Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder novel Chapter 580

Chapter 80 : Fight for Her

*Lena*

Water lapped at my toes as I stood on the shore of a rocky beach. Long ropes of orange kelp clung to rocks, drifting lazily anytime a rogue wave sucked them back toward the gray, swirling water.

None of this was real–not the mountains, not the temple built into a cliff face of pure granite, not the endless ocean or star-dappled sky.

I'd been here before. I'd walked along this same beach and entered the temple the night I got lost in a nightmare, the one brought on by the injuries I'd sustained when I fought with Xander and Bethany against Jen in the hills outside of Crimson Creek. I'd talked to a much younger version of my mother inside the temple.

I'd been standing on the beach for what felt like hours now. The cold spray of the ocean burned my cheeks, and I tasted salt on my lips.

Who would be there when I went inside this time? My mother? Xander? Someone else?

I hugged myself, running my hands over a thick knit cardigan I'd never seen before. It was nothing I had in my closet, that was for sure, but it was beautiful. Little silver beads shaped like stars were woven into the thick wool, and the beads caught the gray light of the overcast, drizzly day as I surrendered myself to whatever, or whoever, awaited me in the temple.

This was another realm, I realized–an old one, one lost entirely to time.

I walked to the temple, smoothing my hands over the symbols in the heavy wooden doors, and walked inside.

But I didn't walk into the temple. I was somewhere new, somewhere unfamiliar. Dark floral wallpaper covered the walls, bordered by trim in the darkest wood imaginable, polished to a sparkling finish. A fire crackled in the hearth, perfectly warm against the snow sticking to several frosted windows on the other side of the room. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me as I took in the plush rugs and couches, the bookshelves that spanned the walls and brushed against the domed ceiling.

“I was wondering when you were going to come inside," my mother said, and I snapped my head in her direction. She was sitting on the floor on the far side of the room, most of her body hidden by a couch with purple velvet cushions draped in cream-colored blankets. She peaked around the couch, her hair pulled back in a low bun against the nape of her neck. Her hazel eyes shone with a happiness I hadn't seen in years.

But then my eyes caught a shadow moving beneath the couch, where four wooden legs held it off the floor by mere inches. I scanned the room, my gaze settled on a trail of… toys–wooden blocks with the alphabet carved into the sides, a babydoll, a rocking horse.

I looked back at my mother, who was watching me closely, her eyes searching mine for understanding.

“Are you alright?" she asked, concern lining her delicate features.

I opened my mouth, but no words lingered on the tip of my tongue. A soft, childlike giggle sounded from behind the couch, just out of my view, and I felt my heart squeeze as I took a cautious step forward.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't let my mind wander to the possibility that my almost constant, debilitating fatigue and sudden aversion to basic foods like milk and citrus tea had been more than crippling heartbreak brought on by Xander's disappearance and the anxiety surrounding abandoning my family.

I'd be lying if I said the nausea I'd felt in the early mornings didn't send a chill of unease up my spine as I hugged the toilet while I tried to ready myself for the school day for the past two weeks.

I'd known for a while. I'd known, but I'd languished in denial. Xander was the one who told me it was likely impossible, and that secret had ended us.

I dropped my hands from my stomach when I realized I had rested them there while I stared blankly at my mother, and then I took a short, shattering breath.

“I told you she was coming back," Mom said playfully to the shadow sitting on the floor with her behind the couch. Mom looked back at me, her cheeks dimpling as she motioned me over.

I couldn't move.

Babble sounded, and Mom turned away from my gaze as she moved to help the child, cooing reassurances as the little shadow moved unsteadily around her, coming into view.

Rich, dark hair, as black as night. Little curls dusted her rosy, plump cheeks.

I choked on a sob as the little girl, who couldn't have been more than a year old, toddled around the corner of the couch with her arms outstretched, her lower lip jutting out in a pout as she walked on unsteady legs toward me.

She looked like him–a spitting image, with the dark hair, the golden skin, and those thick, black lashes that lined her eyes the same way they lined his. But her eyes were the deepest, richest blue I'd ever seen, like an ocean, endless, picking up every hint of light as she walked beneath the crystal chandelier hanging over our heads.

Blue, like my eyes would have been… should have been–my father's eyes, my grandfather's eyes.

