Leah's POV
The night pressed against my window like a heavy fist, the moon's bloody glare slicing through the dark, spilling over the floor where I sat, my face buried in my hands. Tears soaked my palms, hot and bitter, and my chest heaved with sobs I couldn't choke down.
I didn't know why I was crying, but I couldn't control it at all.
The door creaked open. The stumble of his boots got closer until Darren's shadow loomed over me, reeking of whiskey and cigarette.
I immediately noticed that he was somehow different tonight.
He swayed there, a beast unsteady on his feet, his presence clawing at the air.
"Leah," he rasped, voice thick and slurred, "what happened?"
I jerked my head up, startled, my hands scrubbing at my face like I could hide the mess of me. "Nothing," I said, the word frail, barely a breath. "Nothing happened."
He didn't move, just stared, his eyes glassy but sharp, cutting me open. Then I saw it - the gauze on his hand, soaked red again, blood seeping through the dirty cloth. My stomach twisted, and I reached for him, fingers trembling. "Your hand is bleeding again. Let me fix it."
He yanked back, hard, his arm swinging like a whip. "Don't," he snarled, and I flinched, the edge in his voice slicing through me. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the moonlight. "I saw the fish you brought back. Wrapped in Pier 16 paper. You go looking for Liam?"
My breath caught, a ragged thing in my throat. "No," I said, too fast, shaking my head. "I just… I ran into him. By chance. I wasn't looking or anything."
"Then why you crying now?" he growled, leaning in, his breath hot and sour against my face. "He hurt you?"
"No, he didn't. I don't know," I whispered, my voice cracking like thin ice. "Since I got pregnant, it's… these moods. I can't control it. I just cry."
He didn't say anything for a moment, just watched me, his eyes narrowing like he could see through my skull. Then he lunged, his lips crashing into mine, rough and hungry, tasting of liquor and rage. I tasted my own salty tears and he pulled back just enough to mutter, "A woman with the one she loves shouldn't always be in tears. If you're crying all the damn time, it means you ain't with him."
"Darren, I love you," I said, the words shaking, desperate. "I really love you."
His hand came up, slow, deliberate, his thumb brushing my lips like he was testing them. "Such beautiful lips," he murmured, voice low and cold, "can tell such cruel lies."
Before I could blink, he grabbed my face, fingers digging into my jaw, and kissed me again, harder, forcing my mouth open. Something was wrong in the way he moved, the way he pressed, like a stranger wearing his skin. I pulled back, my heart hammering, my voice small. "Darren, I don't… I don't want to tonight."
He didn't hear me. Or didn't care. His hands shoved me down, pinning me to the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. I froze, stunned, my mind scrambling. Darren had never been like this, never this rough, this blind. My hands pushed at his chest, weak, useless. "Darren, what's wrong with you? What are you doing?"
"You're my woman," he said, his voice a cold, hard thing as he fumbled with his belt, the leather slapping against itself. "What you think I'm doing?"
"Darren, don't," I begged, shoving harder, my nails scraping his shirt. "You're drunk. I don't want..."
He cut me off, his body slamming down on mine, heavy and unyielding. I gasped as he forced himself inside me, rough, no warning, no care. My flesh stretched, burned, but I couldn't feel it - not the way I should've. No pain, no pleasure, just a hollow ache, a sadness sinking into my bones. He was angry, furious, his thrusts sharp and punishing, like he could fuck the hurt out of himself and into me. I lay there, still, my hands falling limp, my eyes stinging with fresh tears.
Desperately, I wanted to pull my Lycan power to fight him, but I couldn't.
What happened to me?!
I was too scared he would hurt the child growing inside me, so I let him take what he wanted, my body a silent offering to his storm.
His hand shot to my neck, fingers clamping tight, and he stared down at me, his eyes glinting with something dark, something lethal. "I never understood," he said, voice low and icy, "why you keep crying when you can't feel pain or pleasure anymore."
I froze, my blood turning cold. There it was - killing intent, raw and real, flickering in his gaze. I reached inside myself, desperate, clawing for the wolf in my heart, the Lycan power that could snap his bones and free me. But nothing came. No shift, no strength, just a yawning void where my beast should've been. Panic clawed up my throat, wild and choking. What happened? Why can't I transform?
"Are you thinking of him again?" Darren hissed, his grip tightening, bruising.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, my voice barely there, trembling. "When I'm with you, I only think of you."
His hands squeezed harder, his face twisting, a mad edge to it. "First time I saw Liam, I thought he looked like someone. You feel it too, don't you? He looks like Lucas. That damn bastard who raped and abandoned you. You're still thinking of him, aren't you?"
I shook my head, frantic, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. "No, Darren, please…"
"You're thinking about Lucas," he spat, his voice rising, jagged. "You know he's not dead. You wanna go back to him, don't you?"
"No," I sobbed, my body shaking under him. "It's not like that."
He didn't listen. His hips slammed into me again, harder, deeper, each thrust a blade carving out his rage. My flesh took it, silent, unfeeling, but my mind screamed, trapped and reeling. I reached out through the Mindlink, my thoughts a desperate plea to Leo -
"Come to my bedroom. Quick. Darren's gone mad. He's gonna kill me."
Darren's hands roamed, rough, possessive, gripping my hips as he drove into me, his breath ragged, his skin slick with sweat. My thighs trembled under his weight, my body rocked by the force of him, but it was mechanical, empty - his cock filling me, stretching me, claiming me in a way that left no room for love. His fingers dug into my flesh, bruising, his grunts low and animal as he lost himself in it, in me. I stared at the ceiling, my tears blurring the shadows, my heart breaking with every violent shudder of his body against mine.
"Who are you?" I whispered, the words slipping out, frail and hopeless.
He froze for a second, then his hand cracked across my face, a sharp sting that barely registered. "You worthless bitch," he snarled, his voice warped, not his own. "Don't you recognize me? You got my father exiled, killed me with your own hands, and now you've seduced my brother, made him kill his mate, suffer the Moon Goddess's punishment. Ain't you hurt him enough? He's such a wuss and he can't finish you by himself, so I'll kill you instead!"
My eyes widened, horror sinking into me like claws. It wasn't Darren - not fully. Something else stared out of his face, something ancient, vengeful, wearing his skin like a mask. My breath hitched, my mind racing, but my body stayed pinned, helpless under him. The room spun, the moonlight bleeding red, and I knew I was trapped - not just by his hands, but by whatever had taken him, whatever wanted me dead. My child, my life, his soul - all of it hung on a thread, and I had no strength left to fight.