031: I CAN’T BREATHE

ARYA

"I'm offended by that look on your face. Did you really think I was dumb?" Daxton said, and I blinked at him, my mind reeling.

"If you knew the truth all along, why...why did you keep me alive?" I asked, and he sighed.

"You don't realize it, do you?"

I frowned, blinking in confusion. "Realize what?"

He stared at me for a moment. Then he straightened, wincing slightly as his hand hovered over his wound.

"The hatred that you feel is not entirely yours," he stated.

The more he spoke, it felt as though I was spiralling further into confusion. Nothing made sense to me anymore.

"If it's not entirely mine, what is it?"

The wound on his chest sealed up, and he turned away from me. I watched him as he sank into his chair, his intense gaze fixed on me.

"You must have heard rumours about my curse," he stated.

I gulped.

He was cursed?

This powerful mountain of a man was cursed?

It sounded like the most absurd thing I'd heard in a long time.

But if he was really cursed, how does that relate to my hatred for him?

Surely, it was not some lame curse that makes everyone hate him, right?

"Close enough," he droned, and my eyes widened.

Did he just read my mind?

"I am doomed to be despised by whoever is unfortunate to be my mate," he added.

I gaped at him, strange feelings surging through me. Deep down, I'd felt it. But hearing this from him now made my head spin.

And for some strange reason, my heart ached...for him. For myself too.

How was I ever supposed to differentiate the curse from my true emotions? Wouldn't I go crazy under that pressure?

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

"To be honest, I'm tired of running and hiding. Hell, I've been doing that for decades. And now? I just don't care. I've accepted my fate."

Don't say that, I wanted to yell at him.

How could he say all of that with a straight face? Wasn't he hurting?

Why the heck am I even thinking about his feelings?

Gods, Is this how I lose my mind?

"I...I need to think. I need to be alone," I stuttered, rising to my feet.

I didn't wait for his response, I rushed out of his study, pressure building in my chest. Too many things had happened in such a short time, I was overwhelmed. Sweat dripped down my temples as I stumbled down the corridor towards the garden. My skin felt too hot and uncomfortable. I couldn't breathe.

By the time I got to the garden, the place where everything had unravelled, I fell to my knees, clutching at my chest.

Grief, denial, frustration and anger warred inside of me, my head threatening to split in half.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I sobbed bitterly, struggling to drag air into my lungs.

This had to be a panic attack. But why do I feel like I'm dying?

"Mum, I can't breathe..." I sobbed, doubling over. My nails clawed at the dirt, my body trembling as I wept like a baby, but my mother was no longer here to soothe me.

Just when I thought I was going to pass out, I felt a gentle hand rubbing my back.

"Breathe. You're okay," I heard a vaguely familiar voice say to me.

As though I was under a spell, I began to relax, air rushing into my lungs.

Through swollen eyes, I turned around to look into a familiar pair of pale blue eyes. It was him. Tyrone. He gave me a gentle smile, helping me to my feet.

"I'm guessing he told you about the curse," he said, and I lowered my gaze.

"It feels like I just swallowed a grenade," I said in a hoarse voice.

"You hate yourself for caring for the enemy you should hate. You hate yourself for failing to take your revenge. You hate your fate for bringing you to him. Yet, you feel sorry for him and yourself."

I stared at him in a daze.

"H-how...?"

He smiled again. A smile so pure it almost hurt.

"I'm an empath," he replied, and I nodded. That explained it all. He would definitely excel as a therapist. The world needed more people like him.

...

I must've dozed off while sitting on the bench with Tyrone. His presence alone was calming, like a soothing balm.

I was dreaming. I was certain about this much. I was standing in the garden in a body that felt like mine but wasn't mine. I knew right away that this was another memory of Anessa. The scent of roses lingered thick in the air. It was Daxton's favourite. Or maybe...mine. We'd never agreed on it, but I liked pretending that we did.

My fingers trembled slightly as I ran them over the petal of a moonrose. Tonight was supposed to be the happiest night of my life.

But something in me felt heavy and wrong.

"Are you cold?"

I turned. Daxton stood at the edge of the garden path, bathed in silver moonlight as if he were a ghost summoned by my thoughts.

"Only a little," I lied.

He didn't smile, he just shrugged off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. His hands lingered for a second too long. It always did.

"Lucien's looking for you," he murmured.

"I know."

Silence settled briefly between us.

"...You still have time," he added quietly. "To walk away and choose him."

I met his gaze, my heart thundering. "Is that what you want me to do?"

His jaw flexed. "It's what you should do."

"But not what you want,” I insisted.

His eyes closed for a moment, his lashes dark against his skin. "I want you like I want air. But wanting me..."

His voice broke.

"...will ruin you."

I stepped closer, brushing my fingers along the scar on his left earlobe. The one he'd gotten saving me from rogues.

"You don't get to decide that."

He caught my wrist, not harshly though.

"Anessa," he whispered, his voice raw with emotions. "I've done terrible things. And one day, they'll catch up to me. You don't deserve to be collateral damage."

I rested my forehead against his chest. “Then don't let them catch you. Let's run. Tonight."

He was silent for so long I thought he might say yes. Fragile hope bloomed in my chest.

"Lucien would never forgive us."

"I'm not his," I said. "I never was."

His lips met mine with the desperation of a man kissing goodbye what he never deserved. Our breaths tangled, my heart racing.

When we pulled apart, he looked at me in a way that made me feel like he was already mourning me.

"You make me want to be better," he said, brushing a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "But I don't think I know how."

"Then learn," I begged. "For me."

I awoke with a gasp, wiping at the tear streaking my cheek. Stupid Anessa. She could’ve chosen Lucien. She’d risked it all only to die in the beast’s hands.

“Arya?” Tyrone called from beside me, but I ignored him. My negative emotions were swallowing me once more.

Like hell would I be like Anessa.

Letting the curse dictate for me was out of the question, and to prevent it from winning, all I needed to do was reject him. That’s right, that would work.

He had given me quite a large amount of his blood lately. Perhaps his compulsion on me would fail.

So I shot to my feet and stormed towards Daxton’s study, determination burning in my chest.

When I stepped into his study, I found him seated in his chair just like before. But this time, he was asleep. I faltered, my frown fading.

He looked…innocent and harmless.

I shook my head to ward off the thought, curling my hands into fists.

“Daxton?” I called out, but he didn’t stir.

His brows creased up into a frown, and I noticed the sweat on his forehead. His breathing had quickened, his body tensing as though he’d been caught in a nightmare.

Biting my lower lip, I inched towards him and patted his face. He jolted awake, his chest heaving.

He moved to hide his trembling hands from my line of sight, but it was too late.

Even so, it didn’t deter me from the words I said next.

“I’m rejecting you,” I said, and his eyes widened slightly. He searched my eyes with a gaze so tender, it felt like a punch to my gut.

“Do you really think that would make you feel better?” He rasped, and I clenched my fists, annoyed.

“I, Arya Nightshade—”

The door swung open, and Mason rushed in with urgency. He eyed me with suspicion for a moment. Then he transferred his stare to Daxton.

“Representatives from the alpha king are here,” he said, and his brother stiffened.

“Why?”

“They claim that they’re here to take Arya.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, irritated. “Why?”

Mason sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They claim that the alpha king is her original owner. Apparently, Alpha Ronan sold her to him before we got to her.”

I stood there, feeling as though I’d just been sucker punched.

The Alpha king was my…owner?

What the heck?