I dropped to my knees out of weakness or instinct, I wasn't sure. The feeling of her weight against my chest hit me, turning me inside out, ripping me to shreds, and then sewing me back together again. Nothing else mattered. Nothing would ever matter more.

“You have to fight for her," my mother said with an unspeakable sadness, “the same way I had to fight for you."

I didn't need to decipher the meaning of her words. I looked at her, past her, as the far walls of the sitting room vanished and extended into columns of crystals, reflecting the light of fire burning blue in the center of a large cave. A younger version of my mother stood on one side of the fire, her arms outstretched over the top of her head as she sent a wall of water thundering toward a wolf who was stuck in midair.

She'd been pregnant with me at the time. She'd driven a knife through that wolf's heart, and the prophecy that was my birth was allowed to come to fruition.

This was what that had been for, I realized. Me. My future… my daughter's life.

“Don't give up now," my mother whispered as the dream began to fade. “She's with you. I'm with you. I love you–"

“Wait!"

I opened my eyes, choking on stale air filled with the scent of mildew and standing water. Cold embraced me, followed by a dull, throbbing pain in my shoulders as I struggled to move my neck to look around.

I was in a cell, locked behind a length of iron bars illuminated by a single lantern fixed to the wall. I rested my head against what felt like stone, wet and cold, and let a single tear roll down my cheek as I wrapped my arms protectively around my stomach.

My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I was able to make out a long, narrow hallway beyond the cell. I opened my mouth to try to speak, to say hello, to find out if I was alone.

But I was weak. My body felt battered, and bruised. My mouth was impossibly dry and my stomach ached with hunger. I couldn't feel the power rushing through me. I couldn't feel much of anything but cold, and wet, and fear.

I must have slept. I must have closed my eyes at some point, because I had to fight to open my eyes when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor in my direction. I was laying on the ground now, my cheek pressed into the stone floor and my body curled in the fetal position, my arms still hugging my stomach.

I couldn't have moved if I tried. I was so tired… so, so tired.

“I didn't think you were capable of being this weak," came a harsh, familiar voice that sent a chill of panic down my spine. “It's a disappointment, really. I thought this would be more difficult. I was looking forward to a fight, especially after what you did to me."

I moved my eyes toward the voice, blinking into the darkness as whoever it belonged to grasped the lantern and walked forward with it.

I wouldn't have recognized him had it not been for the sneer of hatred mingled with pure possession in his voice. His face was severely maimed by deep scars, like the skin had been away.

Slate crouched near the bars, holding the lantern above his head so the light rippled over me. I squinted against the light's unforgiving intrusion.

“What happened to you?" I asked weakly, my voice sounding far away and unfamiliar. He snickered, rocking on his heels as he moved the light along the bars to get a better look at me.

“You blasted me with your powers, you b***h. You did this to me."

“I couldn't have. Xander said he say you–"

“Ha, of course. Xander. What is he to you, your mate? Or do you just have your eyes on being his Luna Queen?"

I recoiled at his tone, fighting the urge to close my eyes. I narrowed them into cat-like slits, taking in the damage to his face, his neck, and his hands.

“Where am I?"

“Crimson Creek," he answered casually, taking a deep breath as he sat down on the stone floor with his legs crossed, like we were just having a friendly chat and he wasn't holding me captive.

“Why? What happened in Cedar Hollow?"

“Well, you certainly made a mess of things. The king is not happy," he wagged his finger at me, laughing beneath his breath. “Those wolves of mist and shadow–was that you, or Xander?"

“Me," I ground out through gritted teeth, and what was left of his lips pulled back over his teeth in a sinister grin.

“Impressive."

“Why am I here?"

“Oh, we won't be here for long. You obviously needed rest–"

“Why am I here?" I said with more force.

He clicked his tongue at me, shaking his head as he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a heel of bread and a few pieces of beef jerky, tossing them between the bars like he was throwing bread into a pond for ducks.

“Don't expend any unnecessary energy. You'll need it all."

“Why?"

“I have to take you to the king. I need your powers in order to do that."

“What king?"

Slate looked slightly confused, and then offended. He leaned forward, looking me up and down before his gaze settled on mine once more.

“The Vampire King, of course. Did you hit your head or something?"