Chapter 146

Chapter 146: Chapter 146

Lysander’s pov

The second I heard the door slam shut, I adjusted my sweater.

I moved fast. I didn’t dry my hair. I didn’t adjust the rolled collar of my sweater. I practically threw myself across the massive mattress, diving beneath the duvet and pulling the covers up to my chin.

I dragged my knees to my chest, curling onto my side with my back to the door. I shut my eyes, forcing my breathing into a slow, rhythmic drag in through my nose, out through my mouth.

You’re asleep, I reminded myself, my fingers clutching the soft linen beneath the comforter until my knuckles throbbed. You took a hot shower because you couldn’t sleep, and now you’re tucked in bed, exhausted and fragile.

I knew how Drake saw me. I knew the exact image he had built in his mind over the last few weeks—the traumatized, unhinged boy whose mind was fracturing under the weight of his past. He pitied me.

He wanted to shield me, to wrap me up in his ancient, terrifying power and keep the bad dreams away.

And right now, that pity was the only weapon I had left.

If I acted guilty, he’d tear this room apart. But if I acted like a frightened, broken thing seeking comfort... he wouldn’t look for the cracks. He would just hold me.

The quiet click of the bedroom door opening cut through the stillness. ℯℯ𝑙.

I didn’t move. I kept my breathing even, letting my long eyelashes rest heavy against my cheeks, my body completely limp under the heavy covers.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps crossed the hardwood floor. Drake made no effort to hide his approach. The air in the bedroom instantly shifted, turning thick and charged with the razor-sharp, electric pressure of his presence. He smelled of rain, cold leather, and the heavy, metallic tang of the capital council halls.

The mattress dipped under his massive weight as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

For a long, agonizing five seconds, he just sat there. I could feel his crimson eyes burning into my back, scanning the shape of my body beneath the duvet, reading the quiet room.

Then, he leaned over, his broad hand coming down to rest gently over my hip through the blanket.

"Lysander," Drake rumbled softly, his voice a low, raspy gravel that vibrated through the mattress.

I let out a soft, sleepy mumble, shifting under the covers just enough to make it look like he’d pulled me out of a deep rest. I rolled over slowly, blinking my eyes open against the dim light, letting my expression stay soft, vulnerable, and dazed.

"Drake...?" I murmured, my voice raspy and small. I reached a trembling hand out from under the blanket, resting my palm lightly against his knee. "You’re back."

Drake looked down at me. His dark, tailored coat was open, his dark hair slightly damp from the fog outside. His face was a mask of exhaustion but the moment his eyes met mine, the tension in his jaw relaxed just a fraction.

"I finished early," Drake said quietly, reaching down to brush a strand of damp hair away from my forehead. His thumb was warm, solid, and comforting against my skin. "Your hair is wet. Were you up?"

"I couldn’t sleep," I lied smoothly, forcing my eyes to look wide, tired, and completely candid. I leaned my cheek into his broad palm, playing the part of the needy mate perfectly. "The storm kept rattling the windows. I took a hot shower to try to warm up, but... the bed felt too big without you."

A soft, rare tenderness softened the hard lines around Drake’s mouth. He looked down at me like I was the most fragile, precious thing in his world.

"I’m here now, little bird," he murmured.

He kicked off his heavy boots, unbuttoned his holster, and tossed his coat over the back of a chair.

He slid under the heavy duvet beside me, his massive, burning frame instantly filling the empty space, driving the lingering chill out of the sheets.

I didn’t hesitate. I slid straight into his arms, burying my face into the crook of his neck, wrapping my arms around his broad waist. I held onto him like a lifeline, letting my body go soft against his chest, mimicking the absolute relief of a frightened lover returning to his protector.

Drake wrapped his long arms around me, pulling me flush against his body until there wasn’t a whisper of air between us. His hand slid under my sweater, his broad, warm palm resting flat over the small of my back, holding me locked against him.

"You’re still shivering," Drake noted softly, his lips pressing a slow, heavy kiss into the damp hair at the top of my head.

"Just cold," I whispered into his collarbone, my eyes squeezed shut. "Hold me tighter."

Drake let out a low, deep rumble of satisfaction in his chest—the sound of an ancient predator comforting his mate. He shifted his weight, burying his face deeper into the side of my neck, right over the high rolled collar of my sweater where my pulse was hammering against my skin.

He took a deep, slow breath, inhaling my scent.

I held my breath, my fingers digging into his back, praying to whatever god was listening that the cedar, the sandalwood, and the heavy soaps had done their job.

Drake froze.

The low, comforting rumble in his chest died instantly.

His body didn’t just go still; it turned to pure, solid stone. The warmth radiating from his skin seemed to drop ten degrees in a split second, the air in the bedroom instantly snapping tight with a suffocating, lethal static.

My heart gave a violent, terrifying leap against my ribs.

Drake didn’t pull away. Instead, his nose dragged slowly down the side of my neck, pressing right against the damp fabric of my sweater, right over the raw, scrubbed skin of my collarbone.

He inhaled again. A long, deep, terrifyingly deliberate breath.

Beneath the heavy layer of cedar soap, beneath the scented oils, beneath the sharp smell of hot water and clean wool... his ancient, vampire senses caught it. The faintest, undeniable trace of a cold, dark pureblood magic.

The metallic, sickly-sweet scent of cherry tobacco and crushed iron.

Darius.

The silence that fell over the bed wasn’t just quiet, it was a void. A dark, terrifying abyss that swallowed the hum of the house whole.

Drake’s hand on my back didn’t move, but his grip changed. It went from a warm, protective hold to a crushing, immovable restraint that locked my spine against his chest like an iron bar.

Slowly, agonizingly, Drake lifted his head.

I opened my eyes, my breath catching in my throat, my pulse screaming in my ears.

Drake was looking down at me. The soft, exhausted tenderness in his face was completely gone, replaced by a cold, ancient fury so profound it felt like the floorboards beneath us were vibrating. His eyes weren’t just red—they were glowing like two burning coals in the dark room, his dark pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits.

"Drake...?" I choked out, my voice trembling, trying desperately to keep the innocent mask from slipping off my face. "What’s wrong?"

Drake didn’t answer with words.

He raised his hand, his long, pale fingers reaching up to grip the rolled collar of my charcoal sweater. With a single, effortless jerk, he yanked the heavy wool down, exposing my bare neck, my jaw, and the pale, bruised mark left behind by the suppressant collar.

Drake stared at the mark. Then his glowing red eyes lifted, locking onto mine with a lethal, terrifying intensity that made my soul shrivel.

"Where were you tonight, Lysander?" Drake rasped, his voice dropping into a register so dark, so deep, it vibrated straight through my bones