Mates

Lysandra's POV

Pain dragged me from the abyss. It did not coax or guide; it tore me out of the darkness and slammed me back into my physical form. Agony rolled through my bones in heavy, uneven waves. It radiated from my throat, spreading down my spine and pooling in my limbs until my whole frame throbbed with raw, relentless torment. Every muscle screamed in harsh protest. It felt as though my insides had been shredded and stitched back together with barbed wire.

I tried to shift my weight. The mere attempt sent a fresh, blinding surge of agony crashing through my nervous system. My chest seized. My breath hitched in my throat, catching on a sharp gasp as my heart hammered wildly against my ribs. It beat too fast, pounding like a trapped bird desperate to break free from my ribcage.

Then, the horrific memories rushed in.

My stomach lurched. The images played behind my closed eyelids, sharp and unforgiving. I remembered the heavy, crushing weight of Varek pinning me down. I remembered the terrifying scrape of his fangs against my skin before they pierced the flesh of my neck. I remembered the savage, tearing pain. Most of all, I remembered the heat—the thick, boiling burn of his Lycan venom sinking deep into my bloodstream, spreading through my veins like liquid fire.

A Lycan’s forced bite was a universal death sentence to anyone outside their species. To any other supernatural being, the venom was lethal poison. It was known to rot flesh, collapse organs, and melt veins within hours. Nobody survived it.

Yet, against all reason, my chest expanded. My lungs dragged in oxygen. The air scraped down my raw throat, but it filled my lungs. My heart kept a steady, thumping rhythm. Despite the brutal ache wrapping around my limbs like a vice, my body still functioned.

I was alive.

The sheer impossibility of it hit me harder than the physical pain. I drew in another ragged breath, forcing my eyes open. Harsh, unforgiving light stabbed into my retinas. Another wave of pressure exploded behind my skull, forcing a sharp hiss through my teeth. The room swam in a hazy blur before the shapes slowly sharpened into focus. The shifting shadows settled into recognizable forms.

I was lying in a different bed.

This mattress was wider, softer. The sheets beneath me were clean, cool against my overheated, feverish skin. I glanced down and realized someone had dressed me. A loose, breathable garment covered my body, brushing lightly against my thighs and arms. For a brief, fleeting second, relief washed over me.

Then, I tried to sit up.

Cold metal bit deep into my right wrist.

Panic surged, hot and fast. I twisted my head, ignoring the sharp protest of my neck muscles. My right hand was shackled to the heavy wooden frame of the bed. The familiar, dark sheen of Voidcuffs caught the harsh light. The thick metal hummed with a low, invasive frequency against my skin, sending a sickening pressure straight into my veins. The cuffs suffocated my dark magic, cutting off my connection to my power and leaving me defenseless.

"It is awake."

The flat, emotionless voice shattered the tense silence.

My gaze snapped upward. Varek stood casually at the foot of the bed. He looked exactly as he had before he sank his teeth into me—unbothered, composed, radiating a loose, lethal grace that demanded unquestioned control over the room. He stared at me with detached indifference, referring to me as if I were a wild animal or a broken piece of furniture.

"She," a sharp female voice corrected him. "She is awake."

Varek snorted, a low sound of cruel amusement, but he did not argue.

An older woman stepped into my line of sight, moving to the side of the bed. She had streaks of white woven through her dark, neatly tied hair. Her expression remained tight, masking her thoughts, but she carried a steady, grounding presence that contrasted with Varek’s suffocating aura.

"Give it some water," Varek ordered, waving his hand dismissively. He looked away, treating my consciousness as a minor inconvenience.

"She," the woman snapped, her tone hardening.

The woman leaned over me, her movements measured and careful. "Do not panic," she said softly. "Your body needs water."

She slipped a gentle arm beneath my shoulders, helping me sit up. The shift in elevation made the room spin. Pain pulsed at my temples in time with my racing heartbeat. I clenched my jaw tight, swallowing the groan building in my throat. She pressed a cool cup to my dry lips.

I drank. The water felt like ice sliding down my raw throat, offering brief relief, but it did nothing to quench the fire still raging through my nerves. Every swallow pulled at the puncture wounds on my neck. The lingering heat of the bite burned beneath my skin, a heavy, wrong sensation that made my stomach churn.

"You have been unconscious for three grueling days," she revealed quietly.

Three days.

The words sank in like stones. I stared at her, the reality of the lost time anchoring me to the present.

"We never expected you to survive the marking process," the woman continued, her voice guarded. "Not after being forcibly bitten by a Lycan."

My fingers curled into tight fists against the soft sheets.

They never expected me to live.

The brutal truth settled deep into my bones, burying itself beneath the pain. Varek had chained me, moved me, and watched me bleed, all while assuming my heart would stop beating. He rolled the dice with my life. He sank his fangs into my flesh, knowing full well the venom could stop my lungs and melt my veins.

A dark, searing hatred unfurled in the center of my chest. It pushed past the exhaustion, feeding on the lingering pain.

I lifted my chin. My eyes locked onto Varek.

He stood near the door, his posture relaxed, his expression maddeningly bored. He met my glare with blank eyes. The sight of him sent a fierce rush of adrenaline straight to my core. I wanted to tear him apart. I wanted to watch him bleed. He deserved to die for what he did to me.

"My name is Genevieve Harkon," the woman stated, breaking my lethal stare. "And I owe you a calm, measured apology for the heavy restraints."

