The Annihilator (Dark Verse #5)(38)

Chapter sixteenHim


He had to tell her about her brother, about who she was. But she wasn’t ready yet. With the way her mind was grappling with her life and reality, something like this could break her. He had asked Dr. Manson about it, asked her if revealing her past would help her progress, and he advised against it too for the moment. She was fragile at the moment, still hurting, still healing, and he needed her fully ready to handle it when she learned the truth.
And he was selfish. He knew if she knew she had a family, a brother who had been looking for her for over twenty years, she would eventually go to him. And he couldn’t have that, not until he was certain that she would return of her own will back to him, because the only other option would mean abducting her from Caine and making them all his enemies. And while he didn’t give a fuck about their enmity, the rift would end up hurting her in the friction, so he would rather avoid it. He didn’t like her hurt.
He watched from the shadows as Tristan and Morana talked to the child psychologist he had sent their way unbeknownst to them, an old student of Dr. Manson. Morana was listening more animatedly than her lover. He liked Morana as much as he could like another human being. She was smart, determined and stubborn, and she knew how to look out for herself. He respected all of those in a human being. That’s what made them interesting to maneuver. She also seemed to be genuine, something he was glad for because Tristan was the biggest threat to him. Not because he was more powerful or more lethal, but simply because he had a connection and devotion to Lyla that she craved. A better man would let her go and let her find some happiness with another. A better man would let her go and let her satisfy her cravings somewhere else.
He wasn’t a better man. Fuck, he wasn’t even a good man.
And once upon a time, he might have let go of her. But not now. Not when she’d run from him and roused the animal inside him he hadn't known he'd had. Not when she’d shattered in his arms and let him anchor her and bring her back. Not when she’d given him another piece of herself, trusting him to keep her safe. She had cooked him a meal like he was special, embraced him like he was someone worth holding, and looked at him with emotions a demon of death like him had never seen, and certainly didn’t deserve.
It was the little things—the way she broke down over tea in his kitchen and put herself together again, the way she thirsted to learn and constantly be better for herself, the way she forgave him and let him in. It was the way she staked a claim on him and the way she trembled for his touch, the way she didn’t run when he told her of the death he wreaked for her, the way she accepted his soulless form into her soft heart. It was the way she stole glances at him, the way she stole his t-shirts, the way she stole parts of him too.
There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of her.
He had long left obsession and entered into a whole new territory, one he didn’t even recognize because it was more.
More obsessive. More intensive. More possessive. More.
If he'd been ready to burn the world for her before, it was nothing compared to the destruction he would cause now.
And though he had no plans to keep her from Tristan, he needed to be sure that she wouldn’t leave him in the dust when the time came.
The world wasn’t ready for what he would unleash if that ever happened.

Chapter seventeenLyla, 6 years ago


Thunder rumbled in the sky and she ran as fast as she could, the little bundle wrapped in a blanket in her arms, her face streaming with tears as her lungs burned. She was sore and hurt between her legs, and she was pretty certain she was bleeding, but she wouldn’t have gotten another chance.
The bundle in her arms cried at being jostled.
She cried with him.
For the nine months that she had carried him in her young womb, the beautiful product of a ghastly, horrific act, she had vowed to herself that she would get him out. She knew what they did to the children born in this hell, how they took them and began grooming them before they could even speak properly. And she had vowed, no matter what happened, her child would not grow up in the hell she had. Somehow, someway, she would get him out or die trying.
And with the pain between her legs increasing, the weakness in her body from the aftermath of the delivery making her mind dizzy, she knew that was very likely. But if she had to die, she would die after getting him to some semblance of safety. She just had to stay away from the main roads they used, and hopefully end up on another. There had to be someone in the world who could help her.
Pausing to catch her breath, she leaned against a tree, swaying her little boy in her arms to calm him down a bit. She didn’t know a thing about being a mother, wasn't sure if she'd ever make a good one, but there was one thing she could give her baby and she would die trying for it.
She held him for a moment, heaving in large breaths, and scanned the area for her next path.
Knowing she couldn’t rest for more than a few minutes, the risk of security already scouring the woods too high, she began to run again and run hard, the thin soles of her shoes barely any protection. She would have blisters on her feet but it would be worth it if he could be safe.
Get him out. Get him out. Get him out.
With the words repeating in her mind as a mantra, she kept jogging, feeling the wetness between her legs, noticing the woods thinning out eventually. It could mean there was civilization close by, which could mean there was help. A burst of energy filling her at the thought, she headed to the place where she could see the woods opening onto a street of some kind.
Stopping again to catch her breath, she looked around feverishly.