Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 272 - 266: Through the bond

Damian turned, the hem of his coat brushing against stone, his shadow long and fractured across the floor as he strode toward the exit; the pressure around him could crack pillars if it had a voice.

The door opened before he touched it. The ether-lined hinges groaned, the place itself adjusting to the atmosphere of a man who was no longer trying to be human.

He stepped into the corridor of the Shadow base—cold, reinforced, silent—except for the three men waiting there like they’d been carved into the stone itself.

Max, General Paul Blake, and Halbrecht.

None of them spoke. Not at first.

They had heard everything. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

The walls here were layered in runes and suppression enchantments, but rage was louder than magic. And Damian’s voice—quiet, sharp, soaked in control—had torn through the barriers like a verdict written into the foundations.

Max was the first to shift, arms crossed over his chest, green eyes pinned on his brother with a gaze full of understanding. He didn’t know what to say; there was nothing he could do to ease the tension.

Paul stood to the left, spine straight, military coat pristine, expression carved from the same war-hardened stone as the base beneath them. Only his clenched jaw betrayed the violence simmering in his blood.

And Halbrecht—

Halbrecht’s gaze was colder than the rest. Calculating. Furious in a way that wasn’t loud but surgical. His fingers were curled tight behind his back, boots braced as if expecting orders that would shatter kingdoms.

Damian didn’t stop walking. He passed them without a word, the weight of what had been said still thick in the air, pressed against their skin like static.

He reached the turning hall. The lights above flickered once before the rage surged.

Bang.

The sound tore through the corridor like a gunshot, vibrating against stone and bone alike.

Damian’s right fist had slammed into the wall with such force that the stone cracked like glass under ice, spidering outward in jagged veins. Dust rained from the fractured corner, the ether-forged seal lines glowing briefly, overwhelmed by raw impact.

His knuckles were split wide open.

Blood smeared against the wall, stark and red against pale marble. It dripped once. Then again. Then slowly ran in a line toward the base of the floor like a war line drawn from fury, not flesh.

No one moved.

Even Max—who had grown up with Damian’s quiet rages, who had seen him cut down men twice his size with half a blade—stood frozen.

It wasn’t the blood. It wasn’t even the sound of stone cracking under imperial bone.

It was the silence that followed.

Because this... this was the first time Damian had broken something that wasn’t an enemy.

And Max realized, with the kind of clarity that settled deep in the gut like a cold stone, just how calm Damian had been ever since Gabriel moved into the palace.

Too calm.

Measured. Controlled. Soft, even—by Damian’s standards. He had been patient. Tolerant. Almost gentle.

And now it made sense.

He had been holding everything back.

The fury. The fear. The knowledge that somewhere in Gabriel’s past was a hook made of ether and memory and a dead prince’s desperation—

And he hadn’t known where to cut without drawing blood that might not be Gabriel’s at all.

Max exhaled, barely audible.

Damian had waited—waited—to be sure. To gather every thread, every lie, every sharp-edged piece of a puzzle designed to break the person he loved.

And now that he had all of it—

Now that it was no longer theory, but truth—

He wasn’t calm anymore.

"Fuck," Damian said, the word rough and too human as it tore from his throat.

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched, blood still dripping from his split knuckles.

He’d lost control of the bond, just for a moment, but it was enough.

Gabriel felt it.

The rage. The crack of bone against stone. The way his power had flared—wild and sharp, uncontained. That raw, blistering fury carved from grief and helplessness, broadcast through the invisible thread that tied them together like a nerve exposed to lightning.

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose with his bleeding hand, heedless of the sting as crimson smeared across his skin. The pain meant nothing. The consequence of his lapse—that was what mattered.

"He felt it," he said again, quieter this time. A breath left him, heavy and sharp at the edges, like it scraped something raw on the way out.

He sighed, the sound not weak, but worn.

Stripped bare by the realization that in trying to protect Gabriel—by holding everything inside, by planning, waiting, and bleeding in silence—he had failed in the one thing that mattered most.

He had hurt him.

—

Marin moved fast, already at the monitor. "Gabriel?"

No response.

The readings hadn’t spiked yet, but he didn’t need the screen to know the shift. It was in the air—thicker, edged with something colder than fear.

He felt how his blood was draining. If anything truly happened to the Imperial Consort, if Gabriel so much as fell out of rhythm—Damian would tear the palace apart. Brick by brick. Person by person.

Marin reached for Gabriel’s shoulder.

Gabriel caught his wrist instead.

"He is mad," Gabriel said, his voice low and strangely calm.

Marin stilled. "Damian?"

A faint nod. "He’s not pushing it through. I don’t think he meant to. But I felt it anyway."

Marin glanced at the screen. The bond signature had jumped, not enough to trigger emergency protocols, but enough to light every system in gold.

Focused heat. Contained pressure. Controlled—barely.

"What happened?" Marin asked.

Gabriel’s hand tightened slightly. "His hand. Knuckles. Something cracked. Stone, maybe."

"Was it directed at you?"

"No. He tried to shield it." Gabriel exhaled. "That’s why it came through."

Marin didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t need it.

He pulled free gently and retrieved another pouch.

Gabriel didn’t protest when it was pressed into his hand this time.

"You’re still behind on intake," Marin said. "The bond response burned through your reserves. Again."

Gabriel looked down at the pouch. "Second?"

"Third will follow if your pulse doesn’t drop."

"I thought you’d be more impressed," Gabriel muttered. "Not every patient can sync to their mate’s emotional trauma through six sealed doors."

"You’re glowing like a storm light and pretending it’s a personality trait," Marin said. "Forgive me if I’m distracted."

Gabriel took a sip. His jaw tightened at the taste but he didn’t complain.

"You’re not sending him a message through it, are you?" Marin asked after a moment.

Gabriel tilted his head, brow raised. "No. I’m going to call."