Chapter 64: Chapter 64 Fangs Stop Rejection

Seraphina’s POV

The frigid stone beneath me had numbed my skin hours ago, but Roxanne’s departing footsteps still echoed in my mind. I drew in a ragged breath, forcing the tears back where they belonged. Crying served no purpose here. The human world had taught me that harsh truth early on. Tears only painted targets on your vulnerabilities for enemies to exploit.

I refused to be vulnerable. I would not allow Roxanne or anyone else to resurrect the insecurities I had buried.

Apparently, I had celebrated too soon.

The dungeon’s massive door groaned open once more. My heart, that foolish traitor, recognized him instantly. It did not simply accelerate. It soared. It burst to life, hammering against my ribcage like a wild creature desperate for freedom, announcing his proximity. The mate bond enveloped me like heated silk against my skin.

"How thoughtful of you to finally appear," I managed, forcing bite into my tone to mask the weakness trembling through my voice. I meant it as mockery, armor against the flood of sensations threatening to drown me.

He offered no response. He simply approached, his expression dark and impenetrable. Then his hand reached forward, turning the heavy iron key that freed my cell.

The instant his skin contacted mine, electricity shot through every nerve. My stomach erupted with wings, chills cascaded down my spine, and flames, brilliant and scorching, blazed beneath my skin. I could endure that raw, overwhelming pull of our connection. What I could not bear was his tenderness.

I had braced myself for brutality, for him to haul me out like the captive I was. Instead, he cradled me as if I were made of crystal, something that might shatter at the slightest pressure. The cruelest part was how he lifted me.

Bridal style. My legs thrashed immediately, and a cry ripped from my throat, though it emerged weak and scratchy. I attempted to strike him, to break free, but the silver’s lingering poison had drained my strength completely. I was too depleted to mount any real resistance. He carried me effortlessly, as though I weighed no more than air.

He transported me from the dungeon, up the stairs, into the pack house proper. The atmosphere here felt different, purer, warmer, yet the sensation of being trapped remained suffocating. He brought me to a quiet chamber with a plush bed and a window overlooking the shadowed forest. He placed me on my feet, but his hands lingered on my arms longer than necessary.

"Go clean yourself," he commanded, his voice flat and arctic. He still refused to meet my gaze directly.

I studied him, bewildered. What game was this? Why the abrupt shift from prisoner to whatever this was? His behavior made no sense. But exhaustion and filth weighed on me, so I moved toward the bathroom without protest. It seemed the path of least resistance.

The hot water stripped away the grime and cold, but not my confusion. I emerged wrapped in a simple white robe he had placed in the bathroom. He remained there, stationed by the window, his back turned to me.

"What comes next?" I asked, my voice gentler than I had intended. "You cannot hold me prisoner indefinitely, whatever this charade is. Eventually, we must address what lies between us."

He pivoted then, his eyes finally locking with mine. They blazed with deep, tormented fury that stole my breath. "If you wish to speak," he said, his voice rough as gravel, "begin by explaining your return. Everything was peaceful while you were absent."

His words struck like a physical blow to my chest. Everything was peaceful while I was gone. It was a savage, calculated dismissal. My heart contracted, that familiar agony blooming fresh. But I had mastered the art of concealing pain. I inhaled slowly, manufacturing a smile that felt fragile and artificial. Maintaining it required tremendous effort.

When silence stretched between us, he moved closer. He captured my hands in his, and once again, those sparks exploded through me, scorching and disorienting. We both pretended to ignore them.

"Look at me," he ordered, and I complied because somehow he possessed the power to command my wolf despite my not being pack. "Now," he continued, his voice dropping low, "attempt to access my thoughts."

I blinked, perplexed. "What? How is that possible?"

"Do it!" he barked, his patience evaporating.

I recoiled from his harshness. I concentrated, closing my eyes and focusing, but it felt like grasping at vapor. "I cannot," I whispered, opening my eyes. "I have never fully mastered my wolf’s abilities. This is beyond my skill."

He exhaled, a sound heavy with frustration. "Simply relax," he said, his grip on my hands firm but not painful. "Focus exclusively on me. Nothing else exists."

He guided me, pressing something gentle yet powerful into my consciousness. I concentrated, pushing past my own terror and bewilderment. Gradually, like an image sharpening into clarity, I began to perceive.

It was not exactly a memory. It was pure emotion. A raw, gaping wound of feeling. The world as he had experienced it when I departed. The hollowness. The betrayal. The absolute, devastating weight of isolation. It was agony so profound, so all-consuming, that it robbed me of breath. It was complete heartbreak.

The kind of heartbreak that buckled your knees. I collapsed, releasing his hands, crashing to the floor. Scalding tears poured down my cheeks, genuine tears this time, unleashed. I wept, a sound torn from my very essence.

He knelt before me, his expression still rigid, but his eyes held a flicker of something unidentifiable. "Now," he said, his voice low and hoarse, "we can finally communicate properly. Because now you understand my feelings. You know what I endured when you abandoned me."

I nodded through my sobs, barely able to form words. "I understand," I gasped. "You were not the only one who suffered. I carry that pain still."

His jaw clenched. "I refuse to hear another falsehood from you," he growled. "Not one. The last time I believed your words, you betrayed me. You fled without explanation, leaving only a letter claiming you were unfaithful."

My head jerked up, tears momentarily forgotten. "Unfaithful?" I asked, disbelief coloring my voice. "What are you suggesting? I have never been unfaithful to you! You, above all others, should know that truth!"

"I refuse to listen to anything that emerges from your lips," he said, turning away. His words were daggers, each one twisting in the wound he had just torn open.

"Then what do you want from me?" I cried, frustration bleeding into my anguish. "You refuse to hear explanations. Perhaps returning was a mistake."

"I concur," he said, his voice cold and remote.

Each syllable felt like another blow, another rejection. My mate, the other half of my soul, was declaring he wished I had stayed away. The pain was excruciating, a crushing pressure in my chest. I loved him desperately.

I had heard enough. Far more than enough. The agony was unbearable. I thought of my son, secure at home, distant from this place, from this torment. Julian remained ignorant of our child’s existence. But I knew. And my son was the reason I needed strength. This bond’s pain, these constant rejections, would poison everything, and I could not permit that.

Sudden, desperate clarity flooded through me. Only one solution existed to end this suffering, to escape this endless cycle of hurt. I had to reject him. To sever our bond completely. The words formed on my tongue, prepared to be spoken, to tear us apart permanently.

"I, Seraphina," I began, my voice quaking but determined, "reject you, As—"

Before I could complete the rejection, before the words could fully escape, he lunged forward.

"No!" he roared, cutting me off. "It will not be so simple!"

And then, before I could comprehend what was happening, his fangs pierced my neck. Searing, excruciating pain, followed by a surge of heat and power that stole every breath from my lungs.