Chapter 136
Lirael
The bathroom tiles were ice against my spine. Three days.
Bullshit. All of it.
I pulled out the vial Damian had given me weeks ago, hand trembling with equal parts rage and fear. Silver powder and mandragora extract—enough to drop an Alpha, but only through mucous membrane absorption. I read the label again, forcing my eyes to focus: Must be administered orally. Direct contact with tongue recommended.
Which meant getting close. Dangerously fucking close.
The most effective method was mouth-to-mouth. Dissolve the tablet on my tongue, then transfer it through a kiss. My stomach turned violently at the thought, bile rising in my throat. But I forced myself to think strategically, clinically, like this was just another hack, another system to exploit. Sebastian's obsession, his pathetic hunger for me—I could use that. Weaponize it.
I placed the tablet under my tongue, tasting bitter alkaloid that made my eyes water. In the mirror, I looked like a ghost—pale, hollow-eyed, a stranger wearing my face. My fingers moved to the robe's buttons, and I hated how they shook. Hated that I had to do this. Hated him for making me.
I unfastened the top buttons with jerky movements, revealing my collarbone and my neck. Evidence of his claim. His goddamn ownership.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to my reflection, voice cracking. Then, more viciously, "Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck him."
But I smoothed my expression anyway, burying the rage under a mask of false vulnerability. Showtime.
---
I emerged barefoot, silk whispering with each step, and immediately wanted to turn back. Run. Smash the window and throw myself out rather than do this. But I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, because what choice did I have?
Sebastian looked up from his papers, amber eyes widening as I approached. His gaze dropped to where the robe had loosened, tracking the marks he'd left on my throat with an intensity that made my skin crawl even as my traitorous body responded with heat.
Bastard. Fucking bastard.
"Sebastian." I kept my voice soft, uncertain, when I wanted to scream. "I want to talk."
I moved slowly, letting firelight catch in my silver hair because I knew he liked that, the sick fuck. When I stopped in front of his chair, close enough that my knees brushed his, his breathing changed—became ragged, desperate.
"You're finally willing to talk to me?" Hope roughened his voice in a way that sent guilt stabbing through my chest, and I hated that too. Hated that some part of me still felt anything for this man who'd imprisoned me, controlled me, owned me.
I braced my hands on his armrests, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. The tablet dissolved further under my tongue, bitter and accusing. "Maybe I should give you that chance."
My fingers traced his jaw and I felt him shudder, his entire body going rigid. His hands came up to grip my wrists—not restraining, just holding, like he couldn't believe I was real. Like I was something precious instead of prey.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Gold bled into his amber irises as his pupils dilated, the wolf rising.
Yes, I thought viciously. I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm using you, manipulating you, the same way you've used me.
But I didn't say that. I just kissed him.
Sebastian froze for a heartbeat. Then he responded with desperate intensity that stole my breath, hands cupping my face as his tongue swept past my lips. I felt the heat of him, the barely leashed violence in how he kissed me—like he was starving and I was salvation, like he'd been dying of thirst and I was water.
Despite everything, despite the hate and the fear, my body responded. Heat pooled low in my belly as his fingers slid into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. For a moment I forgot this was manipulation, forgot everything except the way he tasted—whiskey and something darker, addictive. His teeth caught my lower lip and I gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth, and I felt the exact moment the sedative slid from my tongue to his.
The tablet dissolved between us as he groaned, the sound vibrating through my bones. His hand tightened in my hair, almost painful, and some sick part of me wanted to lean into it, wanted to forget why I was doing this and just—
No. Fuck no.
I felt the sedative slip down his throat and pulled back sharply, stumbling away from him. My lips felt swollen, my body humming with unwanted arousal, and I wanted to scrub my mouth, wanted to vomit, wanted to scream.
Sebastian's eyes flew open, meeting mine with terrible understanding. He tried to pull back, tried to stand, and the confusion on his face morphed into betrayal so raw it nearly broke me.
"You..." His voice cracked. "You lied..."
"Yeah." My voice came out harsh, shaking. "I fucking lied. What did you expect?"
His legs buckled and he collapsed back into the chair, eyes rapidly losing focus even as they stayed locked on mine. Accusatory. Hurt. "You hate me that much? Won't even give me... one real chance..."
The devastation in his voice made my chest constrict painfully, but I forced myself to stay still, to watch as his head fell back and his breathing evened out. My hands were shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, then louder, angrier, "I'm sorry, okay? But you didn't give me a choice. You never give me a fucking choice."
He didn't respond. Couldn't respond. Just slept, peaceful as a child, while I stood there trembling with adrenaline and guilt and rage.
Thirty minutes later, I managed to drag his considerable weight to the bed, muscles screaming in protest. He was heavy as sin, all that Alpha bulk, and I cursed him with every step. When I finally got him positioned, I checked his pulse and breathing with shaking fingers—both steady, exactly as Damian had promised. Six hours, maybe eight.
I had time. I had to make this count.
---
As I was about to leave, his phone lit up with a notification.
The wallpaper stopped me cold—me, singing under moonlight in what looked like Damian's garden, taken without my knowledge.
"Jesus Christ," I breathed. "You fucking creep."
But my hands were shaking as I unlocked it with his thumb, navigating to his photo gallery with a horrible sense of inevitability.
Only three photos existed in the entire album. Each one labeled with the same words: "My Moon."
"Oh, fuck you," I whispered, but my voice cracked. "Fuck you for this."