Chapter 182

Damon

The forest stank of blood and rot, and none of it was hers.

I wiped my claws on the torn hem of my cloak, the copper tang clinging stubbornly to my skin. The Rogues lay broken around me, their bodies half-buried in the mud where my fury had left them.

I’d thought the slaughter would quiet something in me, even briefly. But the feeling afterward was worse, and it didn’t bring her back.

There was no scent. No trail. Nothing of Lila.

The ache in my chest tightened until it felt like my ribs might crack. Then, just as quickly, the bond flared; a flicker, faint but sharp, tugging briefly enough to steal my breath away.

Alive.

I froze, head snapping up, straining for it. The pull pulsed once, twice, then sputtered out like a candle in a stiff breeze. The emptiness it left behind gutted me more than the Rogues’ claws could.

Zane paced inside me, restless, snarling his frustration. He hated the flickering most of all. The bond was supposed to be absolute, unbreakable… not this phantom heartbeat, not this vanishing ghost.

I pressed a bloodied hand to my chest, fingers curling over the hollow ache. “Why can’t I find you?” The words slipped out raw, ragged, into the still night.

The trees offered no answer, only the rustle of crunchy leaves.

I dragged myself back to my waiting horse, swinging into the saddle with more strength than grace. My body ached from too many sleepless nights, too many fruitless hunts, but I forced the animal into a brutal pace back toward the palace.

Each hoofbeat hammered the question deeper: why did the bond burn when I closed my eyes, only to vanish the moment I thought I was near?

The ride blurred, one long smear of trees and fog. My thoughts churned darker with every mile.

I hated myself for it, for needing her so much, for chasing her through every shadowed path.

She had left me. Lied to me. Used the fire as cover to vanish. And still, my heart clawed for her like a starved animal.

Weak. The word echoed in my skull, but I couldn’t cut her out. I had tried. Gods help me, I had tried.

The palace loomed through the mist at last, stone walls towering against the night sky. Torches burned along the gates, their flames bending in the wind.

The guards stiffened at my approach, eyes darting to the blood staining my clothes. None of them dared speak as I passed through.

I swung out of the saddle and shoved the reins at a waiting stable hand. He flinched when my hand brushed his, his wide eyes lingering on the claws not yet retracted. I didn’t bother to apologize.

The bond flickered again as I crossed the courtyard, faint as a whisper it called – alive, alive, alive – then vanished. The sudden absence nearly buckled my legs.

Zane snarled, pressing hard against my skin. Find her. Tear the world down if you have to. She’s ours.

“I know,” I muttered under my breath, clenching my fists until blood welled where claws bit into my palms. “I know.”

The palace doors opened wide, spilling light and murmured voices into the night. I stepped through, and every head in the entry hall turned towards me. Their whispers followed, sharp enough to pierce skin.

Reckless. Obsessed. Tyrant.

I didn’t slow do to put them in their place, nor did I meet their eyes as I passed. The bond had left me hollow again, and all that remained was the echo of her absence gnawing me raw.

The whispers didn’t stop when I crossed the hall. They swelled.

Servants bent their heads together as I passed, their voices hissing like snakes. Council aides lingered too long in doorways, eyes darting toward the blood spattered across my sleeves.

The guards stiffened, hands twitching on their weapons, not because they feared Rogues had followed me, but because they feared me.

‘Tyrant’ bled from their mouths as easily as breath, though none dared say it where I could turn and strike. Still, the echo reached my ears.

Zane bristled, claws raking against my skin from the inside. He wanted their throats. He wanted our mate.

I ignored them. Let them choke on their muttering. The only sound I cared for was her name and the faint tug that had vanished again.

I strode down the corridor, past gilded sconces and marble tiles that no longer looked like a palace but a cage. I finally understood how she felt in this place.

The Council chamber loomed open ahead, candlelight flickering across the tables. They turned as I entered, their faces a wall of disapproval lined with wrinkles and fear.

“Your Majesty,” one ventured, his quill still in hand, “you return wounded again. We beg you to rest. This cannot continue—”

“Rest?” The word tore from me with a growl. My hand slammed down on the polished table, rattling inkpots and making the male flinch back in his chair. “While rogues circle our borders? While innocents are dragged from their beds? You dare speak of rest?”

Another elder bristled, his jaw set. “We speak of sense. You hunt with no plan, no pause, chasing down rumors. This is not a sound strategy, Your Majesty, it is an obsession.”

The word struck hard, reverberating through the chamber. Obsession.

I straightened slowly, sweeping my gaze across them. Their fear was palpable, but beneath it I saw what they would not yet voice aloud: doubt. Mutiny.

“You call it obsession,” I said, voice low, steady, dangerous. “But obsession is the only reason you sit breathing in this chamber. Obsession united packs. Obsession crushed your enemies.”

My eyes locked on the boldest of them, the one who dared meet my stare. “And you, lordling, dare question what you’ve never bled for.”

The chamber erupted, voices clashing. Reckless, madness, ruin. I heard rebellion in every syllable.

“Enough.” My roar cracked the air, silencing them as surely as a sword drawn.

My claws had pushed through again, sharp tips biting into the wood of the table. If one of them so much as breathed wrong, I would shred him where he sat.

But I forced myself to step back, chest heaving.

“You think me unfit?” I swept them with my gaze, daring any to speak. “Then crown another. Choose which of you will bleed in my stead.”

None answered. Cowards, every one of them. They shrank into their seats, eyes down, hands trembling over their papers and inkpots.

“Until you bring me a rebellion worthy of the name, you will follow my command,” I snarled. “The hunts continue. The Rogues will be broken.”

The eldest among them rose, bowing low, his beard nearly brushing the floor. “As you command, Your Majesty.” One by one, the others followed suit, some stiff-necked, some eager to please.

Their obedience meant nothing.

I turned and left them, cloak snapping behind me, fury driving me down the corridor to the war room. I slammed the doors shut, the boom echoing like thunder, and braced both hands on the desk littered with maps and reports.

The flicker of the bond teased me again, faint, fleeting. Alive.

My chest constricted, breath shuddering. I hated myself for the relief that surged through me, hated myself more for how quickly it collapsed when the thread went slack again.

I bowed my head over the maps, teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached. “I can’t let you go,” I whispered into the silence, the admission tearing itself out of me. “Gods help me, I can’t.”

And in the stillness that followed, the word “tyrant” lingered like a ghost, curling through the corners of the room until I almost believed it was my name.