Chapter 9 #2
She thought of the quiet moments too—his shoulder pressed against hers under the carob tree by the riverbank, the two of them hidden from the world, reading by the light of a single lantern.
How they’d sworn, as children did, that they’d always be each other’s harbour, no matter how stormy life became.
And the more recent memories: the way his presence had steadied her during the first overwhelming weeks after her Awakening, when every Alpha’s gaze felt like a weight she couldn’t carry.
Those moments had been real. They had to be.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, gaze dropping to the crumpled linens beneath her hands. “I care about you.”
She looked up just as Castiel leaned in, heart clenching at his hardened expression.
“You care about the version of me you made up in your head. The Beta who wouldn’t ask too much of you. The easy escape. ”
Her heart clenched. Was that it? Had she clung to him because he never demanded more—because he was a buffer from everything she feared?
“What about friendship, Castiel? Whether the love was real or not, you were my friend.”
His answer came too easily. “Friendship is a luxury I can no longer afford. As the fourth son, I have no power of my own. You know that.”
Her vision blurred, but she blinked hard against the burn. “I didn’t care you were a fourth son. You were always my confidant. We shared laughter and tears, hope and fears. Our past was real.”
She lifted her head, chin trembling, voice breaking. “I trusted you.”
Contempt sharpened his features. “If you’d been born a Beta, we’d be married by now. The one who failed isn’t me—it’s you, Reiya. You did this to yourself.”
His words plunged deep, cold and merciless. As if she’d chosen this—chosen to be born an Omega, chosen the cage that came with it.
Darkness twisted inside her, the urge to make him rise to anger, to see him break as she felt broken.
Her lips trembled, and the words slipped free, “You’re a disgusting, despicable man.”
Castiel didn’t react, his cold silence biting deeper than any retort. She couldn’t read him anymore—his face, once familiar, now a stranger’s. It frightened her. The man she thought she knew was slipping further out of reach, leaving her alone with her own fury.
He folded his arms across his chest, staring down at her. His expression shifted, like the flicker of a shadow under unsteady light. It was pity, condescension, and resignation all tangled together, as though he was gazing not at her, but at some inevitable outcome he’d already long accepted.
“Dove, don’t you think I knew that already?”
The words struck her—a blow straight to the chest. He knew , and still he chose this path.
Her ribcage slowly tightened, crushing her insides.
Was this the real Castiel? Was there a part of him still worth saving?
Somewhere beneath the cavalier cruelty, did that boy still exist?
If she could find him—reach him—could she pull him back from the edge ?
Her throat ached, but she forced the words out, “You weren’t always like this . . . You used to care . . . about me, about us, about something.”
When he said nothing, Reiya pressed, staring up at him, beseeching. “You still care. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here . . . talking to me.”
His gaze dropped to her chest where the wing-shaped necklace rested against her chest—his gift when freedom was both their dream.
Kneeling by the mattress’s edge, he took it between his thumb and forefinger, stretching the silver chain taut between them.
Reiya’s heart squeezed as Castiel’s knuckles whitened, his hand tightening around the pendant, eyes narrowing like a man standing at the edge of a precipice. The silver chain dug into her nape, and for a moment that seemed to stretch forever, she thought he might rip off the clasp.
Then, he flicked his wrist, and the chain slipped free. The crystal pendant dropped against her chest with a soft thud.
“You’re still wearing it?” he said, lips curled lopsidedly.
A scream clawed at her throat, but it lodged there, trapped. Every fibre of her wanted to rip the necklace from her skin, cast it away, and sever whatever remained of their shared past.
Yet she couldn’t.
Her pulse hammered, drowning out everything but the voice in her head.
Don’t let him win. Not like this.
“Why are you still here, Castiel?” The tremor in her voice betrayed her, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “If I meant nothing—if I was just a means to an end—why stay? I’m already bound. Trapped on a moving ship. Why not leave me to your crew and be done with it?”
His jaw ticked.
“You don’t want this. I know you don’t.” Her words came faster now, desperate, tumbling out before she lost the courage to speak them. “Tell me the truth. Whatever plan this is—whoever put you up to it—we can figure it out. Let me help you. Please. ”
For a breath, something flickered in his eyes—raw, fragile, peeking through the cracks in his carefully crafted mask .
There . She seized onto it, hope expanding like blown glass.
But, just as quickly, whatever she’d seen was now buried beneath the same cold indifference. Whatever part of him she’d touched had slipped beyond reach. Her hope shattered.
He leaned closer, close enough that she could see the amber flecks in his eyes. “That’s enough, dove.”
The words were too soft, too detached, like she wasn’t worth the effort of an emotion. The faintest rustle betrayed him. She caught the glint of glass, the bitter tang in the air—the vial of clear liquid in his hand.
Her body jerked, legs kicking, bound arms thrashing against his hold, but it was too late.
“No—”
The protest barely escaped her lips before the fume-soaked cloth pressed hard against her mouth. The acrid burn filled her lungs, clawing at her senses.
