The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 415: Returning III

SAGE

My mouth parted in shock.

For a heartbeat, the words Diana had just spoken didn’t register. They hovered in the air, unreal, absurd—like the last echo of a nightmare that refused to fade.

Then I laughed.

The sound tore out of me, loud, almost violent. It startled even me. The laughter scraped my throat as it spilled, sharp enough to shake loose the remnants of the gray void, the dust, the phantom thirst that still clung to my senses.

I could almost taste it—the dryness, the static, the echo of that strange in-between place. And I laughed harder, as though I could dislodge the dream entirely if I just kept going.

Diana beamed at me, misunderstanding everything.

"Right?" she said brightly, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. "I can’t wait to give those three fools death for what they did to you. Or have you done that already?"

Her words sliced straight through my chest.

I shook my head, still laughing, lifting a hand to wave her off. "Stop," I said, though the word tangled with the laughter and came out crooked. "Just... stop talking."

Diana laughed too, still clueless, but she quieted, watching me with a curious tilt of her head.

My laughter sputtered. Cracked. Collapsed.

And then I started crying.

The shift was abrupt. One second I was laughing too loudly, the next my chest caved inward, breath stuttering as tears flooded my vision.

They weren’t clear either. They were blood-red. Warm. Thick.

They slid down my cheeks in slow, viscous trails, dripping from my jaw, staining my collar, splashing onto my hands.

I turned my gaze to Laura instinctively, and the horror on her face mirrored itself in Peter’s wide eyes, in Diana’s sudden silence.

Shock. Fear. Then realization.

There was no wound. No visible injury. I was bleeding from just uninjured eyes.

Laura moved first.

She crossed the room in a heartbeat and dropped onto the couch beside me, squeezing into the small space left there, her arm coming around my shoulders without hesitation.

She pulled me against her side, holding me like she used years ago—when I still had panic attacks.

"What is it, Sage?" she murmured urgently. "What’s wrong?"

"I’m sorry," I whispered.

The words fell out of me on a broken loop. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..."

I tried to pull away, embarrassed, mortified at the blood staining her clothes, but Laura tightened her hold.

"Don’t," she said firmly. "I don’t care about clothes. Let it out."

So I did.

I cried until my chest hurt. Until my throat burned. Until the blood-red tears slowed and thinned, turning faintly translucent again. All the while, the words kept slipping out of me like a confession I couldn’t stop.

"I’m sorry."

When I finally lifted my head, the atmosphere in the room had shifted entirely.

Diana wasn’t laughing anymore. She looked scared now—and curious, too, like someone staring at the edge of a cliff.

Peter looked like his heart had crawled straight into his eyes.

Laura kept her arm around me. I immediately, with magic, got rid of the blood from our clothes.

Then, I drew a slow breath. "We’ve had it all wrong."

They exchanged glances.

"What do you mean?" Diana asked carefully.

My fingers tightened around Laura’s hand. "I’ve been taking revenge against the wrong people..."

Silence thickened.

Then I told them everything.

I told them about the pack. About the chaos that had erupted that day. About Claire, about the Queen, about the lies layered over lies. I told them about the plans I had shared with the Queen—the strategies, the manipulation, the belief that I was the one using her.

I told them about being half Ancient.

About El’s advice.

About the memories I had seen inside Claire’s mind. About my dreams and visions.

When I finished, the room felt hollow. They looked like ghosts of themselves—pale beyond pale, mouths parted, eyes unfocused with shock.

My hand tightened further around Laura’s.

"I came back to kill the Queen," I said quietly. "But... I need your advice."

No one spoke.

The silence felt like a verdict. For a terrifying moment, I wondered if they hated me now.

If they saw me as a monster. As a traitor.

Finally, Peter spoke.

"You’re working with the vampires?" he asked.

I nodded slowly.

The disappointment flashed across his face like a blade.

"Vampires?" he repeated, incredulous. "Sage... really?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but he lifted a hand sharply.

"Don’t," he said, getting to his feet. He began to pace, agitation radiating off him. "Do you even understand what vampires are? What kind of evil they represent?"

He dragged a hand through his hair, breath coming hard.

"You think I don’t get why you wanted revenge?" he continued, voice rough. "I do. I understand that pain. I understand that rage. But vampires? Sage—those creatures are never satisfied. They don’t stop. They don’t compromise. They devour."

He turned sharply, eyes blazing.

"So the vampires are already ravaging the pack," he said bitterly. "They would have, if the Ancients hadn’t shown up because of you. If Darius—your friend—hadn’t turned up. If he had given up on you..."

His voice cracked.

"Do you know how many people would have died?" he demanded. "How much blood would be on your hands?"

He shook his head in disbelief.

"We thought you’d play their game... the triplets I mean..." he went on, more quietly now. "Take the throne. Humiliate them. Kill them, if that’s what it took to heal you. But vampires? For what? To destroy the whole world?"

His shoulders slumped as he dropped back into the chair.

"You should have told us!" he gritted out a second later. "If you had, it might have tipped us off that the Queen was up to something. Or maybe you suspected... and still chose revenge."

His gaze lifted to me, hard. "You let your anger blind you, Sage..."

Then, he exhaled, seemingly exhausted.

"This isn’t helping matters," he muttered, more to himself.