Page 26 of Mystic's Sunrise

Cold fingers wrapped around my ribs. This is it.

I sat up straighter, bracing myself.

Mystic’s jaw tensed. “You were his.”

I flinched before I could stop myself. Shame burned hot under my skin.

His hands curled into fists, his breathing slow and controlled like he was holding something back. Then, before I could say anything, he shook his head. “No. That’s not right. He claimed you. But you were never his.”

I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. He believes me.

My lips parted, wanting to say something—anything—but nothing came. He stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed, his gaze burning into mine.

“You don’t belong to him. Not anymore.” His voice was softer now, rough around the edges but steady. “You’re here. With us. With me.”

With him.

Relief bloomed in my chest, sharp, aching, too sudden. I clutched it like something precious and fragile, afraid it might vanish if I moved. But I didn’t have to.

Because when he reached out, his fingers brushing gently over my bandaged hand, I knew.

I truly wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

And Mystic wasn’t going anywhere.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SUNLIGHT SPILLED INquiet and warm, brushing overthe room like a soft touch. The weight I carried hadn’t vanished… but it felt lighter with him knowing, and still choosing to stay.

“If those men weren’t already dead, I’d kill them all over again,” Lucy said, her fingers brushing my cheek. “They had no right.”

I tried to smile, to reassure her it was okay, but it was news to me that the men were dead. I only remembered parts of that night.

“You need rest, and Mystic will have my hide if I don’t let you sleep,” Lucy said, standing. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The room felt quieter after Lucy left. Too quiet.

I was still amazed that, after everything, Lucy still called me a friend. After what Fang did to her because of me, I figured she’d run far and fast.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, my fingertips clutching the fabric as if that could keep the memories at bay. But they came anyway, creeping through the cracks in my mind like smoke—suffocating and inescapable.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them away. It didn’t work.

Drago’s gaze was cold as he loomed over me, fingers tapping against the glass of his whiskey. “You’re keeping things from me, aren’t you, Zeynep?” His voice was deceptively soft, but I knew better. I had learned to hear the sharp edges beneath it.

My stomach twisted into knots. “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I would never.”

He hummed, as if considering my words. As if he hadn’t already made up his mind.

I wasn’t the one who would suffer for his paranoia.

Lucy was.

I knew it the second Fang stepped into the room, gripping Lucy by the arm—his presence a looming shadow that made my blood run cold. My breath hitched, and I turned to Drago, panic clawing at my throat. “Please,” I gasped. “She didn’t do anything.”

His lips curled into something that might’ve passed as affection if I didn’t know what it really was. Control. “I know, Zeynep. That’s why this isn’t for her.”

Fang grabbed Lucy by the hair, yanking her forward. She stumbled, but she didn’t beg. Didn’t plead. She just looked at me, her eyes filled with something that shattered my soul—resignation. Like she had already accepted whatever was about to happen.