Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 264

Chapter 264: Chapter 264

Elara’s POV

Following the heavy trail of blood and the violent pull in my chest, I pushed through the thick brambles until the small clearing stretched before me. About twenty paces wide. Morning light bled through the broken canopy in thin, watery streams, painting everything in shades of gray and pale gold. The copper stench of fresh blood hung thick in the air.

Two figures stood at the center.

One was enormous. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest like a war barrel. His hair was a dull grayish brown, cropped close to his skull. He stood with his legs apart, his chin tilted up—like he owned the ground beneath him. Like he owned the air itself.

Malakor.

The other figure was smaller. Leaner. A woman. Dark hair pulled back from a face I knew better than my own reflection. A face that had smiled at me once, when we were children. Before she’d learned that cruelty was its own kind of currency.

Isolde.

My stepsister.

Between them—dragged like a slaughtered deer across the blood-soaked earth—was my husband.

The breath left my body.

Kaelen’s armor was torn open at the side. His shirt beneath was drenched—not dark, not brown, but red. Wet, glistening red. His arms hung limp. His legs trailed behind him, boots dragging shallow furrows in the mud. His head lolled forward, chin against his chest. Black hair matted with blood and dirt, falling across his face.

His skin was wrong. Gray. Almost blue at the edges, like something vital had already drained away. The wide shoulders I’d slept against. The hands that had held our children. The jaw that had clenched when he was trying not to say something he’d regret.

Still. All of it was still.

No.

My fingers tightened around the dagger until the hilt bit into my palm. The mate bond in my chest screamed—not a pull anymore but a shriek, a tearing, a wrongness so profound my vision blurred at the edges.

No. No. No.

Isolde laughed.

The sound was bright. Casual. Like she’d just heard a mildly amusing joke at a royal banquet. She shifted her grip on Kaelen’s left arm, adjusting her hold the way someone might adjust the handle of a heavy bag.

"Gods, he’s heavier than he looks," she said. Her voice carried clearly across the silent clearing. "You’d think all that Alpha muscle would make him easier to move, not harder."

Malakor didn’t laugh. He was dragging Kaelen’s other arm, and the veins in his neck bulged with effort. His jaw was set in a hard line.

"Stop complaining," he snapped. "And move faster. His wolves will notice the silence eventually."

"Let them notice." Isolde tossed her hair over one shoulder with her free hand. The gesture was so familiar it made my stomach lurch. "What are they going to do? Their precious emperor can’t even open his eyes."

"That’s the point." Malakor adjusted his grip and pulled harder. Kaelen’s body shifted across the ground, leaving a fresh smear of red across the pale leaves. "The poison does exactly what it needs to do. He feels everything. Every drag. Every stone under his back. Every second." A pause. Something almost like satisfaction crept into his voice. "He just can’t move."

The world tilted.

I pressed my fist against my mouth. Bit down on my knuckles until I tasted copper. My vision swam.

He’s alive.

The thought punched through the horror. He was alive. The poison had paralyzed him but it hadn’t killed him. Not yet. His heart was still beating—I could feel it through the bond now, impossibly faint, like a pulse at the bottom of a deep well. Barely there. But there.

He can feel everything.

Malakor had said it with pleasure. Like it was a feature, not a side effect. Designed cruelty. A poison mixed with precision—not to kill quickly but to trap a man inside his own body while they did whatever they wanted to it.

My husband. My strong, powerful emperor. Trapped inside himself. Feeling the stones tear at his back. Feeling his blood leak away. Unable to scream.

Rage rose in me like a tide. Black and burning and absolute. Every muscle in my body coiled. The dagger was in my hand. Twenty paces. I could cross twenty paces. I could drive this blade into Isolde’s throat before she finished her next sentence—

And then Malakor would kill you.

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