Chapter 20 Distraction
Lyra's POV
The room I was left in was so beautifully decorated that I had to pause and wonder what exactly I was doing there.
The bed was large, perfectly arranged, and inviting in a way that made the rest of the space hum with quiet elegance. The carpet under my feet felt unbelievably soft and warm, almost as though heat had been woven directly into its fibers. The walls were painted in warm colors that created a soothing glow. Luxurious curtains draped over the windows in perfect folds that whispered refinement. Every piece of furniture that sat around me radiated class and luxury in a loud, undeniable way.
I stood by the wall closest to the door and continued to take in every detail of the room. My eyes roamed from one corner to another until the door opened once again and Kael walked in.
He paused the moment both feet settled inside the room, his hand still on the door as he shut it behind him. A frown immediately formed on his face when his gaze landed on me.
I wondered what could possibly be wrong now.
“What are you doing standing there?” he asked. His expression and tone suggested that I was doing something terribly incorrect by simply standing where I was.
“You said I should not move,” I reminded him, confused by the sudden disapproval.
“I said not to leave the room,” he corrected, and I shook my head because I could not believe he had already forgotten the exact words that had left his mouth.
“No. Those were not your words,” I insisted. I expected him to argue with me, but to my surprise he did not. Instead he let out a long breath, dragged his fingers through his hair, and walked toward the couch. He sat down heavily, the move revealing a weariness he did not try to hide.
I still did not move. I only waited because I knew that he would speak again, and I hoped that the next thing he said would finally explain why I had been brought here.
But his question left me disappointed.
“You are supposed to be a hybrid, right?” he asked after taking a quiet, steadying breath and turning his head to face me without rising from the couch.
“Not supposed to. I am a hybrid,” I answered with certainty so firm it felt like a declaration.
“What happened to your wolf?”
“Nothing I know of.”
“Your wolf side is empty. Are you aware of that?”
“Yes.”
“Why is it like that?”
I paused. I did not understand what this entire question and answer session was for. It was beginning to irritate me.
He raised a brow at me, expecting my response, so I gave him the only honest answer I had.
“I don't know,” I said. I thought that would be the end of it, but he continued without hesitation.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty two.”
“Who is your father?”
“I do not know him.”
“Your mother?”
“I never met her.”
“Which of them is the werewolf?”
“My father,” I answered, and a frown settled on my face because I hated these questions.
I hated talking about my parents with someone who meant absolutely nothing to me. I already lived with my own confusion and pain, and being forced to revisit it made everything worse.
“So your aunt raised you completely by herself?” Another question escaped his lips, and that was the one that finally made something in me snap.
“Yes. She was my only pillar of support until you and your men took her from me,” I replied. My voice grew hard, and I could feel myself trembling slightly from the force of everything that rose inside me.
He went silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed steadily on me.
“I did not kill your aunt, neither did my men. She was already dead when they found her,” he finally said. His voice remained unchanged. It was so calm that it made me even more uneasy.
“She would not have died if you had not invaded our home. She died trying to save me,” I shot back, my tone lower but still heavy with accusation.
“There it is,” he said. “That is the reason she died. Do not blame me for that.” His calmness somehow smothered the fire in me, and I hated that I could not hold on to it.
“You triggered her death,” I said, my voice now irritatingly neutral even as the accusation left my lips.
He did not reply. He simply stared at me in a way that sent a strange discomfort through my body. The silence stretched and stretched until I felt compelled to break it.
“Even if you exclude yourself from this one, have you not been tracking down and killing other witches?”
His eyes darkened instantly, and I regretted my words before he even stood up.
He rose slowly and began to approach me with a controlled pace that made the air around us feel heavier.
“Have witches not been tracking down and killing werewolves for years? Do you have any idea how much pain witches have caused us?”
The pain in his voice struck me like a physical blow. The look on his face made it even worse. He reached me and stood right in front of me, but he was not done speaking.
“Do you know how the void wolf came about? Now they are attempting to resurrect him using you.”
The shock hit me so hard that my mind blanked for a moment.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” I asked. “Resurrect what with who?”
“Exactly. You know nothing, Lyra. You know absolutely nothing about this war, so you should refrain from giving an opinion,” he said while frowning down at me.
Now that he was standing close enough for our breaths to mingle, his scent invaded my senses. It was strong, intoxicating, and so unexpectedly enticing that I wondered how I had gone this long without noticing it, even when we had been in the same car together.
He smelled so good that I wanted to lean in and breathe him in. The urge was ridiculous and overwhelming.
“I may not know much,” I finally forced myself to say, desperate to distract myself from his scent and the weight of his gaze. “But I know one thing. We did not start the war, but we have the power to end it.”
The darkness in his eyes disappeared at my words, and for a moment I thought he would step away and leave me alone.
He did not. Instead he grabbed my right arm and pulled my sleeve up.
“What are you doing?” I asked, startled, while still navigating the feeling his hand on mine was sending through me.
He did not answer. He only dropped my right arm, took my left, and repeated the same action.
He left my left arm, stepped back, and then bent to grab my left knee. He pulled my leg up abruptly.
“Hey,” I exclaimed, slapping his hand without thinking. He let my leg fall and I pressed my back against the wall, fear rising sharp and cold inside my chest. “What do you think you are doing?”
“You want to melt into the wall?” he asked with a hint of amusement. “Go on. I would love to see you try.”
“Stay away from me,” I warned him, but he only reached for my knee again with an even firmer grip.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I am only checking your injury,” he said while probing the tear in my pants where the wound had been.
“That is a doctor’s job. You are not one,” I snapped.
“The last time I checked, you rejected the healer’s medicine when I sent her to you,” he replied, still examining the area.
“You could at least get my consent before touching me like that.”
“Consent?” he repeated, his eyes locking with mine. “Did you seek my consent before healing me earlier?”
“That is a different case. I was not trying to violate you,” I murmured, and something sharp flashed across his eyes.
“And who is trying to violate you?” he asked. I did not dare answer that. “Where is the wound?” he finally asked.
“Healed already.”
“You know how to heal yourself?”
“I don't. My injuries heal naturally. I don't have to do anything.”
He finally let go of my leg and stepped back.
“You will be staying here from now on,” he announced.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? Do you want to go back to the dungeon?”
“No.”
“I thought so. There is a bathroom, and… anything else you need should be relayed to the guard who will bring you food. You are not to step outside. If you do, you will receive a severe punishment.”