CHAPTER 131: ONE HUNDRED & THIRTY ONE

Evadne

I wish I could explain the finer details of it, but I wasn’t there to witness any of it, to my chagrin.

Astrea did a number on me. I’d misjudged her and I paid dearly for it. Before I could recover from the shock of being stabbed, something had rammed so hard against my skull, it rattled me to the core.

When I awoke, I wasn’t in the castle. I wasn’t even in Ebonheart.

When I awoke, I was trussed up across the back of a galloping horse, head dangling upside down, wrists and ankles bound behind me.

When I awoke, I heard a strange rumor. I heard we won the war. It didn’t make sense. Yet, I couldn’t ask. Not with the gag shoved deep between my teeth.

"Shit!" a man swears and without warning, the horse is steers left, nearly tossing me off its behind. My eyes water at the constant shove into my stomach and I grunt softly, tasting blood in my mouth.

"Didn’t think they’d set up patrol so quickly," another says. It sounds like the pesky fool named Sebastian. "The routes are blocked--"

"We have to head north," Astrea snarls somewhere ahead, the wind carrying most of her voice and it takes straining my ears to catch them at all.

Sebastian growls. "You saw what he did to the army. He blew right through the front of our defense and cut us up like minced meat. And he didn’t stop. We all know where he is headed next. We cannot go back to Silvermoor, not until we know for sure that he has been put down. Should we run into him, it’d be a death sentence."

I snort softly, but it becomes a soft chuckle.

Their conversations cease. Sebastian grumbles under his breath. I suspect it is his horse I am bent over. "You won’t find this any hilarious anymore when you find what I have prepared for you."

Threats. I don’t function well with them, especially when they come from males like him. His mate, he had called me. Often times, I forget that some of us had the ill-fortune of getting paired with the wolves. That’s not to say they’re all terrible. After all, there are a good number of them with Lycan families in Ebonheart that have blended quite well into our society.

Not all wolves, but it was always wolves. You would think their few mortal years would grant them less time to get creative with their black hearts, but it was as though they inherited it straight from their ancestors.

I shut my eyes and sigh, watching the hooves of the horse bit the snow. Lucien is off having fun without me, and me, I’m being carted off to heaven knows where. I yawn. Hopefully, it’d be much better than being stuck at Court.

***

I am awoken by a strong grip on my collar, pulling me off the horse. I hit the ground with a thud, my head smashing into a couple of small rocks.

Wincing, I start to roll on my side, only to be yanked up roughly and pushed, my feet stubbing a few more roots and rocks. I see then that our party is a worn, small one. Two guards with flecks of blood staining their armour, bruises marring their faces and the haunted look that often sits after watching the bloodshed of war.

Lucien always did have that effect on people.

Astrea trudges ahead, her dark hair slipping out from under a cloak she must have stolen from one of the knights. I see now, how she must have gotten me out of the castle. One or two of the new wolf recruits must have helped.

And this is why we leave no survivors.

The one whose presence I am graced with is none other than Sebastian. He tosses me against the tree bark roughly enough to elicit an irritated look from Astrea. "You do not have to be so rough with her. She isn’t even resisting--"

"She is my mate," he snarls, like it’s the greatest achievement he’s had in his miserable life. Maybe it is. I am, after all, a great catch. "I do whatever I please with her."

Astrea’s frown deepens, but she looks away abruptly when our gazes meet, her cheeks colouring slightly when I wink. "A fire would be great any time now--"

"Fuck knows how long you’ve survived out there if your survival instincts are this wretched," the angry Alpha mutters, ripping the gag from my mouth so hard, it bruises my lip. "You think a fire would be the best idea while we’re being pursued?"

He jerks back when I spit a mouth full of blood out of my mouth and looks visibly irked. "Do not get your filthy blood on me."

I grin slyly. "We’re all related, you know? Draemont was the original royal line. And to bury that history, the king became Draemir--a shitty derivative that began a line of inferior little dogs like you. But it doesn’t make our blood any less red. So if I have shit blood in my veins, your kind built the cesspit."

For a moment, I think he might hit me, and gods, I hope he does, so I can bite off his fingers, but he just shoves the gag back into my mouth and leans in so far into my space, I catch a whiff of sweat and youthful insolence. "I like you better when your mouth’s occupied."

Barf. I’d suck on the point of a spear and gag on it.

I must have conveyed the disgust along my face because he smiles and ruffles my hair, seemingly pleased with himself that he’s gotten under my skin.

My jerk my head left, suddenly irritated. I zone in and out of the conversation as they set a measly camp, all shivering from the cold, and at some point past midnight, they risk the fire.

And though I don’t feel it, because I never get cold--except if Lucien gets it into his head to make a popsicle out of me--which he has done a number of times in our lifetimes--Astrea approaches me, holding out some bread and cheese from their supplies.

"Don’t talk to the prisoner, Astrea," Sebastian barks all the way across the clearing where he’s turned around, taking a piss.

She ignores him and reaches forward, her fingertips almost tender as she pulls out the gag. "Here. You should have some--"

I jerk my knee up, sending it flying. Her eyes widen as it hits the ground, some of it landing on the pants that cling firmly to her thighs. "I cannot seem to read you, Astrea," I say, voice low enough that no one else can eavesdrop. "Is this your twisted version of foreplay? You kiss me. You stab me. You hand me over to my enemies. And then, you try to feed me."

