Chapter 12

LYRA

Morning sun beams through the gap in my curtains, little particles of dust swirling despite there being no movement. Void sleeps at my feet, curled into a mass of black fur, her purrs smooth and regular. She has been extra needy lately, clinging to my side as soon as my foot steps through the door.

Stretching out beneath the sheets, my thighs cross over just a little, revealing the slickness through my core. I don't recall having a dream last night, nothing to have caused this, anyway. My hands travel down my stomach, over the curve, before slipping beneath my panties. Sure enough, I'm drenched, my clit sensitive to the touch. Taking a deep breath, I start in light circles, the pad of my middle finger barely grazing over it.

That's when it hits me: the scent. The deep, manly, smokey scent. Before I think too much, I close my eyes and zone in on it, feeling that little bit closer to him. My hips buck up slightly, chasing more. Pressure builds quickly, goosebumps littering my skin as my release tears through me, a breathy moan escaping my lips.

It takes a few moments to calm back down, my heart racing. I'm no stranger to pleasing myself, having limited sexual experience in my life kind of forces that. But waking up dripping wet isn't something that happens to me, not unless I have had one of those nightmares, the ones that have my eyes watering and my heart racing.

I throw off the duvet, covering Void in the process while I get sorted for the morning. Another day of searching for him in every dark corner of the internet until my alarm tells me to go to work. I gasp, taking in my reflection, my hand reaching up to touch the mark. Across the front of my throat, there are reddened marks that look like teeth marks, some that have drawn a little bit of blood. Small dots of crimson show through in some places, with two in particular larger than the others.

What.

The.

Fuck?

My eyes are drawn to a second chain, sitting higher on my neck than my heart pendant. The silver is snug around my throat, with a small pawprint hanging from the center of it. I pull it closer, seeing the small holes littered all over the surface, the scent intensifying the closer it gets. Trying to prop it open, my nail snags in the tiny crease along the side, splitting painfully down my finger. Was he here last night? Why does this locket smell like his cologne?

My fingertips dance over the indents on my throat, careful not to break the skin any more than it already is. The mark is decently sized, something I certainly would have woken up to. I may be a reasonably heavy sleeper, but this is something else. Quickly washing my hands, I jog out to the main area in the house, expecting to find carnage.

But there's nothing, not a single item out of place. A quick jiggle of the door handle has me even more confused, finding it locked and dead-bolted. No one could have gotten in here and then been able to lock themselves out, my keys still dangling on the hook.

I run to the windows, finding every single one locked, just as they were last night. At that moment, Void walks in, displaying her sharp white teeth with a wide yawn. She's completely unphased, despite there being an intruder last night, trotting over to her food bowl like it's a casual Wednesday morning.

Yet it isn't, and I have never been more confused in my life. I need to get to the bottom of this shit, even if it kills me.

It has been weeks of hunting, flipping through pages, diving into corners of the internet that I didn't even know existed, all to come up with the same information in the end. The only way out of the spiral of dead ends is to find Ryker, which in itself has proven difficult. There is not a shred of information on him, no social media, no articles. Same as always in that department but now I have the added knowledge that he's alive.

Pulling up the feed on my laptop, I check over all the cameras installed just after waking up with a giant bite mark on my throat. Nothing has come up on them since, other than Void pattering around the house when I'm not home, meowing to herself. Flicking from the front door camera to the bedroom, I watch just how much my body tosses and turns through the night, my sleep plagued with the worst nightmares I have ever had.

They are so wildly vivid, memories crashing back into my mind as if they happened yesterday, not eight years ago. The feeling of being pinned beneath the vile human my mother married, his blade against my throat. Threats hurled my way that forced me to lay there instead of fighting back like I wanted because he would hurt the person who I needed the most, his own flesh and blood.

There is only one option left, one I have tried my best to avoid, knowing full well that if it fails, the mental load alone will send me back to the darkest depths. A space I have had to pull myself out from more times than I can count.

Seeing Ryker has already opened the floodgates for repressed memories to make themselves at home, so I can't even imagine what seeing the two of them will do, my stepfather and the woman who birthed me. A shiver rakes down my spine at the thought of being in the same town as them, let alone in the same house.

I check my emails one last time before heading off, making sure none of the Google alerts have gone off for Ryker's name overnight. As expected, though, there's nothing but spam and emails about the social media accounts I have wasting away. I have no friends or family who would have the drive to catch up on my life, so I find the whole thing kind of pointless for me. Their use starts and ends with searching for signs of Ryker and watching stupid cat videos in bed while I doom-scroll until my eyes close.

I gather the essentials, popping them into a duffel bag for the trip. My apartment is hours away from their home, costing me a few weeks' worth of tips to get there with two trains and an Uber. If it means getting a step closer to knowing more, I will throw everything I fucking have at it, every single penny.

Giving Void one last cuddle, I slip out while she's eating. There is enough food and water here to last her a good few days, and she has her outdoor cat enclosure with a second litter tray should she need it. The radio is set to a timer, on nice and low through the day, and it will switch off at night, hopefully enough to keep her happy while I'm gone.

