Chapter 73
Chapter 73:
Minutes ticked by like hours. I stared at the door, my breath shallow, waiting for the sound of violence, for the roar of a Lycan.
Instead, the door handle turned.
Dallas walked in first. He didn’t look at me. He simply moved to the side, leaning his massive frame against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. His face was an unreadable mask of boredom and latent violence.
Then Braydon stumbled in.
𝖱e𝖺𝗱 t𝘩е 𝘭a𝘁еst 𝘵𝘳е𝘯𝗱ѕ 𝘰𝗻
He looked nothing like the polished future Alpha I had grown up with. His designer shirt was torn, his hair wild, his eyes bloodshot and manic. He looked like a ghost haunting his own life.
“Addie!” Braydon gasped, rushing toward the bed. He stopped just short of touching me, perhaps sensing the lethal tension radiating from the man at the door. “Oh, Goddess, look at you. I knew it. I knew he was hurting you p>
“Braydon,” I rasped, my voice like grinding stone. “What are you doing here p>
“I came to save you!” He gestured frantically, his hands shaking. “I know what it looks like, Addie. I know you think I abandoned you at the party, but it was Katherine — she panicked me. She said you were faking it. I should have stopped you from taking that bite. She poisoned my mind, Addie, just like she poisoned that cake p>
I looked at him — really looked at him. I saw the sweat on his brow, the desperate deflection in his eyes. He wasn’t here for me. He was here because he had lost his status, his reputation, and he needed his prop back to restore it.
I shifted my gaze to the door.
Dallas hadn’t moved. He wasn’t interfering, wasn’t protecting me. He was watching, his golden eyes narrowed, waiting to see whether the investment was worth the trouble. He had brought my past into the room and dropped it at my feet, forcing me to face the mess I had allowed to fester for years.
“Please, Addie,” Braydon begged, reaching for my hand. I flinched and pulled it back. “Just tell him. Tell him we’re going home. We can fix this p>
The room seemed to shrink until it held only the three of us. The boy who had let me eat poison, and the King who had burned his hands to save me. My past and my future stood staring at each other, and I was the one holding the knife.
His hand on mine felt like a dead weight — clammy and wrong. There was no spark, no comfort, only the suffocating grip of a ghost I had already mourned.
“Katherine?” I repeated, the name tasting like ash on my tongue. “You’re blaming her p>
“She manipulated me, Addie! She’s a witch,” Braydon insisted, his eyes wide and frantic, searching my face for the compliance he was used to finding. “I was confused. I froze. But I’m here now. I’m here to take you home p>
I yanked my hand away from his grasp. The movement sent a sharp sting through the IV line, but the physical pain was grounding. It cleared the fog.