Chapter 68

The day starts like any other, which almost makes it worse.

School feels louder than usual. Too bright. Too human. I sit through classes pretending to listen while my mind drifts back to wrought-iron gates, stone corridors, and Vanessa barely speaks to me all day. I tried talking to her a couple of times but each time she would take a different direction. It was so frustrating because despite everything I really needed my best friend. I was afraid , this was all too crazy and I didn’t know how to get out of it.

She sits two rows ahead in History, shoulders stiff, back straight, pretending I don't exist. I don't blame her. If the roles were reversed, I'd probably be furious too. Living with the Elvadores wasn't exactly something simple especially considering they were sworn enemies in history-even now.

I smile into my tray, pushing fries around, relief curling warm in my chest. Whatever else happens, that part was worth it.

Classes drag. Bells ring. Lockers slam. By the time the final bell sounds, I feel like I've lived three different lives in one day.

The drive back to the French Quarter is quiet, the city shifting as familiar neighborhoods give way to old brick, flickering lanterns, and streets that feel like they remember things. The mansion gates open before I even slow down.

Of course they do.

Inside, the house breathes around me—low, quiet, alive in a way that has nothing to do with people. I kick off my shoes and wander, unable to sit still.

I tell myself I'm just stretching my legs.

I lie.

I know that the moment I hear voices echoing down the east corridor—low, sharp, urgent. The kind of voices that don't belong to casual conversation. The kind that mean danger.

I slow my steps anyway.

The mansion is quiet at night, but this wing feels different—older, heavier. I follow the sound until I reach a carved wooden door left slightly ajar. Candlelight flickers from inside.

I stop breathing.

Damon's voice cuts through first. "The wolves can't know. Not yet."

Another voice answers—Elijah. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in a quieter way. "If they discover she's the key, they won't hesitate. They'll bleed her dry and find a way to destroy our kind forever."

My stomach drops.

"She's human," a third voice says. Adam. Sharp. Bitter. "They won't see her as collateral. They'll see her as a weapon."

I press my hand to the wall, pulse roaring in my ears.

Damon speaks again, colder now. "Which is exactly why she stays here."

A pause.

"And if she doesn't cooperate?" Adam asks.

Silence stretches.

Then Damon says quietly, "She will."

Something about the certainty in his tone sends a chill down my spine.

Elijah exhales. "You're too close to this."

A scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"She's your mate," Elijah says flatly.

The word slams into me like a physical blow.

Mate.

My vision blurs, thoughts splintering. I step back—too fast. Mate that word felt way too familiar like I have heard it before a couple of times and it scared me to death. It made my heart drop and left a bitter taste in my mouth. For some reason I felt like running away -escaping from this world.

The floorboard creaks.

The voices stop.

The door opens.

Damon is suddenly there, blocking my escape, eyes blazing silver in the low light. "Enjoying the conversation?"

I swallow. "I—I was just—"

"Listening?" he supplies smoothly. "Yes. I gathered."

Elijah appears behind him, gaze flicking between us before he sighs. "I'll deal with Adam. You handle this."

The door closes.

Leaving me alone with him.

Damon doesn't speak at first. He studies me like a predator deciding whether its prey will run. His jaw tightens.

"You weren't meant to hear that," he says.

"You're talking about me," I snap. "How exactly was I supposed to ignore it?"

He steps closer. Once. Twice. Until my back hits the wall.

"You should be afraid right now," he murmurs.

"I am."

His eyes soften—just barely. "Good. Fear keeps you alive."

Anger sparks through the fear. "You were talking about bleeding me."

"A hypothetical," he says coolly.

"You called me your mate," I whisper, the word burning my tongue.

That stops him.

For the first time since I've known him, Damon hesitates.

"Elizabeth—"

"Don't," I say quickly. "Don't explain. Don't lie."

His hand comes up, bracing beside my head. Not touching me. Close enough that I feel the heat of him anyway.

"You don't know what that word means in our world," he says softly.

"Then tell me."

His gaze drops to my lips. Lingers. Dangerous.

"It means fate," he says. "And it's a curse."

My breath catches. I knew it couldn’t be anything good.

"You think I wanted this?" he continues. "To care whether you breathe? To feel it when you're scared? To tear the world apart because someone might hurt you?"

The intensity in his voice steals the air from my lungs.

"You don't get to decide my fate," I say weakly.

"No," he agrees.

Before I can respond, his hand finally touches me—two fingers lifting my chin. The contact sends a shock through me, sharp and unmistakable.

"For someone who claims to hate monsters," he murmurs, "you keep walking straight into their arms."

I should push him away.

I don't.

Instead, I whisper, "You're dangerous."

His mouth curves into a slow, lethal smile. "You have no idea."

For one suspended moment, everything narrows—his breath, my heartbeat, the space between us evaporating.

Then he steps back.

Just like that.

"You'll stay in your room tonight," he says, voice back to iron control. "And you won't listen at doors again."

My pulse races. "Or what?"

He leans in, lips brushing my ear without quite touching. "Or I stop pretending I don't want you."

He disappears down the corridor, leaving my knees weak and my mind spinning.

Mate.

Key.

Weapon.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and anger, something else stirs—dangerously close to desire.