Chapter 62
(Raiden’s POV)
Days have passed, but Siena’s presence lingers like a phantom, haunting the corners of my mind.
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Horace paces restlessly beneath my skin, agitated and clawing to break free. Every time I close my eyes, I see her standing there–strong, composed, untouchable. And yet, there was something beneath that polished exterior. I saw it in the way her hands trembled after her victory.
The way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
My jaw clenches as I stalk into my study, slamming the door behind me. The silence wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, pressing down on my chest.
I need a distraction, something to drown out the chaos swirling inside me. My eyes land on the crystal decanter sitting on the edge of the desk–an expensive bottle of aged whiskey I’d been saving for a special occasion.
Apparently, self–loathing counts as a special occasion.
I pour a generous amount into the glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. The first sip burns down my throat, but it’s a welcome sting—a distraction. I settle into the leather chair, my gaze unfocused as I take another sip.
But the whiskey doesn’t quiet the storm.
It only brings the memories to the surface, each one sharper than the last. Siena’s smile on our mating day, bright and full of hope. The way her eyes shone with devotion, even when I gave her nothing in return.
Her persistence, her unwavering loyalty, despite my coldness. I see the hurt in her eyes every time I pushed her away, every time I chose Lila over her.
The glass trembles in my hand, my grip tightening until my knuckles turn white.
“I’ve been unfair to her,” I murmur, the words barely above a whisper. But they hang in the stillness, echoing louder than I intended.
The confession feels foreign on my tongue, raw and unfiltered, but I can’t deny it. I’ve been unfair. Cruel.
And for what? To protect myself? To chase some illusion of control?
For Lila?
I take another sip, but it doesn’t wash away the bitterness. Horace stirs uneasily, sensing my turmoil, but I shove him down, unwilling to face the truth he’s been trying to show me. The bond–the fragile, neglected connection I’ve spent years denying–flares with unexpected clarity. It’s weak, but it’s still there. Siena is still there.
My chest tightens, and I rub a hand over my face, trying to block out the ache that pulses through me. But the more I drink, the harder it becomes to ignore. The whiskey loosens something inside me, a raw honesty I rarely allow.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her.
I shouldn’t still feel this pull.
But I do.
And it’s killing me.
At some point, the whiskey dulls the edges of my thoughts, blurring the memories until they bleed together. I’m not sure
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Chapter 62
how much time passes–minutes, hours, I don’t know. The bottle is half–empty when I hear the soft click of the door opening.
Lila.
Her scent precedes her, floral and sweet but cloying in a way that makes Horace recoil. I don’t even lift my head as she enters, her footsteps soft as she crosses the room.
“Raiden,” she murmurs, her voice low and sympathetic. She kneels beside the chair, her hand brushing lightly over my arm. “You’ve been working too hard. You need rest.”
I grunt, too tired and too drunk to argue. My head feels heavy, the world tilting slightly as I let my eyes drift closed. I don’t resist when she coaxes me to stand, murmuring gentle reassurances as she guides me toward the bedroom.
Everything is hazy.
My mind swims in a fog, and I can barely register her presence as she helps me to bed. My body sinks into the mattress, and darkness pulls at me, dragging me under.
I hear her murmuring softly, her hands brushing over me with practiced ease. But I’m too far gone to process it.
It’s as if I am under some spell.
The last thing I remember is the scent of her perfume clinging to the air as sleep claims me.
***
Morning comes with a vengeance.
My head pounds mercilessly, a dull throb behind my eyes that makes me regret every damn sip I took last night. I groan, pressing the heels of my palms against my temples as I sit up, the world spinning slightly. But it’s not just the hangover that feels wrong.
Something is… off.
My senses are sluggish, dulled by the alcohol still lingering in my system, but there’s an unease clawing at the edges of my
mind. awareness. Horace stirs, agitated and growling softly in the back of my
Horace stirs, his voice a low rumble that seems to come from somewhere deep and primal:
“Raiden… I smell weakness in your hesitation. The path ahead is bathed in blood, yet you falter. Remember when you were merely a tool? Sharp, precise, unquestioning? Those were simpler days, were they not?”
A soft growl ripples through the mental connection
“The prey scatters before us, and still you contemplate. This world has no place for those who cannot bare their fangs when needed. I have watched you kill, Raiden. I have tasted the copper in the air when you’ve finished. Do not pretend now that your hands were made for anything else.”
The wolf’s presence grows more intense, almost pressing against the boundaries of my consciousness
“We are hunters, you and I. Different in form perhaps, but kindred in spirit. The pack does not question the hunt. It simply… devours.”
“Devour? Is that what I have done?”
“Is that not what you wanted?”
I can’t remember everything about last night.
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Chapter 62
What’s happening to me?
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Fragments drift through my mind–Lila’s voice, her hands guiding me to bed, the weight of exhaustion dragging me under, But beyond that… nothing. Just an empty void where memories should be.
The sheets rustle beside me, and I freeze, my body going rigid as I realize I’m not alone. Lila shifts under the covers, her bare shoulder brushing against mine as she stretches lazily.
“Good morning,” she purrs, her voice soft and satisfied.
A sick feeling coils in my stomach.
“What… happened last night?” My voice is rough, my throat dry, but there’s a dangerous edge to my tone that I can’t hide.
Lila’s smile falters for a fraction of a second before she smooths her expression, her eyes wide and innocent. “You don’t remember?” she asks softly, tilting her head as if I’m the one who should feel guilty.
No. I don’t remember.
And that’s the problem.
Her fingers trail down my chest, but I pull away, the uncase growing stronger.
“Tell me,” I demand, my voice sharper now, the command laced with Alpha authority.
Lila hesitates, but then her expression shifts–just enough for me to see it. That calculating gleam in her eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a practiced vulnerability that’s meant to disarm me.
“We… were together,” she says softly, her gaze dropping as if she’s shy. “You… wanted me, Raiden.”
No.
Horace growls, low and menacing, and a chill runs down my spine.
That’s not possible.
Not while my bond with Siena still exists, however frayed.
What have I done?
“I was drunk,” I murmur, more to myself than her. My mind races, trying to piece together what happened, but the gaps remain. And those gaps… they feel wrong.
Lila’s smile is too composed. Too certain.
“You don’t have to feel guilty,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers along my jaw. “We’re mates, Raiden. This is how it should be.”
AD
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