A shiver quakes through my spine, rattling each vertebra as the driver rolls to a stop outside the house. It's unchanged, still looking exactly the same as it had eight years ago. Manicured gardens take up most of the space in the front yard, with the dense woods lining the back garden. My heart skips, my breath caught in my chest. I don't know if I can do this.

The man driving the car disrupts my thoughts, clearing his throat loudly from the front seat, impatient for me to get out. I scramble to get my bag and coat, jumping out of the car as quickly as I can. A cold rush of air sends goosebumps across my skin, despite being in leggings and Ryker's hooded jumper I took from his cabin. My free hand spins the lockets around my neck, running my thumb along the inscriptions to center myself, even if only a little.

I tentatively walk down the pathway, thinking of what I will even say to them. That is, if my brain lets me speak through the fear lacing my body. It has been humming through me since I decided to come here, ramping up the closer I got.

My chest is tight, every breath labored and painful as I watch the car disappear, leaving me here alone, in front of the house of darkness, filled with the horror and pain that lives through me to this day. This would be a lot easier with him at my side.

Taking a deep breath, I tap at the glass surrounded by wood, listening closely for any noise outside of my heart beating through my damn ears. Wind swirls hauntingly around me, the deep whooshing belonging in a scary movie, not entirely inaccurate to what I am about to face. Minutes pass before there's movement, a click behind the door and a shadow through the glass. It's too tall to be my mother, meaning only one thing: I am about to come face to face with him.

The door creaks as it opens, revealing the man who plagues my nightmares, only a lot has changed. His features have aged heavily in the last eight years, fine lines and texture marking his skin. Thick, purple rings surround his eyes, as if sleep has evaded him for months. The man who emitted power and authority now looks exhausted, barely existing. It takes him a moment to register who I am, the recognition flashing across his features.

"Lyra."

"Hello, Stanton."

"You're here alone?" He steps closer, his eyes darting around the front yard, as if looking for someone. Danger laces his tone, dread pooling deep in my stomach. I used to get this sinking feeling when I still lived here, my body kicking into flight mode when his car would roll up the drive. A feeling that has muscle memory, apparently, because it's creeping through my body one limb at a time.

He motions for me to enter, being careful not to touch me, his hand hovering a few inches from my shoulder. The house is quiet, barren of any form of life, not even the signature flowers my mother used to have fresh in a vase every Sunday on the counter. Though the outside is unchanged, manicured to perfection, the inside is another story. It's worn and dark, dust covering most surfaces. If I couldn't see the man standing before me, I would have thought the house was empty and had been for years.

"Sorry, we were not expecting anyone. It's a bit of a mess," Stanton says as he walks us into the kitchen, going for his liquor cabinet. Where there was once an array of the most expensive whiskeys and wines from around the globe, there is now less than a handful of bottles, all of which are on the lower end, nothing of substance.

Pulling out two glasses, he pours the amber liquid halfway on each, sliding one glass across the counter. I watched his every move intently, making sure nothing was slipped into the drink. If there's a time I need liquid courage, it's now.

"What brings you home, Lyra?" he asks, downing his glass in a matter of mouthfuls, some dripping from the corner of his lips and down his chin. Gone is the picture of control and wealth, and in its place, a near unrecognizable man.

"This was never my home, you know that as well as I do. Is my mother here?"

"She's passed out upstairs, won't be back in the land of the living till mid-morning tomorrow. You are welcome to come back and see her, though she may not want you here."

I almost wish there was a hint of sadness hearing that she wouldn't want me here, but nothing can overtake the lingering fear of being in his presence. Regardless of the time passed, Stanton is a powerful man. He may not look it anymore, the person with whiskey now drying on his chin and hollowed-out cheeks not exactly what you would expect from a lawyer of his standing.

"I am not here to see her anyway; I more wanted to see if she was still alive," I get out in barely a whisper, my small shred of confidence disappearing the moment he set those eyes on me.

Though he looks different, those eyes are still the same, the very same eyes that would find me in the darkness, pulling me under until I broke. Taking every shred of dignity I had left and feasting on it like it was a treat. His hungry fucking eyes rake up and down my body as if he wants to consume me, forcing the bitter tang of bile to rise up my throat.

"You are here to see me, hmm? What a treat. Miss me after all these years, pretty girl?"

A lump forms in my throat, the invisible mass making it impossible to breathe, let alone speak. Every single little hair on my body stands on end, hyper-aware of the shift in him, the change in his eyes, his body language more open. Tears well in the corner of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall so soon. This fucking monster doesn't deserve to relish in my tears again.

"N…No. No. I need information," I manage to croak out, my voice hoarse but decipherable. "Ryker. I'm looking for Ryker."

He rounds the counter until he is in front of me, his putrid breath fanning across my face, forcing my stomach to clench, resisting the gag that threatens to roll through me. His eyes roam down my body, lingering a little too long between my thighs before he meets my eyes again. This time, a smirk tips his chapped lips.

"You walk into my house after all this time and expect information on him?" he spits, a half-ass grin spreading across his face. "After that little bastard helped you escape, I killed him. The fucker is six feet under. But you, pretty thing, you are right here, in the flesh, ripe for the fucking taking."