Chapter Nine.

Cassiopeia Nyx

What have I done?

My eyes flickered to where my trembling hand rested against his solid chest. I knelt beside him on the bed, my legs tucked awkwardly under me, frozen in shock. The room was silent, broken only by the sound of our ragged breaths. His came out in huffs while mine ceased completely. The ringing in my head grew louder until it vibrated through my entire being, a cruel reminder of what a horrible person I was.

He was hurt.

I hurt him.

He let out a weary sigh as he raised his palm to encase mine, which was still wrapped around the hilt of the knife. He gently freed my fingers from their tight grasp, letting them fall limply by my side.

He let out a painful grunt, pulling the knife from his chest in a single, swift motion. Warm, sticky blood splattered across my face, its metallic scent filling the air as crimson soaked into the white sheets, transforming them into a nightmarish canvas.

My fingers immediately reached for him as the blood seeping from the wound in his chest increased to an alarming level.

"I... I’m sorry," I whispered, feeling tears welling in my eyes. What have I done?

I got on my knees, grabbing the edge of my shirt to press it to his chest. "I didn’t mean to," I stammered.

My movements became more frantic as I pressed harder, tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." My voice was barely a whisper now, but beneath the panic, something else stirred—a sharp edge of regret, twisting deep in my chest. How had I let it come to this?

He didn’t reply. I stared at him, wide-eyed, hoping for some sign that he would be okay, but he just lay there, his body rigid and motionless under my touch.

Was he about to die?

I pressed harder against the wound, frantic, searching his face for any sign of hope. "What else can I do?" My voice trembled, but my hands kept moving, as if sheer force of will could save him.

"What do I do?" I cried out, panic rising. The blood poured out even harder. "Please, please, please."

"Is someone out there?" I shouted, dark, murky blood covering my palms and splattered across my face.

"Please—" I sobbed harder, my voice cracking with helplessness. I couldn’t believe I had taken a life. I was a horrible person.

"Help—" I called out again, only to be silenced by a finger to my lips.

"It's alright, Angel," he whispered, his honey-colored eyes shining as he wiped my tears away. His hand rested on mine, weak but steady.

"I’ll heal," he continued, though the strain in his voice betrayed his pain. "Give it time."

His breaths were labored, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if I could believe him.

"No, you're not," I disagreed, attempting to get off the bed to call for help, but I was held in place by his strong, wide arms.

My entire body thrummed with the tingles running across my skin at his touch.

"It will heal in a few minutes, Angel," he assured me, locking his gaze with mine. "Don’t cry."

His calloused fingers caressed my cheek, wiping away the tears that continued to fall.

"P...please let go of me," I whispered. I hated the comfort I found in his arms. I wasn’t supposed to let my guard down. I wouldn’t.

His arms loosened slightly, but he didn’t fully let go. Instead, he cradled me closer, as if sensing the war inside me—the desperate need to push him away clashing with the aching pull to stay in his embrace. I hated it. I hated that my body betrayed me, that even now, after what I’d done, I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the security in his hold.

"No," he said softly, his voice a low rumble. "I won’t let go. Not until you're calm."

Calm? How could I be calm? I had just stabbed him. Blood was still seeping from the wound, though slower now. His shirt was drenched, but his chest rose and fell steadily, as if he would really be fine. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I was supposed to hate him, wasn’t I? He was the Alpha King. My captor. The man whose very name struck terror into others. Yet here he was, soothing me, acting like none of it mattered.

"I hurt you," I whispered again, my voice breaking. "I should have... I should have killed you."

His fingers stilled on my cheek. "But you didn’t," he said evenly, almost tenderly. "And you won’t."

A sob wracked through me as I shook my head. "You don’t know that," I choked. "You have no idea what I’m capable of. They don’t call me cursed for nothing. People... they die around me. I could’ve killed you."

He sighed, his breath warm against my temple. "I know enough, Cassie. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. And I know you’re scared. But none of that changes the fact that you're mine."

"You're mine, Angel," he added quietly, the words soft but firm. "No matter what you think... no matter what you do."

My stomach twisted at his words. Mine. I hated that word. It felt like a curse, binding me to a life I didn’t want. To him.

"P...please let me go," I repeated, pushing my palms against his chest. "I can’t breathe."

He let out a soft breath before finally releasing me. I didn’t dare look into his eyes, even though I knew he was staring at me. It was all he did—stare at me, like I was some kind of treasure he couldn’t have. It might have worked on hundreds of people before me, but it wouldn’t work on me. I would never let my guard down.

"Where are you going?" I called out when he made a move to stand.

It seemed he misunderstood my words, thinking I didn’t want him to leave, because his honey eyes gleamed with delight.

"You want me to stay, Angel?" he asked, settling back onto the bed.

I shook my head vehemently, indicating toward the wound. "Are you going to die?"

He shook his head, but it did nothing to ease my worries.

"You know what?" he suggested, pushing the stained sheets off the bed. "I'm going to sleep right here, and you can check on me in the night to see if I'm still alive."

Without waiting for my answer, he lay back down, propping a pillow under his head. I stared at him in surprise, shifting closer to the edge of the bed.

Did the injury get to his head?

"Goodnight, Angel," he murmured, finally closing his eyes.

Hours passed as I lay on the other side, huddled against the wall, half-expecting the Alpha King to pounce on me and skin me alive for hurting him.

But he never did. Only the sound of his deep breathing filled the room, and somehow, it lulled me to sleep.