corvin’s hand rested protectively on the small of her back. The way he positioned himself slightly in front of her, as if shielding her from the world.

"Of course, sir," the receptionist said, her smile widening. "We have a lovely room on the second floor. Very private. Very romantic." She handed him a key and winked. "Enjoy your stay."

Corvin thanked her and guided Nyra up the stairs. The receptionist watched them go, sighing wistfully. "Young love," she murmured to herself. "I wish I could find a handsome man like that. Though I’d like to at least see his wife’s face."

The room was modest but clean. A single bed dominated the center of the space, its quilt faded but freshly washed. A worn sofa sat against the far wall, and a small table with two chairs completed the furnishings. A pitcher of water and two cups sat on the nightstand.

Nyra looked at the bed. Then at Corvin.

"I’ll take the sofa," he said immediately.

"No, you won’t." Nyra’s voice was firm. "You’ve been walking all day. You’ve been carrying supplies. You’ve been watching my back. You’re exhausted."

"I’m fine."

"You’re not fine. You’re running on fumes and stubbornness." She crossed her arms. "We’ll share the bed. I’m not comfortable sleeping alone anyway. Not after..." She trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air. Not after the nightmares. Not after the showcase. Not after watching Soren die.

Corvin crossed to her side and pulled her into a hug. Her head rested against his chest, and for a moment, she let herself be held. The tears came before she could stop them silent, hot, streaming down her cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his tunic.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess. You didn’t ask for any of this."

"You don’t have to be sorry, Nyra." His voice was gentle, his hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles. "I chose to carry your burden. Not because you’re my mate though that’s part of it but because it’s my responsibility to protect you. To keep you from harm."

"You shouldn’t have to—"

"I want to." He pulled back and looked into her eyes, his thumb brushing the tears from her cheeks. "I will protect you at all times. I will sleep by your side and hold you tight when the nightmares come. You don’t have to face them alone anymore."

She nodded, her throat too tight for words.

"And don’t thank me," he added, pressing his finger gently against her lips when she opened her mouth to speak. "I should be the one thanking you. For allowing me into your life. For trusting me with your secrets. For giving me a purpose beyond potions and politics."

Nyra smiled despite herself. "You always find your way around words, don’t you?"

"I’m a potions master. Words are just another kind of alchemy."

She laughed—a small, fragile sound and tapped his chest. "I’m hungry."

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. They both tensed.

"Who is it?" Corvin called, his voice sharp.

"It’s the innkeeper, sir. I’ve brought your supper."

Corvin turned swiftly, positioning his back to the door and blocking Nyra from view. "Come in."

The innkeeper a different woman from the receptionist, younger and round-faced entered carrying a tray laden with food. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the room. She glanced at Corvin’s broad back, at the muscles visible even through his tunic, and a blush crept across her cheeks. She bit her lower lip as she set the tray on the table.

"Is there anything else you need, sir?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless.

"No. Thank you."

She curtsied and backed out of the room, closing the door reluctantly behind her. Nyra breathed a sigh of relief.

"That was close," she murmured.

"She didn’t see you." Corvin locked the door. "But we should be more careful. Your hair is too distinctive."

"I know." Nyra pulled back her hood and sat down at the table, inhaling the scent of the food. "This smells incredible."

Corvin held up a hand. "Wait. Let me check it first."

He examined the food carefully the bread, the meat, the pitcher of wine testing each item with a small vial of detecting solution he carried in his pocket. After several minutes, he nodded.

"It’s clean. No poison."

They ate in companionable silence, savoring the first hot meal they’d had in days. Afterward, they talked strategy the meeting with Darian, the next steps for contacting the resistance, the evidence they needed to clear Nyra’s name.

"We need to find Hellen," Nyra said. "The maid who testified against me. If we can force her to recant—"

"We will. But not tonight." Corvin’s voice was gentle. "Tonight, you rest."

Nyra nodded reluctantly. The exhaustion of the journey was catching up with her, weighing down her limbs and fogging her mind. She lay down on the bed, her back to Corvin, and within moments, she was asleep.

Corvin lay on his back beside her, staring at the ceiling. His heart was pounding. He could feel the warmth of her body inches away, could smell the faint scent of her hair, could hear the soft rhythm of her breathing.

Your heart is beating very fast, Zen observed, his wolf’s voice tinged with amusement.

Go away.

Why? Because I’m telling the truth? Zen laughed. You still can’t get over her. You keep falling for her more every day. And you’ll protect her with everything you’ve got, even if it kills you.

Yes. Corvin’s voice was quiet, even in his own mind. I will.

Even though she doesn’t love you the way you love her?

Even then.

Zen was silent for a moment. Then: You’re a fool, Corvin Eldritch. But you’re a noble fool. I respect that.

Thank you. Now let me sleep.

You’re not going to sleep. You’re going to lie there staring at the ceiling and thinking about her.

Shut up, Zen.

Zen laughed again, but fell silent.

Corvin was still staring at the ceiling when he noticed Nyra stirring beside him. She was shaking her head, muttering in her sleep. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"No," she whimpered. "No, please. Don’t do it. Please don’t."

Another nightmare. The same ones that had plagued her since the showcase.

Corvin rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. "Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing her hair. "You’re safe. You’re not there anymore. It’s just a dream. I’m here. I’ve got you."

He continued murmuring soothing words, his hand stroking her back in slow circles. Gradually, her trembling subsided. Her breathing evened out. The nightmare released its grip, and she sank back into peaceful sleep.

Corvin looked down at her. She was so beautiful in the moonlight her silver hair spread across the pillow, her face relaxed and peaceful, her lips slightly parted. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and caressed her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear.

He wanted to kiss her forehead. He leaned in, his lips inches from her skin—

And stopped.

Not like this, he told himself. Not while she’s asleep. Not when she can’t choose.

He pulled back, swallowing hard, his heart pounding. He stared at the ceiling again, his arms still wrapped around her, holding her close.

You’re a fool, Zen said again, but this time, there was no laughter in his voice. Only sadness.

I know, Corvin replied. I know.

Soren burst into the palace garden like a creature from a nightmare.

He had wandered the dark corridors for what felt like hours, his sense of direction scrambled by the headache that still pounded behind his eyes. Finally, a door had led him outside, and he had staggered into the cool night air, the half-moon shining bright overhead.

Two maids were in the garden, laughing and talking. The sound of their voices grated against his sensitive ears. He turned toward them, his golden eyes gleaming, his fangs and claws still extended.

The maids saw him. And screamed.

They ran. Soren chased them, his movements still unsteady but fueled by a hunger he didn’t fully understand. He caught one of them a young woman with wide, terrified eyes and pinned her against the garden wall. She froze, trembling so hard her teeth chattered.

Soren leaned in close, sniffing her neck. "What a nice prey," he murmured, his voice rough and inhuman. "Your neck looks... enticing."

He opened his mouth. His fangs hovered over her skin, almost piercing.

And then he stopped.

Something flickered in his golden eyes. A memory. A voice. A face he couldn’t quite remember. He pulled back, his fangs retracting slightly. Instead of biting, he licked her neck—a strange, almost gentle gesture and then pushed her away.

"Go," he rasped. "Run."