CHAPTER 131: YOUNG LILITH III

*~Young Lilith’s POV~*

I woke up with my heart racing. My chest heaved like I had been running for hours, but I was lying down. The ceiling above me was familiar, too familiar..the same pale shade, the same little crack I had stared at countless nights when sleep refused to come. My room. My bed.

For a second, I thought it was all a nightmare. The cave. The witches. The blood. My father’s cold eyes. It must’ve been a dream. A cruel one, yes, but still just a dream.

I pushed myself up on shaking elbows—except my body betrayed me. My arms trembled violently, and before I could even sit all the way, my legs gave out. The room spun, and I hit the floor with a dull thud.

Panic set in immediately. Why couldn’t I stand? Why did my head feel like it had been split open, stuffed with fog, and stitched back together crookedly?

The door burst open.

"Lilith!" My mother’s voice, sharp and high-pitched, filled the room. In the next heartbeat, she was kneeling beside me, hands frantic on my shoulders as she tried to pull me up. "What happened? Why are you on the floor? Saints above, child, you’re ice-cold!"

Her hands were warm, grounding, but my body felt foreign, stiff and useless. She dragged me carefully back onto the bed, her eyes darting over my face as though searching for clues.

And then her question landed like a blade in my gut.

"Where were you last night?"

My breath hitched.

It all came back at once.

The carriage. My father’s restless eyes. The endless ride out of New Orleans. The smell of witches in the air, thick and heavy. The cave. The red-haired girl sobbing, blood at the corner of her mouth. Wolves, tied up like cattle. The cloaked figure. The blood bowl. The boy’s lifeless body after the arrows struck.

And my father—walking away. Leaving me there.

I choked on a sound that was part sob, part laugh. My mind screamed at me that it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But the phantom sting on my palm said otherwise.

Almost in a daze, I pulled my hand from the blanket and stared at it.

The cut....A deep, ugly slice stretched across my palm, still red and angry. The skin around it was swollen, tender, as if the wound had been fresh.

My stomach dropped.

My mother followed my gaze, and then she shrieked. She grabbed my wrist with trembling hands, turning it this way and that, her own eyes wide in disbelief. "Lilith...what is this? Who did this to you?"

I couldn’t answer. I just kept staring at it, the wound glaring back at me like proof carved into my skin. My throat locked up, words stuck behind the lump swelling there.

The image of the cloaked figure’s knife slicing across my hand flashed behind my eyes, and I swore I could still feel it—the sting of the blade, the warmth of blood spilling, the way the bowl seemed to drink it greedily.

I yanked my hand back from her grip, clutching it to my chest.

"I..." My voice cracked. "I don’t—"

But I did. Oh, I remembered everything now. Every drop of blood. Every scream. Every betrayal.

Especially my father’s....My mother hovered, confusion and fear written all over her face, but my mind wasn’t in the room anymore. It was still in the cave, trapped with the smell of death, with the memory of wolves tied and broken.

And the worst part? I had no idea if they were still there. Or if I was the only one who had made it out alive.

The moment my mother’s scream shattered the air, I froze.

"Aric!" she yelled, her voice slicing through the silence of the house. My father’s name.

My blood turned to ice. I wanted—no, I needed—to stand, to run after her, to demand answers. But my body refused me again, weak and trembling, as if the very marrow of my bones had been stolen in that cave.

I heard hurried footsteps. Then muffled voices. My mother’s fury—raw, unrestrained—clashing with my father’s deeper tone. Their words blurred together, but her anger was clear. She was shouting at him, demanding something. Accusing him.

And then—

A shriek.

A sudden thud that rattled the walls of my chest.

My heart stopped.

"Mum?" My voice broke, strangled, but I forced myself to move. My legs wouldn’t obey, so I crawled, dragging my body across the floor like a wounded animal. Every inch was agony, my arms trembling as though they would collapse beneath me.

I reached the doorway, and the sight on the other side nearly tore me apart.

My mother was on the ground, writhing—struggling—and then suddenly, terrifyingly still. Her chest still moved, faintly, but her eyes had rolled back.

"No!" The scream ripped from me, raw and feral. I crawled faster, collapsing beside her, reaching for her limp hand. "Mum—please—wake up, wake up!"

But before I could do more, strong hands closed around me, lifting me from the ground as though I weighed nothing.

"Lilith."

My father’s voice. Calm. Steady. The exact opposite of the storm inside me.

I thrashed weakly in his arms, tears blinding me. "Let me go! She needs me!"

He held me tighter, forcing my gaze to his. "You have to be strong." His face was carved in stone, his eyes unreadable. "This is nothing. She is only... out. She will wake soon."

His certainty chilled me more than the sight of my unconscious mother. He spoke as if it were ordinary, as if my mother collapsing in rage and fear meant nothing.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream every vile word in the world at him. But I was too weak, too broken.

He carried me back into my room, ignoring my sobs, ignoring the way I clawed at his chest. When he set me down on the bed, I clung to his shirt desperately, refusing to let him pull away.

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking, my tears soaking the fabric. "Don’t make me go back. Don’t let them take me again. I don’t want this, I don’t want any of this!"

For the first time, his mask cracked. His gaze dropped to my hand. The cut. The wound that throbbed like fire branded into my skin. His lips parted, and his voice came softer, almost broken.

"I’m sorry, love," he whispered. His hand ghosted over mine but didn’t touch. "You’ve already given your blood. You are now... part of it."

The world seemed to tilt. My breath stopped. His words echoed in my head like a curse I could never escape.

Part of what?

And why, deep inside, did I already know the answer?

The moment the door shut behind him, silence swallowed the room. My body trembled against the sheets, my breath unsteady, shallow, as though even the air around me conspired to betray me. My father’s words still lingered—You are now part of it. The weight of them pressed on me, suffocating, burning into the cut on my hand like fire licking through my veins.

I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t wait, helpless, for whatever ritual they planned. I needed help.

My thoughts stumbled, scrambled, until one name blazed bright in my mind—Marcos.

Marcos, with his steady gaze, his quiet strength, his promise that he would always be near when I needed him. If anyone could save me now, it was him.

With trembling hands, I dragged myself to the nightstand and fumbled for the drawer. My fingers closed around a pen, and beneath it, the folded letter Marcus had written to me.

Then I pulled out paper and began to write, my hand shaking so hard my script looked foreign even to me. I poured everything onto the page..what I’d seen in the cave, the dead witches, the children, the blood they took from us, the cut that still throbbed in my palm. My father’s betrayal. My mother collapsing. Every detail spilled from me in a frantic rush.

Tears blurred my vision, but I forced myself to keep going. This letter wasn’t just ink and words....it was my life, my last chance.

I had just finished signing my name when I heard it.

Footsteps.

The steady, familiar rhythm of my father’s boots against the wooden floorboards. My heart lurched. Panic surged through me. Without thinking, I snatched the letter and flung it into the shadows, letting it vanish beneath the edge of the dresser.

I stumbled back into bed, my body coiling with false stillness, forcing my eyes shut though my chest heaved.

The door creaked open.

My father stepped inside. I felt the weight of his gaze on me, lingering. He moved closer, so close I could almost smell the iron tang that clung to him.

He paused and after he confirmed I’m asleep and then he locked the door behind him..

Damn it.