Chapter 80 Pretty Little Eve
Lyra stood in the middle of the bedroom, pacing.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Her bare feet barely made a sound on the floor, but inside her head, everything was loud. Too loud.
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as she dragged open the wardrobe and began yanking clothes off hangers.
She kept muttering under her breath that this was the only way. This was the right thing to do.
Picking up a thick jacket and a pair of socks, she shoved them into a bag with shaking hands.
“If Samson wants me dead, then I have to leave,” she muttered to herself, her voice cracking. “I can’t let everyone else pay for my own wrongs.”
She was the hybrid. She was the one Samson hated and wanted dead. If Rex had gotten hurt the first time and now the guards were poisoned, who knew what he’d do next? All because of her.
Folding more clothes, she continued to stuff them into the bag, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.
She knew that she had to be strong.
Cassian had warned her. Heck, even the Blood King had warned her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard. She hadn’t listened. She’d thought love would be enough.
She’d somehow been naïve enough to believe that Ryker’s love, his strong arms, his authority over his pack, and his support would be enough to keep the darkness away.
But here she was, watching everything fall apart because she arrived back home.
She pressed her palms to the edge of the bed and leaned forward, breathing hard.
I don’t belong anywhere, she thought bitterly. Not fully wolf. Not fully a vampire. Not fully anything. She was stitched together from things that had been at war for centuries.
Wolves and bloodsuckers didn’t mix. Not now and not ever. And yet, here she was, somehow representing both races and being rejected by both.
And Ryker loved her. Yes, he loved her so fiercely it hurt to think about. But that love was tearing him apart from his people, pulling him into fights he never should have had to fight.
He doesn’t deserve this, she thought. He doesn’t deserve to lose his pack because of me.
She straightened, wiping her eyes angrily.
“I’ll find him,” she whispered. “I’ll find the Blood King.”
Her fingers curled into fists. She had no idea what the Blood King truly wanted from her, or what price he would demand, but maybe, just maybe, she could strike a bargain.
Maybe she could make a deal with him, one that would end all of this.
Better her than them.
She was reaching for another shirt when a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Lyra froze.
Every muscle in her body locked as instinct screamed at her to be careful.
Slowly, silently, she moved toward the dining table just outside the bedroom and grabbed the small knife resting there.
“Who is it?” she called, forcing her voice to stay calm.
“It’s me.”
Dax’s voice.
She sagged in relief and quickly opened the door.
Dax stepped inside, then immediately noticed the knife in her hand. His brows drew together. “Lyra, are you okay?”
She nodded mutely.
“Then what’s that for?”
She glanced down, then exhaled. “I had to make sure,” she said quietly, setting it aside. “Everything feels unsafe right now.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
“Is Rex okay?”
“Yeah, she’s resting right now, and I wanted to check on you too.”
“Thanks, Dax. But I’m fine. I think Rex needs you more.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Ryker’s riders are coming back. Most of them already have. There is still no sign of Samson.”
Her chest tightened. “So he’s really gone.”
“Looks that way,” Dax said. “For now.”
She frowned. “It still doesn’t make sense. Those guards outside the prison—how did he poison them from inside? He couldn’t have done that alone.”
Dax’s mouth tightened. “Yeah. That’s what we’re thinking too.”
“You think he had help,” she said.
“I think it’s the only explanation,” Dax replied. “It could have been kitchen staff, a guard, or someone who sympathizes with him.”
Lyra let out a bitter laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Samson’s not exactly alone in hating me.”
Dax didn’t argue.
“Ryker will call a pack meeting when he gets back,” he said. “He’ll flush out whoever helped him.”
“If they’re brave enough to admit it,” Lyra muttered.
Dax stepped closer and gently took her hand. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you’re going through all of this. You shouldn’t blame yourself. Please don’t.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining. “How am I not supposed to? Everything was peaceful before I came back. Now there’s blood, prisons, poison, knives—”
“Stop,” he said firmly. He placed both hands on her shoulders, grounding her. “This is your home. You belong here. And you’ll be safe here.”
She searched his face, wanting to believe him.
“I don’t feel safe,” she admitted. “I feel like a spark in dry grass, and sooner or later, I might burn everything to the freaking ground.”
“Everything will be fine. Trust me.”
Lyra sighed and nodded, even if she didn’t believe one bit of it.
Dax smiled. “If you need company, I can stay. Just to make sure you’re okay.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Ryker wouldn’t like that.”
A small, crooked smile tugged at Dax’s lips. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “He’s still your husband and all, I guess.”
He stepped back, giving her space. “I’ll check on Rex again. Try to rest, Lyra.”
He turned and paused at the door. “And don’t disappear on us.”
Her heart skipped as he said those words, but she forced a smile. “I won’t.”
After he left, the house felt too quiet again.
Lyra sank onto the couch, disoriented, staring at nothing for a long moment.
Then she pushed herself up and went back upstairs, her resolve hardening.
Whether she liked it or not, she had to leave.
“I’ll be gone before Ryker comes back,” she said softly. “It’ll be easier that way.”
She was folding another shirt when another knock came at the door.
She groaned softly. “Dax, I don’t think Ryker would love you being here,” she muttered as she went to open it.
But it wasn’t Dax.
A maid stood there, eyes downcast, holding a tray. “The Alpha instructed that I should bring you food before he left.”
Lyra couldn’t help but be touched by such thoughtfulness. Ryker always cared for her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, stepping aside.
The maid set the tray down and left without another word.
Lyra closed the door and leaned against it for a second, breathing out shakily. Then she crossed the room, picked up an apple from the tray, and bit into it.
Juice ran down her fingers as she chewed, staring at the packed bag on the bed.
“I’m sure he’ll one day forgive me for leaving,” she muttered.