The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 119

Chapter 119: One Hundred & Nineteen

They fed me drugs.

It kept me under for what felt like an eternity, never truly helping get rid of the pain, but it put me out enough that I couldn’t tell the days apart, wasn’t lucid enough to notice when the bandages were changed or when I was fed with even more drugs.

I dream of Lucien. I dream of his torture. I dream of his hair being ripped back as they tipped a bag full of silver over his face. I dream of his body folding, breaking, sinking. I feel it through the bond, like a knife twisting in my sternum. I cry for him, I thrash, I reach for him, but he is too far out of reach. Too far to touch. Farther than we’ve both ever been. And the more I dream, the less I see him. The less I feel him.

And that’s the worst part. The absence.

The silence where his heartbeat should be, pulsing against mine. The emptiness in my chest that used to hum with him. Every breath I take feels like theft.

When I wake, I am hysterical. Screaming. His name burns in my throat, tearing it raw. They hold me down and block my nostrils until I cannot breathe. Until I part my lips to catch a breath. And that is when they shove the vials of poison down my throat.

And I float into the clouds. And dream some more

***

When I awake again, the steady thrumming of the ship against the waves beneath me is gone and the soft touch of a mattress presses into my back. My lashes flutter and my eyes immediately hurt from the brightness in the room, flooding in from the windows.

Too bright.

The air smells like myrrh and incense and strong iron. And ash.

I jerk upright at that, only to be slammed back down by a vice grip on my throat. I groan, wincing at the sudden pain, the burning itch around my throat and my hand flies to the skin, reaching for it, and a helpless, startled cry slips out of my as I note the silver collar latched to me. Behind my neck, a chain has been attached and it is secured tightly to the bedpost.

I yank, trying to wrench it off, but the silver of the chain burns my hands, tearing a pained cry out of me. I rattle them, still, eyes scanning the room I’ve been imprisoned in with raw, wide panic.

A guest room, most likely, heavily, lavishly furnished, large arched windows on either sides of me, and when I try standing to reach them to get a glimpse of where I am, my knees collapse on me. And refuse to work again.

And then it all slams into me. The docks. The guards. Lucien.

My hand curls against my chest, nails tearing into my skin. Maybe if I reached deep enough, bled hard enough, I would feel him again. And the bond. My body doesn’t understand it’s gone. It keeps reaching for it, him, the way lungs reach for air. And every time I come up empty, something inside me tears.

Heavy footsteps thud outside the large oak door and I hear the click of a lock turning four times, a deadbolt, and the rattle of a chain before the door creaks open.

"No!" I snarl. I would know if he died. I would feel it inside me. I would know.

No. I know him. I know him. No one knows him like I do. People die. Lucien does not.

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