CHAPTER 22: GUN TO YOUR HEAD

🌙𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡

Strong arms caught me before the steps could claim me. The jolt of the sudden stop was harder than any impact from the fall could have been. Yet, it was nothing compared to the grip that held me in place.

The sensation passed, the scent hitting me next—snow, ice, steel—everything cold. None of it was warm, yet it enveloped me, shielding me from a storm I was so used to, I had long stopped expecting rescue.

Unable to catch up with what exactly was happening, I lifted my gaze. My eyes caught the flex of a jaw, nose flaring, and above that, a darkened gaze—set on the woman who still refused to falter.

Still, she gulped. "Vladimir..."

"Let go." Two words landed like a hammer. His voice was quiet in the way that promised—no, vowed—destruction, like a dreadful omen. So calm, so deep, it carried to every corner of the space. It sank into the skin, bypassed thoughts and bones.

A tremor passed through me; the oxygen suddenly no longer sufficed. His aura was a vortex that sucked it all in.

The woman straightened her spine, statuesque even now. I looked between them and I could see the uncanny resemblance: the same aristocratic nose, the glacier in their gaze, the tone of their skin.

Her mouth began to move, a nervous smile twitching on red lips. "She is—"

"Mine." He might as well have cut her sentence with a blade.

For a long moment, the only sound was her shallow breathing. She took a step back, but... she couldn’t quite bring herself to turn away.

His gaze—ice on stone—held her there until the last flicker of defiance drained from her. It was subtle, a barely perceptible lowering of her chin, the way her shoulders sloped by a fraction.

He turned to me, expression still carved out of ice, though his hold lightened.

His eyes darted to my forehead, flaring subtly, still controlled, as his other hand rose. His fingertips brushed against the skin there and I grimaced. Pain blossomed.

His jaw worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "You are bleeding," he muttered—his calm voice contrasting with the hardness of his expression.

His expression snapped to someone behind me. "Veronique, take her back to her room and get her cleaned up."

And just like that, another pair of hands grasped my shoulders as Vladimir let go. These hands were warm, jarring, and it momentarily left me shocked that I suddenly craved Vladimir’s cold.

Stunned and numb, I let myself be led up the stairs, through the hallway, and back to the room I had been pulled from. The moment the door closed—though I would rather say it was slammed—only then did I realize who had escorted me back.

The Beta whose amethyst eyes I could never forget. Her straightened hair spilled past her shoulders in controlled waves, too perfectly arranged to be anything but intentional. Even the way some strands framed her perfect face was deliberate. Looking at her now in a different light, she was the definition of alluring.

Her gaze swept over me like a ledger being balanced. Analytical, with no expression—mixed in with detached assessment. She catalogued my injuries before retrieving a handkerchief.

She grabbed my face with a little more force than I thought necessary as she wiped at the blood.

"You caused quite a scene," she muttered, her tone diluted acid that still stung.

"I didn’t—"

"Already defensive," she cut me off, dabbing right on the cut on my forehead.

I winced, instinctively reaching for her offending hand, but she swatted mine away so fast and hard, I yelped from the sting.

Her gaze met mine, eyes glinting with malice so palpable, you could pluck it from the air. "Vladimir is a good man. But I would not take it as charity."

I simply blinked, because what the hell was I supposed to do?

She then snatched my hand, her fingernail digging into the place my pulse thrummed. "If not for the mark you bear, you would be nothing to him. You are a half-blood—an anomaly that should never have stepped foot in Wintercrest. Olya is right; you are a low-rank girl that the goddess, for whatever reason, was charitable enough to make a little special."

Her words cut sharper than her nails. I didn’t flinch this time, though the pressure on my pulse throbbed.

"Your kind doesn’t belong here," she continued, her voice softening into something almost intimate—yet still venomous. "And I intend to make sure you don’t forget that."

My mouth opened, but the weight in her gaze pinned my reply in my throat. She released my wrist with a flick, as if the mere contact left her unclean.

"Clean yourself up," she said, tucking the bloodied handkerchief neatly into her coat pocket—as though keeping a trophy. "When Vladimir calls, you will answer. Until then, stay in your room and try not to embarrass him further."

With that, she turned on her heel, her controlled waves of hair swaying with military precision as the door clicked shut behind her.

For a moment, I stayed frozen, the echo of her presence still thick in the air. My heartbeat drummed against the mark at my wrist, as though the skin itself remembered her touch and recoiled.

"I am so screwed," I found myself whispering, as I fell back into bed.

I lifted my hand to the cut, fingers grazing the spot gingerly to gauge the damage—only to find smooth skin. No tenderness. No trace of a tear or of the warmth that came with fresh blood.

That didn’t make sense.

I pressed harder, searching for even the faintest sting, but there was nothing. My breath caught.

Crossing the room, I yanked out the vanity chair and leaned toward the mirror. The lamplight pooled across my face, illuminating flawless skin where a jagged line should have been. Not even a pink mark remained.

My reflection stared back at me, wide-eyed, unsettled. This was impossible. I shivered like I had been doused with cold water. Without too much thought, I took my fingernails to it and began to scratch—insanely trying to open the wound I knew should have been there. In my scattered brain, it was the only thing that made sense.

But still, my skin would not give.

"You’re healing abilities have kicked in, it seems."

The deep, masculine voice came from far too close.

I spun, heart leaping into my throat, and nearly collided with the broad frame that stood right behind me. Vladimir.

He filled the space like a shadow that had always been there, watching. His pale eyes locked onto mine, catching every flicker of confusion and fear.

The silence sucked in the air.

The dull thudding of my heart beat in my ears.

"Lilith." My eyes gained focus I didn’t know I had lost.

"Yes?"

A click was all I heard before Vladimir raised his hand, a gun in it, and pointed the barrel at my head.