Fire flares in her eyes. "Maybe I’m just worried that you haven’t had a single drop of food or water since we left Ebonheart days ago--"

"You didn’t seem to care about my wellbeing when you tore my throat open." My tongue runs over my fangs and despite myself, my gaze drops to her neck. Her pulse is uneven. Her cheeks flushed. "What changed?"

She leans down, picking the salvageable bread from the snow. "Nothing." Her hands are shaken, the tips almost blue with the cold. "I’m sorry. I’ve never done anything as terrible as that before. But you must understand that I no longer have just myself to worry about. I am publicly known as Rafael’s Queen. The Voss soldiers pulled out at the very last second from the fight, ruining the alliance with Silvermoor for whatever reason. I will not be welcome there. I refuse to reside as a prisoner who counts down her death by the second at Ebonheart. The only place I will not be killed on sight is Silvermoor. That is the decision I’ve had to make for me and my child."

"And I am the price you have chosen to grant you safe entry, I suppose," I say without bite or bitterness.

Shame flushes her skin again but she doesn’t lower her gaze. "That’s one way to look at things. The other is... Well, you’re his mate. In Silvermoor, it means you belong with and to that person. He was always going to find a way to get to you. It was just a matter of time--"

My eyebrows rise. "Does he know you kissed me? Had your hands on my breasts?"

She chokes on nothing, coughing loudly as if it’ll make the words I’d uttered just disappear. Rather than answer, she deflects. "And Sebastian is not so bad."

I stare at her, hard.

"Well, not as bad as most males in Silvermoor. He’s just... he believes in whatever Rafael believes in. But innately, he’s not a bad person. He’s just a loyal footsoldier."

"A lapdog, you mean."

Astrea laughs. She looks younger when she does. I wonder how she grew up. I can guess as my gaze flicks down to her fingers. Mostly likely the spoiled, entitled heiress. "You speak like that is such a horrible thing to be in times like this. Some of us were born into these roles, you do realize."

"Doesn’t matter," I shrug. "Lycans are wired differently. You cannot tame any one of us if you cannot even own your mind." I swallow against the thirst growing in my throat. "It’s a useless match, still--"

"Do not be so quick to condemn it. I wouldn’t have brought you to him if I didn’t think he could treat you right--"

"Astrea," I snap, anger surging out of nowhere. "You sold me out, so fucking own it. Don’t siddle up to me like we’re friends chatting about boys and who we fancy and want to have kids with. Because we’re not. Your guilt is yours alone to bear. Do not act like I had a choice in this, like this is anything but a hostage situation, and that wherever I’m headed, worse isn’t awaiting me." Her eyes reflect the flecks of orange from the flames as I lean in. "I understand war. I’ve lived through a shit ton of storms. So quit the bullshit act of remorse and stick to the side you’ve chosen. And get the fuck out of my face if you do not have enough will to stand by it. I can’t tell which is more nauseating. This or the fact that you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’re the good guy."

She flinches. "I’m sorry--"

"Then get me out of these binds."

I see her struggle with the decision, but she looks away, unable to meet with my gaze. Her voice is a small whisper. "I’m sorry."

I lean back against the tree, returning my gaze to the dark beyond. And just as she’s about to rise, I say, "It’s a useless match because I cannot be with men."

She stiffens. "Cannot?"

My mind travels to that day. That day I had stopped by at Lucien’s home for a visit. I hadn’t seen him in so long and Ilya had been far away from Court as well. I’d missed my two closest friends terribly. As well as my god daughter.

The guards around the house hadn’t made a difference. They came like they had been prepared for war. The staff died stepping into the line of fire to protect us even if we hadn’t asked. Alyssa and Sloane were worse off. It didn’t happen quickly, the attack. It happened slowly. We were like mice, stuck inside the house.

And when we locked ourselves in, all of us left women, knowing what came next, they set fire to the roofs, smoking us out, giving us a chance to come out or burn alive.

Ilya had said she would handle it. Jessa was injured. She told me to take her. And run. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. To turn my back on her and hear her screaming like that. But I knew I couldn’t turn back. Knew I had to save Jessa.

But it was fruitless. I was caught anyway and there are days I act like what followed didn’t change me completely. There are days I act that way because I blame myself. Maybe if I had stood and fought instead. Maybe if I had run a little faster, taken a different route. Maybe the little girl that had grown to be Luke’s second love wouldn’t have died. Maybe Ilya wouldn’t have died either. Some days I wonder if I have a right to unpack what happened and grieve myself, when someone else had lost his entire world in an entire day. And I hated myself even worse when I saw the final moment when he had broken, knowing finding me in that state--the one they left alive to tell the message of what happened, the message that had been imprinted on my skin in cum and welts and handprints and torn out flesh and blood--had contributed to it.

My gaze lifts to Astrea’s and the weight of it must convey enough of it because there is horror in her eyes. Or perhaps, that is pity. Or the realization of what her turning me in is going to inflict on me once more. "I cannot."

And I turn away from her abruptly, because her sorrowful expression disgusts me.