Chapter 13
Lirael
As soon as the yacht docked, I was trapped in this damned greenhouse. I stood at the greenhouse's glass wall, watching Sebastian's three-vehicle convoy disappear into the underground garage with the kind of focus you'd give a predator's retreat. The moment those black cars merged into Ark City's rain-slicked traffic, something loosened in my chest—not freedom, but the blessed absence of his suffocating presence, those golden eyes that calculated too damn much and saw through every lie I constructed.
Finally. Finally that bastard is gone.
He'd staged this morning's conversation deliberately, because Sebastian Blackwood never did anything without poison woven through it. I'd lain motionless in his bed while Marcus and Isabella reported at the door, forcing my breathing steady while cataloguing every word like my life depended on it—because it fucking did.
"Go investigate everything about her past," Sebastian had ordered Marcus, voice carrying that bored authority that made my skin crawl. "Every detail."
Then Marcus mentioned Ethan Kane's birthday celebration tonight at the Kane Estate's Moon Hall, asking whether Sebastian would still attend.
"Not sure," Sebastian said, and I'd felt his gaze slide toward where I pretended to sleep.
Now, watching his convoy vanish, I felt the collar's weight against my throat and knew with absolute certainty this was another test, another iteration of his cat-and-mouse bullshit designed to see what I'd do when the leash seemed to slacken. But desperation and rage made shitty companions to caution, and I was running low on patience.
Fuck it. Let him play his games. I've got my own.
The two attendants stood at respectful distance outside, postures screaming they'd been briefed on failure's consequences. When I'd claimed exhaustion, they'd withdrawn without argument, leaving me alone in this beautiful fucking prison.
I studied the greenhouse's security with the same focus I'd once used dissecting corporate firewalls. The ventilation windows showed green indicators—not just unlocked but completely deactivated, like someone had deliberately killed that security layer. The high-voltage grid that should've hummed with lethal current registered silent, and when I'd tested the genetic lock by approaching the outer wall, I'd felt only the faintest twinge instead of the agonizing punishment from the plane.
Too many coincidences. He's either incredibly sloppy—which I don't buy for a second—or he's deliberately leaving me a way out.
The question was why, and what he expected to gain watching me take it. I thought about how he'd looked this morning realizing his six hours of uninterrupted sleep, the clinical fascination cataloguing my changing temperature, the possessive certainty declaring me "something he actually needed."
Christ, I'm not a fucking sleep aid. I'm not his goddamn property, no matter what that collar says.
Whatever I represented—solution to his insomnia, source of moon dew, or just an entertaining puzzle—I was clearly more valuable functional than broken. Which meant he wanted to see what I could do when I thought I was free.
Fine. Let's give him a show worth watching. Let's see how much he enjoys his pet biting back.
---
The attendants' shift change happened at 10:15. I waited for the elevator chime and murmured briefing exchange, then moved deeper into the manufactured jungle, following plant whispers through what remained of my dampened connection to the natural world.
The collar suppressed my abilities but didn't eliminate them. I could still sense green consciousness, still feel the slow pulse of growth. When I pressed my palm against an ancient oak's trunk and whispered in the old language, the tree responded with recognition that sent leaves cascading down.
Thank God. Thank God something still recognizes me as more than just Sebastian's fucking plaything.
I need your help. I need to reach the sky.
A thick vine unfurled with directed purpose that had nothing to do with natural growth and everything to do with ancient magic recognizing one of its own. It wove into a living ladder, and when I tested my weight the structure held firm.
I climbed fast, body remembering skills honed during three years when physical exhaustion had been the only path to oblivion. The collar pulled at my throat with each movement—constant reminder of my status as property—but I'd learned how to convert humiliation into fuel.
Every pull of this fucking collar is another reason to destroy him. Another debt to collect.
The ventilation window sat exactly where the publicly available schematics indicated. Up close, the electronic lock showed manual override—deliberate sabotage requiring administrative access.
He did this. That calculating bastard wants me to run so he can watch what happens next.
I hung there weighing the risks of playing into his hands against the certainty that staying meant remaining at his mercy. The genetic lock's faint pulse reminded me freedom was illusion anyway—Sebastian had ensured I couldn't get far without agony—but even an illusion of agency felt precious after so many years of absolute powerlessness.
Besides, I have my own plans, and they don't include waiting docilely in his greenhouse like a good little pet. Fuck that. Fuck him.
I pushed the window open and moved through the ventilation shaft, following my memorized path until I reached an access hatch onto the tower's external maintenance platform. The city spread below in glittering steel and glass, perpetual rain creating a shimmering curtain.
Somewhere in that sprawl were the Hartfields, living in luxury purchased with my pain, and the thought made something cold and sharp crystallize in my chest.
Not for much longer. Tonight, the accounting begins. Tonight Victoria learns what happens when the prey grows teeth.
The climb down took twenty minutes, my enhanced strength making short work of what would kill a normal human. The cameras remained conveniently angled away, and by the time my feet touched ground in the alley behind Obsidian Tower, I was certain Sebastian had orchestrated every moment of this "escape."
Let him watch. Let him think he's controlling the game. We'll see who's really holding the cards when this is over.
---
The pawnshop looked ready to collapse, but I'd learned reliable services often came in deceptive packaging. The proprietor barely glanced up when I entered.
"Buying or selling?"
I placed Sebastian's golden cufflink on the counter—the one I'd palmed from his discarded shirt this morning—and watched his eyes sharpen.
That's right, you greedy bastard. Take a good look at what I just stole from the great Sebastian Blackwood.
"Selling. Cash only."
He examined the Blackwood crest, and I saw recognition hit. His gaze flicked to me, taking in my eyes and the collar beneath my high-necked sweater, and something like sympathy crossed his features.
"Five thousand."
Probably a tenth of what it's worth, but I don't have time to haggle and we both know it.
"Done."
He threw in an extra two hundred "for luck"—solidarity from someone who recognized the collar and chose to offer what small help he could.
At least someone in this godforsaken city has a shred of decency.