Chapter 91 The Argument
The smell of grease and sugar still clung to the air when it happened.
I was standing near one of the long wooden tables at the edge of the fairgrounds, lantern light washing everything in gold, when Darius stepped away to get me a corn dog. I hadn’t asked for it. He’d just said, “Stay here,” like it was the most natural thing in the world, and disappeared into the crowd before I could protest.
I leaned back against the railing, letting the noise blur again. For a moment, I let myself just relax,listening to music, watching children run past with glowing trinkets, feeling almost… normal.
That was when I heard them.
A group of men stood a few steps away, clustered near a barrel fire. They were older,rough-looking, beer bottles in their hands, smoke curling around their heads. They weren’t whispering. They didn’t care who heard.
“….telling you, it’s wrong,” one of them said, spitting to the side. “Alpha King keeping the queen of hybrids like some kind of trophy.”
Another laughed. “Or a leash. You see the way she walks? Like she’s waiting for permission.”
“Council’s gone soft,” a third muttered. “Back in the day, they’d have put her down or locked her underground. Now she’s out here playing fair games.”
The words hit harder than any blow I’d taken in training.
Queen of hybrids.
Kept.
Leash.
My fingers curled around the railing before I realized I’d moved. My pulse roared in my ears, instincts surging, my beast bristling just beneath my skin. For a terrifying second, I imagined what it would feel like to cross the distance between us in a blink how easily I could make them stop talking.
I didn’t.
I stood there. Silent. Breathing through it like Dr Voss had taught me. Identifying the sensations without reacting.
Anger. Shame. Old fear.
Still, the damage was done.
By the time Darius came back, balancing two corn dogs and grinning like he’d won some great prize, my chest felt tight enough to crack.
“Victory,” he announced lightly. “I had to fight a child and an old woman, but…”
I snapped.
“Do you ever stop joking?”
The smile slid off his face instantly.
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
I grabbed the corn dog from his hand harder than necessary. “You think this is funny? All of this?”
He frowned, lowering his voice. “Lyra,hey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said too fast. Too sharp. I turned away from him, already walking, the crowd swallowing me as I moved.
“Lyra,” he called, following after me. “Slow down.”
I didn’t.
My shoulders were tight, my steps uneven, my thoughts spiraling. Every laugh around me sounded fake. Every glance felt loaded. The fair that had felt warm and safe minutes ago now felt like a stage I hadn’t agreed to stand on.
Darius caught up easily. He always did.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching out not touching, just close enough that I could feel the heat of him. “Did I do something wrong?
I spun on him, the words bursting out before I could stop them. “Everything.”
He stiffened. “That’s not an answer.”
“Then ask a better question,” I shot back.
People were starting to look. I didn’t care.
He took a breath, steadying himself. “Okay,” he said carefully. “Talk to me.”
I laughed,short, bitter. “You don’t want that.”
“Try me.”
The challenge in his voice snapped something loose inside me.
“You treat me like I’m made of glass,” I said, my voice shaking now, anger bleeding into something rawer. “Like if you touch me wrong, I’ll shatter. Like every second you’re just waiting for me to lose control.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” I stepped closer, pointing a finger at his chest. “You hover. You watch. You decide what I can handle before I even open my mouth.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“There it is,” I snapped. “Protect. Like I didn’t survive without you.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t have to pretend you’re invincible.”
“I’m not pretending,” I said fiercely. “I’m asking you to stop treating me like a liability.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is being called the queen of hybrids like I’m something you keep,” I threw back.
That stopped him.
His eyes darkened. “Who said that?”
“Does it matter?” I demanded. “They all think it. Council members. Strangers. Your people.”
“My people don’t..”
“Your people follow you,” I cut in. “And you stand there beside me like I’m proof of your mercy.”
His voice hardened. “That’s not how I see you.”
“Then how do you see me?” I challenged. “Because from where I’m standing, looks very clear ”
“That’s not true,” he said sharply. “You’re the one pushing everyone away.”
I recoiled like he’d struck me.
“Oh, so now this is my fault?”
“Yes,” he said, frustration breaking through his control. “You shut down, you lash out, you lock yourself in a room the second things get hard.”
“Because it seems every time I let someone close, they lie,” I shot back. “They experiment. They manipulate. They decide they know what’s best for me.”
His eyes flashed. “I am not your father.”
I flinched.
The name hung between us like poison.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whispered.
“And you don’t get to punish me for his sins,” he fired back. “I didn’t ask for this bond. I didn’t ask to feel everything you feel.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“Neither did I,” I said quietly. “But here we are. Stuck with something neither of us wanted.”
The crowd pressed in around us, music swelling, laughter clashing cruelly with the tension crackling between us.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes glowing faintly now, control slipping. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you tear yourself apart? Waiting for the day you decide you don’t need anyone and disappear?”
I shook my head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me understand.”
“I can’t,” I said, voice breaking. “Because every time I try, I remember my father telling me pain was for my own good. That control meant survival. And then I look at you, and I don’t know where his shadow ends and you begin.”
His face went still.
“That’s not fair,” he said again, but this time it sounded tired.
“Neither was being born,or made” I snapped. “Neither was being turned into a weapon. Neither was being bound to you without a choice.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy.
We stared at each other, years of hurt and unspoken fear rising to the surface. For a moment, I thought he might reach for me anyway. Pull me close. Prove me wrong.
He didn’t.
“You want space?” he asked, voice rough. “Fine.”
“Good,” I said, even though the word tasted like ash.
We turned away from each other at the same time.
The crowd swallowed him in one direction and me in another, lantern light blurring through unshed tears. Every step away felt like ripping something vital out of my chest, but I kept walking.
Because stopping would mean admitting how badly I wanted him to follow.
And this time, he didn’t.