Chapter 39: The Lie...he couldn’t believe

The underground cell was so silent that she could hear the sound of her breathing, and she could feel the vibrations of her own heartbeat.

Della sat with her back against the cold stone wall, both knees drawn tightly to her chest. Iron bars separated her from the quiet corridor outside, and she briefly recalled when she had been thrown in there by those two hefty wolf guards.

She didn’t cry.

She couldn’t. It was almost as though every tear she’d ever possessed had already been wrung out of her.

The bruises around her neck had deepened into ugly shades of purple, throbbing , shey time she swallowed. Her wrists still stung where the shackles had bitten into them during the walk down here, and every muscle in her body felt strangely...empty.

She lowered her forehead onto her knees and closed her eyes. It was over.

She had done it.

Every lie.

Every accusation.

Every ounce of hatred in Alpha Malachi’s eyes, she had accepted it all.

A shaky breath escaped her lips.

Lian...

That single name was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.

"You’ll be fine now," Her voice echoed softly through the empty dungeon before dying against the damp walls, "I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you myself...," She squeezed her legs even tighter.

She hoped...

No. She needed to believe Leopold.

A blood pact could not be broken.

It couldn’t.

If she had just thrown away her life, if she had condemned herself to the Rogues’ Pit, and if she had made the man she...

Her thoughts stopped there.

No She couldn’t think about him.

Not anymore.

Slowly, almost instinctively, her fingers drifted to the place just above her heart.

The mate bond felt faint, and even more fractured than ever. She could feel Malachi through it, though not as clearly as before, but just enough to understand.

A storm.

Confusion.

Rage.

Hatred.

So much hatred that it seeped through the bond like poison, making her chest ache until she had to bite her lip to stop herself from sobbing.

Good. She had wanted that.

And she would keep doing her part to push her own hatred too, so he would never know she had destroyed herself willingly. So he would never come looking.

"Please hate me more," The whisper barely existed, "If you hate me..." She let out another shaky breath, "...then this will be easier."

Silence answered her, and she hugged herself tighter. The floor beneath her was freezing and the air smelled of mildew, damp stone and rust. Somewhere farther down the underground corridor, water dripped rhythmically into a puddle.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Each drop sounded like time itself counting down whatever remained of her life.

Just then, she heard the sound of the large, metal door being pulled open. Usually, she’d hear the heavy footsteps and assume guards were approaching.

But those silent legs of his had her sucking a deep breath even before he got to her cell.

Why was he here? Was it finally time to drag her off to the rogues pit? Because it’s been a few hours since she was brought here.

She remained curled by the corner of the hell, her heart picking up speed till he came into view. Till his towering, large body stood right in front of her cell.

She peeked up at him through her pressed knees, knowing only a deafening cold waited for her.

He still hated her so much.

Perfect.

"Is it time for me to face my sentence?" She asked softly, her voice dry.

He didn’t answer, and only keep his crushing gaze on her.

The silence stretched, and she began to wonder whether he was simply deciding the quickest way to kill her.

His scent drifted through the iron bars. Moonlit Frost and Ash. The same scent that had wrapped around her only a day ago.

She forced herself not to breathe too deeply.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

"Look at me." He finally spoke.

Slowly, she completely raised her head and their eyes locked. In that moment, some pain finally slipped into the mate bond as her heart twisted heavily.

She saw the hatred and anger burning in those cold globes, but beneath it all she had seen something else.

Something she couldn’t quite understand, but it had suffocated her enough.

"Why?" he asked again.

That one word was soon going to become her weakness if he didn’t stop.

"Because I wanted to." She replied.

She forced herself to keep breathing.

Keep hating him.

Push it through the bond.

Harder.

Malachi remained perfectly still as though the hate didn’t affect him anymore, "...You remind me of someone." The words were so quiet she almost thought she’d imagined them.

Her eyes widened. Was he really... about to say her name? About to talk about her? Now?

"Whenever Katherine lied..." His eyes darkened, the memories right in front of his face, "She always did it to save herself."

The tiniest smile appeared on his lips, and he slowly shook his head, "But you...when you lie," He looked directly into her eyes, "It feels like you’re doing it to destroy yourself. But don’t insult me by pretending you’re different!"

Her breathing hitched, and she tried to remain calm. It’s a good thing that despite...the inconsistencies he might see, the hatred was still winning, "I’ve never been very good at saving myself."

Malachi felt it then again. That same instinct again.

The one that had bothered him since she walked into the interrogation room.

She wasn’t afraid of dying.

She had already accepted it.

That wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t guilt.

It wasn’t surrender.

It was...

Sacrifice.

