Chapter 65 Lies Men Tell
Darius’ POV
When Lyra collapsed, the trial ended without ceremony.
No verdict.
No outrage.
No justice, only panic dressed up as protocol.
The scribes shouted for order. The Council rose from their seats in feigned concern. Guards rushed forward, silver restraints clinking as if they were afraid she would wake and destroy them all. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I stood there frozen, watching her body crumple to the stone floor, watching the last of her strength finally give in.
I had seen humans die at war. I had seen wolves die with their throats torn open, blood steaming against cold earth.
None of that compared to watching her collapse under the weight of the truth.
They called it a medical emergency. They said the chamber was adjourned. They said it was for everyone’s safety.
Cowards.
By the time they carried her away, she was unconscious, her scent dull and wrong, fear, shock, heartbreak tangled together so tightly it made my chest ache. I wanted to follow. I wanted to tear the chains from her wrists myself and take her out of that cursed place.
But the Council had already decided.
And worse,so had she.
She hadn’t looked at me when she fell.
That was the part that stayed with me.
Night came without permission in the underground facility. There were no windows, no moonlight, only sterile white corridors and the low hum of machinery beneath stone. The lab never slept. It only waited.
I waited too.
Fred, now Dr. Frederick Hale, did not hide. He walked the halls like a man who belonged there, like the walls themselves answered to him. White coat. Calm steps.
I found him outside the observation wing.
He turned before I spoke.
Of course he did.
I stopped a few feet away from him. No guards. No Council members. No audience. Just two men standing in a corridor that smelled of antiseptic and secrets.
There was no growl in my throat.
No threat in my stance.
Just truth, raw and sharp.
“If you hurt her….”
He interrupted me without raising his voice.
“You already did.”
The words landed cleanly. No venom. No accusation. Just fact.
“By lying.”
I didn’t deny it.
I didn’t bare my teeth. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even breathe for a moment.
Because he was right.
I looked at him then,really looked, and for the first time, I didn’t see a strategist or a scientist or a spy. I saw a man who had known the truth longer than I had allowed Lyra to.
“You think I don’t know what I did?” I asked quietly.
Fred’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “I think you told yourself you were protecting her.”
“I was.”
“From the truth,” he corrected. “Not from pain.”
I turned my head slightly, jaw tightening. The walls around us felt closer than they had a moment ago.
“I didn’t tell her about her father,” I said. “Not because I wanted to deceive her. But because I wanted her to have something clean. Something untouched.”
Fred let out a slow breath. “You wanted her to love a ghost.”
“Yes.”
I didn’t soften it. There was no point.
Her father,brilliant, revered, damned, had been many things. A visionary. A butcher. A man who crossed lines no one should have crossed. I had known. I had signed the orders. I had watched the files disappear into sealed archives and told myself it was necessary.
Necessary for stability.
Necessary for the future.
Necessary so Lyra could live without being crushed by the sins of the man who created her.
“She deserved to remember him as her father,” I continued. “Not as a monster in a lab coat.”
Fred’s voice stayed calm, but something sharp edged into it. “And now she remembers him as both. Because you waited too long.”
I clenched my hands behind my back.
“You think I didn’t plan to tell her?” I asked. “You think I didn’t rehearse that conversation a thousand times? I was waiting for the right moment.”
Fred tilted his head. “There is no right moment to destroy someone’s foundation.”
Silence stretched between us.
Somewhere down the hall, a door opened. Somewhere else, machines beeped steadily, indifferent to kings and hybrids and broken truths.
Fred said. “She’ll never trust you again.”
I met his gaze again. “And what exactly were you doing, Fred? Playing savior while reporting every breath she took?”
He didn’t flinch. “I told her the truth when it mattered.”
“No,” I said softly. “You told her pieces. You let her believe you were the only one on her side.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is chaining her in a courtroom and calling her Subject L-17.”
Something flickered in his eyes then. Guilt. Anger. Maybe both.
“She is not a threat,” he said firmly. “I said that in front of the Council.”
“And then you told her she was never meant to survive.”
His jaw tightened. “Because it’s true.”
“So is this,” I said, stepping closer, my voice low. “She didn’t ask to be created. She didn’t ask to be hunted. And she didn’t ask to carry the weight of every mistake her father ever made.”
Fred exhaled through his nose. “Neither did you.”
That stopped me.
He studied me then, not as a king, not as an Alpha, but as a man who had made choices that would echo for generations.
“You killed her father,” he said quietly.
I didn’t correct him.
“Yes,” I said. “I did.”
The word settled between us, heavy and final.
“I did it because he wouldn’t stop,” I continued. “Because what he was doing would have destroyed our world. And because I thought, foolishly, that ending him would end his work.”
Fred’s voice dropped. “And instead, you let his legacy live inside her.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“I hoped,” I admitted, “that if she never knew, if she lived as Lyra and not as his creation… then maybe she could be free.”
Fred shook his head once. “Freedom built on a lie is just another cage.”
I opened my eyes again.
“You want her to hate me,” I said.
“Maybe.”
I looked past him, down the corridor that led to her containment wing.
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded once.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I didn’t do this to hurt her.”
I looked back at him sharply. “You still did.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But I’m not done protecting her.”
Neither am I.
I stepped away then, the conversation finished but the damage far from repaired. As I walked toward the observation wing, one truth echoed louder than the rest:
Lyra would wake.
And when she did, she would see us both clearly for the first time.
And this time—
I would not lie.