Her gaze dropped to the Voidcuffs chaining me to the bed, then flicked toward Varek. The look she gave him carried sharp irritation.

"They were necessary in case you woke up wanting to murder my son." Genevieve sighed, a sound of heavy resignation. "He has a specific talent for provoking violence. But I would rather you not suffer the terrible consequences of acting on that urge."

My jaw tightened. Consequences? Did this woman think I lacked the power to end him? I was not some fragile, helpless human. My dark magic ran deep, fueled by blood and shadows. Once the cuffs came off, I could turn his mind to ash.

"Mates cannot kill each other," Genevieve warned, her tone dropping all pretense of softness. Her voice hardened with unshakable certainty.

The word echoed in the room. Mate.

"I am not sure how much you know about our kind, considering you lack Lycan blood," she continued, holding my gaze. "But you cannot kill your mate. Not directly with your magic. Not indirectly with a blade."

She stepped closer, forcing me to focus solely on her. "Even the mere intent to kill one's mate triggers a severe magical backlash. The bond connects your life forces. It does not care who struck first, and it does not care who is in the right."

Genevieve’s eyes darkened. "And it is almost always the weaker body that pays the terrible price."

I stared at her in silence. The heavy weight of her warning hung in the air, a suffocating truth I refused to accept. My magic belonged to me. My hatred belonged to me. No forced bond could strip me of my right to fight back.

"I believe," Genevieve said, stepping back from the bed, "we need to settle matters without an audience."

She reached toward the bedframe. Her fingers worked a small metal key into the Voidcuffs. A sharp click echoed through the room. The heavy iron bands snapped open and fell away from my bruised skin.

Instantly, a glorious rush of warmth flooded my arm. My dark magic, suffocated for three days, roared back to life. It eagerly stirred beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed. The invasive pressure of the void-metal vanished, replaced by the familiar, lethal pulse of my own power.

"Try not to destroy the room," Genevieve added dryly. She turned her back and walked out.

The heavy wooden door clicked shut.

The second the latch locked into place, I moved.

I threw myself off the bed. Ignoring the agonizing scream of my strained muscles, I lunged straight at Varek. Rage sharpened my focus to a razor's edge, drowning out the lingering pain of the venom. I raised my hand, reaching fiercely for his throat. My dark magic flared to life, a lethal force coiling around my fingers. I wanted to crush his windpipe. I was desperate to make him feel a fraction of the sheer torment he forced upon me.

I swiped at his neck, ready to unleash a blast of dark fire.

I hit empty air.

Varek sidestepped my attack with infuriating ease. My momentum carried me forward, throwing me off balance. I planted my foot, spinning around to hurl the fire directly into his chest.

Before the magic could leave my palm, an explosive force detonated inside my skull.

The pain hit so fast it stole the air straight from my lungs. A brutal, crushing pressure slammed behind my eyes, as if a heavy iron hammer had been driven directly into my brain. The promised backlash struck without mercy. My vision flashed white. The dark fire sputtering in my hand died instantly, snuffed out by the overwhelming agony.

My legs gave out. I dropped hard to one knee, a sharp hiss tearing through my clenched teeth. I braced my hand against the wooden floorboards, gasping for breath as brutal waves of pain pulsed through my head, echoing the rhythm of my frantic heartbeat.

"Fool," Varek chuckled darkly.

The deep, vibrating sound of his cruel amusement echoed above me. I forced my head up, glaring at him through the blinding pain. My teeth ground together. The fury burning in my chest rivaled the physical agony tearing through my skull. My eyes promised him the violent death my magic could not yet deliver.

Before I could force myself to stand, his large hand closed around my arm.

His iron grip felt like a steel trap. He yanked me forward with terrifying strength, hauling my feet off the floor. The world spun in a dizzying blur before my back slammed hard against the solid wall. The brutal impact rattled my teeth and drove whatever air remained right out of my lungs. I gasped, struggling to draw a breath, but his massive frame followed immediately.

Varek boxed me in. He pressed his heavy, muscular body against mine, trapping me between the wall and his chest. His forearm braced against the wood right beside my head. His intense heat pressed dangerously close, radiating through my clothes and sinking into my skin. The sheer size of him served as a lethal reminder of exactly how easily he could overpower my physical frame.

I thrashed instinctively, my magic clawing at the edges of my mind, but his grip on my arm tightened just enough to immobilize me. He held me pinned, a predator cornering his catch.

"You better behave yourself," he warned.

His voice dropped to a low, lethal timbre right near my ear. The dark threat hung heavy in the narrow space between us.

Despite the relentless pounding echoing in my skull, I defiantly lifted my chin. I refused to look away or show submission. I forced my gaze to meet his cold, predatory eyes.

"Or what?" I challenged bitterly. My voice shook with raw anger. "You cannot kill me either. The mate bond cuts both ways. You cannot touch me without suffering the same wrath."

He stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, a smug, dark smirk slowly curved the corners of his mouth. The cold detachment vanished, replaced by a wild, feral possessiveness that made my stomach drop.

He leaned in even closer. The gap between us vanished. His face hovered inches from mine, so close I could feel the heat of his skin. His warm breath brushed hotly against my neck, gliding right over the fresh puncture wounds he created. The sensation sent an unwanted, traitorous shiver racing down my spine. It had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with the dark, primal energy radiating from him.

"Or," he murmured softly.

His tone dripped with a dark, terrifying promise.

"I will mark you again. And again. Until your body learns exactly what it means to belong to me."