She twisted. Too late. The world fractured, folding in on itself as darkness claimed her.
Memories flickered in the void—dreams tangled with shards of childhood, vivid but fragmented.
She and Castiel were children again, during that time when his laugh was lighter—free of the bitterness clinging to him now.
The two of them lay beneath an old tree’s bough, sharing stories about the futures they dreamed of, their hands brushing once—awkward, shy—and Castiel looking away quickly, cheeks flushed beneath the sunlight.
The dream twisted, and they stood at the edge of a stream, the water glimmering under the warm sun. Castiel stood on the opposite bank, his hand outstretched as she hesitated on a slick rock.
‘Come on, it’s not far,’ he’d called, his grin easy, full of boyish confidence.
Reiya wavered, her bare toes gripping the edge of the stone.
‘You decide how this ends,’ he said, his voice full of the simple trust only childhood friends knew. ‘Jump or swim. It’s all up to you now, dove.’
Back then, those words had filled her with courage. She’d taken his hand without hesitation, leaping across the stream. They’d fallen into the grass on the other side, laughing until their bellies ached, but triumphant.
The scene fractured like glass under a hammer.
The tree faded, the stream dissolved, and the Castiel from her memory melted into the man sitting in the cabin—the boy’s warmth replaced by cold detachment.
All those memories twisted into something sharp, leaving her grasping for answers, for anything familiar.
Then, the darkness closed in again.
When she finally stirred—minutes, hours, days later, she couldn’t tell—the world lurched with every inhale. Nausea churned in her stomach, head pounding with the ache of waking too soon, or too late.
Groaning, she curled onto her side, the simple movement enough to make her heave. Teeth clenched, she fought against the rising bile and forced her eyes open. The lantern light stabbed at her retinas, far too bright after the fevered dream.
She squinted, disoriented, the dream still clinging to her mind—half-remembered, half-felt, but impossible to shake.
Her wrists throbbed with every subtle shift, but the ache grounded her, clearing her foggy mind—just a touch.
A slow scan of the room confirmed she was alone—until something shimmered faintly at the edge of the lantern’s glow. Reiya blinked, half-convinced it was a mirage.
But, no. The cabin door stood slightly ajar, cool night air seeping through the gap and brushing her skin—a whisper of freedom.
She stared, pulse stuttering. The dryness in her throat scratched with every swallow.
Castiel must’ve forgotten to close it.
Hope flickered—small, fragile, but enough to pull her upright.
She slid off the mattress, limbs sluggish but driven by instinct.
Every step felt like moving through tar, her balance swaying with the ship’s roll.
The sedative still gripped her mind in a thick fog, but she pushed forward, reaching the door and leaning heavily against the frame to catch her breath.
Beyond lay an empty corridor, dimly lit by a nearby oil lamp. Faint voices drifted from somewhere further down the hallway. Distant, but getting closer .
She must move— now .
Reiya stumbled forward, dragging her feet through the narrow corridor. The dagger nestled in her skirt felt miles away, her bound hands useless.
Then, footsteps thundered behind her, getting closer.
“Stop her!”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Every time her lungs expanded, it burned.
Her muscles strained under the weight of her own body, but she forced herself up the stairs.
The deck opened beneath the night sky, the briny sea air cutting through her haze.
Beyond the gunwale, the ocean stretched, dark canvas of scattered stars sprawled above it.
Cold mist sprayed her face, wind lashing at her cheeks, shocking her senses.
She looked up. For one second, she was awake, fully awake.
And in that moment, there was freedom.
Shouts grew louder. Boots hammered against the planks. Reiya didn’t stop. She ran until the gunwale pressed against her stomach, legs wobbling on the ship’s edge, slick with moisture. Dark sea churned below, promising nothing but oblivion.
But anything was better than what lay behind her.
Reiya closed her eyes, citing a short prayer: ‘Goddess Luneth, guard my soul; Sea God Thalassazor, carry me safely to shore.’
She flung herself into the ocean.
The icy water was a fist to her chest, knocking the air from her lungs.
Her body seized, limbs locked in the sea’s frigid grip.
For a moment, everything stilled—cold, dark, silent.
Then, instinct surged. She kicked, fought, but the waves pulled harder.
The current coiled around her, dragging her under.
Legs flailed, useless against the undertow.
Her lungs burned, starving for air that wouldn’t come.
Only salt, only silence.
A voice—Kaelendrin’s—cut through the dark. ‘I wouldn’t hold you down.’
Her chest heaved, water rushing in.
Then, Alarik’s steady gaze. ‘You shouldn’t have to choose between duty and desire. ’
Her body convulsed, limbs growing heavier, the fight slipping from her grasp.
Had she misjudged them? Had their promises been another illusion, another snare in different hands?
If she hadn’t run?—
Another wave crashed over her, snatching the thought away.
It didn’t matter. The ocean swallowed her breath, her questions—everything.
Until only darkness remained.