My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 551

Chapter 551: Chapter 551 DESTRUCTION (BONUS Chapter 2)

MIREYA’S POV

I didn’t realize my legs had given out until Sera grabbed my arms, anchoring me against her.

“Whoa,” she gasped, staggering a little under my weight. “Mireya, are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman—the witch who had tethered me to Damian, who had ensured he could hunt me down no matter how far I fled.

What was she doing here? How long had she been here?

If she was here, did that mean Damian was close?

Gods, had he sent her to find me?

I gripped Sera’s arm hard enough for my nails to pierce her skin, but she didn’t flinch. She just kept looking at me with concern, her grip firm around me.

“Wait, I recognize you,” the woman said, uncrossing her legs and standing.

A crease formed between her brows as she studied me like an insect pinned to a board. “Where do I know you from?”

I let out a disbelieving scoff. “Goddess, how many poor souls have you cursed that you don’t remember me?”

Her eyes widened, and I saw the memory replay in them. She raised a hand to her mouth and whispered in horror, “Mireya.”

Sera, ever so keen, glanced between both of us, and a moment later, the pieces slid into place.

Guilt filled her eyes as she turned to me, but before she could say anything, I pulled myself out of her grasp.

“Mireya—”

There it was: that rush of panic, igniting all my nerves, sending my heart into overdrive, filling my lungs and leaving no room for oxygen.

I clawed at my neck—at the phantom leash tightening around it.

If she was here...

My heart gave a painful lurch.

Damian would find me. He would drag me back to that cage. I would live the rest of my life in the brutal tug of war between my heart and my sanity.

“Mireya.” Sera’s eyes were wide with panic as she reached for me.

I was already stumbling backward, my hand fumbling for the door handle.

“Mireya, wait!”

But I was gone, feet pounding the tile, heart hammering as I ran and ran and ran.

***

I’d come to Nightfang with next to nothing, but in just a few weeks, I’d been given clothes, shoes, makeup, even a Kindle.

It took me all of five minutes to stuff them all into a garbage bag I’d grabbed from the kitchen.

As I rushed to the door, a sudden burst of laughter tripped up my steps.

I turned to the window; the sound had come from below—a child’s laughter, light and carefree. Safe.

Nightfang was safe. At least it had been.

But like it had invaded my mind and sleep, Damian’s influence had infiltrated my sanctuary. I would take my chances out in the world rather than sit here twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to storm in and whisk me away.

Just because some deranged, uncontrollable part of me missed him didn’t mean I ever wanted to return to the prison of his presence.

So I stiffened my spine, tightened my grip on my meager possessions, and opened the door.

I’m not proud of the sound that came out of me—a mortifying cross between a squeal and a choked gasp.

I’m equally not proud of how I staggered backward, not stopping until I was pressed against the wall on the other side of the room.

If I were a cartoon, the imprint of my heart thumping out of my chest would be visible for the witch to see.

“It’s not what you think, I swear.”

It was such a cliché, mundane line that I might have laughed if fear’s fist wasn’t so tight around my throat.

The witch was on the other side of the door, her hands up in the air as if to show me she bore no weapons.

But I knew better. She didn’t need a blade or a bullet to cause harm.

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