Could she actually be... lying for real? Or was she just...that good at messing with his head? His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

And if she was actually lying and trying to sacrifice herself, another question he hadn’t wanted to ask popped into his mind.

Who is she protecting, then? Beatrice?

Outside, his expression didn’t soften. If anything, it became colder, "No." He replied quietly, "You simply know how to make it look that way."

"Probably," She replied.

Silence carried once again.

"I believed her." Malachi admitted almost inaudibly, making her look up at him again as he let out a hollow laugh, "I believed every frightened look, every trembling hand, every carefully timed tear and I believed every lie she wrapped in innocence." His eyes slowly found hers again, "And she destroyed half my life."

His words landed one after another.

"Rotblood."

"Liar."

"Manipulator."

"Schemer."

"They’re all the same."

"You."

"Katherine."

"Every single one of you knows exactly how to make yourselves look pitiful."

Della froze. Katherine...had been a rotblood too?! Now it made more sense. Katherine hasn’t just destroyed him, she had made him hate all of her kind. Made him believe that all Rot-bloods can only be one thing.

Devious. Devious enough to manipulate even the greatest of wolves.

Della lowered her head as the thought ran through her. Right now, that was probably for the best.

Good...

Keep hating me.

Please...

Keep hating me.

"Did you think much kneeling before me would have changed anything?" His voice hardened, and she could hear the emotions riding out with his voice, "You think confessing because you felt guilty...suddenly makes you noble?"

"I know it doesn’t."

He suddenly lashed, grabbing the bars so hard they shook, "You don’t look brave, you look calculating. You don’t look remorseful, you look prepared. You don’t look innocent, you look exactly like Katherine did, right before she buried the knife!"

The mate bond shook violently, and hatred poured through it.

Not hers.

His.

So deep.

It was no longer directed only at Della. It belonged to another woman entirely.

Della felt tears sting her eyes, not because he’d insulted her. She could survive insults.

It was because of how much he was still bleeding because of Katherine. It’s because of how much damage the woman had cost him, and now, she was only reinforcing that damage.

Making it so worse that she could almost kill herself right now.

"I’m sorry," she whispered before she could stop herself.

His eyes flashed, "For what?"

She froze, "I... nothing,"

"You pity me now?"

"No."

"Then what are you sorry for?"

She shut her mouth, and Malachi watched her.

He watched every tiny movement, and once again, the feeling of everything about this being wrong surfaced once again.

She had constructed a flawless confession.

Every answer fit.

Every missing piece suddenly had a place.

It should have satisfied him.

It should have ended the investigation.

Instead, it only made him angrier. Because perfection rarely belonged to the truth.

Something’s wrong.

He ignored it.

No. Not ignored.

Buried.

Just as he had buried every instinct that had once whispered Katherine wasn’t what she pretended to be.

She’s sacrificing herself.

"No," he muttered almost under his breath.

"...Alpha?" Della looked up.

His gaze turned glacial, "If you choose to throw yourself into a fire, that’s your problem."

She almost scoffed, and decided to say it out loud because...what did she have to lose now? "Even if you did see me throwing myself into the fire, you’d probably fan the flames to make them stronger instead of stopping me,"

His heart almost stopped.

Why does it sound like...he was in the wrong?

If she truly was sacrificing herself, then he’d have to ask the one question he never wanted to ask again.

And if he asked that, he might have to believe her.

He might have to trust another woman, and might have to admit he’d judged her wrongly.

No.

Never again.

Not after Katherine.

It was time he put more space between them before his mind gets even more poisoned by these conflicting thoughts.

But when he tried to take a step back, he couldn’t.

Malachi tried again, but there was something still keeping him here. Something that kept pulling him closer to her.

The one he couldn’t control.

When Della heard keys being inserted to the keyhole, her eyes snapped open and she quickly stood up in panic. He was going to come in amd drag her to the iron pits!

She pressed her back against the wall, her heart in her throat as he yanked the door open, and stepped into the space.

Leave.

Just leave.

That was what he should do.

She had confessed.

She was a liar.

A manipulator.

Another rotblood.

So why, why wouldn’t his feet stop moving?

Annoyance flashed across his face. What the hell was happening to him again?

No.

Absolutely not.

He forced his legs to turn, but instead they took two determined strides toward her.

Della instinctively stiffened as those steps closed the distance between them and before her mind could even catch up, his hand cupped the side of her face.

Warm.

Firm.

Almost possessive.

His blue eyes seemed to searched hers for what felt like forever. As though he was trying to find one final lie. One final reason to completely and utterly hate her. One final reason to end it all between them.

Instead, he found himself looking at her lips.

He frowned.

Why? He knew he shouldn’t.

DON’T!

But his control snapped, and he kissed her.

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