Chapter 131
Paxton
My gaze must have been too sharp, too penetrating. I could see Lyra trembling under the weight of my stare, as if I could see straight through her body into her soul.
But I could smell her resolve too, acrid and bitter. She would never tell me the truth, not even if it killed her. She could see it in my eyes—that I truly cared for Freya—and that knowledge only made her more determined to keep her secret.
When she lifted her eyes again, they were filled with tears that glittered like diamonds in the lamplight.
"Pax," she whispered. "Are you doubting me?"
"I sacrificed so much to save you back then. Why would you doubt me? Maybe... maybe you're the one remembering it wrong."
"You promised me yourself. You said you'd wait for me, that you'd mark me."
Tears streamed down her pale cheeks in crystalline trails. "All these years, I've been waiting for you. I never even thought about anyone else."
She rolled up her sleeve with trembling hands, revealing a stark scar across her forearm. "Do you remember this?"
"When we were escaping, when I protected you and fell down that slope, I was cut by thorns. This scar is proof of what I suffered to save you," she continued, her voice gaining strength from desperation.
I looked at her as she wept before me. Once, her tears might have moved me. Once, I might have felt the familiar stir of protective instincts that every Alpha felt toward a distressed mate.
Now I felt nothing but impatience.
"Pax," she pleaded, sensing my coldness. "You promised you'd take care of me, protect me. Are you going to abandon that promise now?"
"I will protect you," I said, my lips curving into a bitter smile.
The words carried the weight of obligation, not affection. Protection without possession. Duty without devotion.
I have never been rescued at all; this revelation struck me with the force of a corporeal assault. All these years, I believed I owed someone my very life. I have been imprisoned by that memory, haven't I? Constrained by an obligation that never truly existed.
I stood up, swaying slightly—whether from alcohol or emotional vertigo, I couldn't tell.
"Go home," I said, my voice cold and distant. "I'm drunk."
But my reflexes were sharp as ever when Lyra tried to steady me. I dodged her touch.
"Go home!" This time my voice carried the unmistakable command of an Alpha. The dominance in my tone made her stumble backward, her face pale with shock.
She nodded frantically and fled.
---
When I pushed open the bedroom door, a familiar yet foreign scent hit me—cold and sterile. Empty.
Freya was not here. The realization cut deeper than I'd expected.
I stripped off my clothes mechanically and walked into the bathroom. The large marble tub sat empty, no steaming water waiting for me. No careful preparation of oils and salts chosen specifically for an Alpha's recovery.
For five years, Freya had made sure my bath was ready before I came home. Another small kindness I'd never acknowledged.
I turned on the faucet, and ice-cold water rushed out. The shock of it against my skin was almost welcome—maybe it would wash away the images burning through my mind.
Where is she right now? My wolf demanded answers I didn't want to face. She's caring for Lucas. Being gentle with him. Touching him the way she used to touch me.
The rage that exploded through my system nearly drove me to my knees.
I emerged from the cold shower, shivering but more awake than I'd been in weeks. Instinctively, I looked for her—the soft shadow that should have been waiting with a towel and that gentle smile.
But there was nothing. Even the air felt cold.
The pain in my chest felt like something vital being torn away. I wandered the room, searching for traces of her presence. Her vanity still held a few cosmetics she'd left behind. I opened a bottle of her perfume, breathing in the faint scent that had once been as familiar as my own heartbeat.
In the top drawer of her nightstand, my fingers found something small and delicate. A hair ornament, crafted from silver and set with tiny diamonds that caught the light like captured starlight.
It was broken. Snapped cleanly in half.
I remembered this piece. She'd worn it during our marking ceremony. A mating token that should have symbolized our eternal bond.
When did this break? But even as I wondered, I knew. The same night I'd told her I wanted our bond dissolved. The same night I'd chosen Lyra over the woman who'd already given me everything.
Without thinking, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of the broken ornament lying in my palm. The silver fragments caught the lamplight, each piece reflecting my own fractured emotions.
My thumb was already moving, posting the image to my Instagram without caption or explanation. Just the broken reminder of what I'd destroyed.
I turned off my phone immediately, afraid to face what I'd just done, and collapsed onto the bed that still held the faintest trace of her scent.
Sleep, I commanded myself. Just sleep and forget.
But as I lay there in the darkness, fragments of tonight came flooding back. The unusual shift in Freya's scent when I'd held her. The way she'd instinctively moved her hand to protect her abdomen when Lyra pushed her.
My eyes snapped open, my wolf suddenly alert and focused.
No. The realization hit me like lightning. She's pregnant.
My mind raced, calculating dates with mathematical precision. When had we last been together? When had she moved out? The timeline blurred in my alcohol-hazed memory, but one possibility emerged like a knife to the chest.
Mine? My wolf roared with sudden, violent possessiveness. Or his?
I grabbed my phone, my fingers hovering over her contact. But what could I say? What right did I have to ask?
The uncertainty was going to kill me.