Chapter 68 No Tears Left to Cry
NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY
LUELLA
Luella dreamt of Bastian often, unsure if it was real or a fevered hallucination.
When Caliban appeared, he no longer had to use his shadows to force her to drink or eat. She reached for the cup as soon as she heard his footsteps on the stone.
Like a well-trained pet.
Bastian’s presence offered brief comfort, but it always seemed to turn sour.
His touches were never sweet for long. Even when he left blots of purpling bruises on the flesh of her upper arms, stark under the blue glimmer in the cell, she still pressed her cheek into his chest. She turned her arm beneath the light, questioning how a dream could leave imprints on her body, but she was too tired to dwell on it.
Az came as well, gentle at first, until he wasn’t. And her mind began to struggle to discern fact from fever-induced vision.
"I am so proud of you, Luella, for not fighting anymore. You drank so beautifully. You ate so well. Look at you. You’re learning. Do you think, in time, you could give in?"
Luella shifted on the ground. She lay cradled in Graves’s arms. This was her first hallucination of him, and she relished the feel of his arms around her. He had neither his wings nor his amulet. She brushed the observation away.
"I don’t want to talk about this," she managed softly, afraid to anger him.
Graves’s hand slid down her spine to her hip. "We will not, then, but you can’t force it away forever. You will have to choose eventually."
"I know," she whispered against his chest.
He held her until she fell back asleep.
Her bond sickness pressed into her, growing worse. Even Caliban grew to be concerned. He gripped the bars, staring down at her while his shadows curled around his hands.
"You need a healer," Caliban said, as though her illness were her fault.
Luella coughed. "What do you expect when you keep me here in such vile conditions?"
"I expect it to be a good incentive. All you have to do is give in, Luella, and this will go away."
The words were so much like what Az, Bastian, and Graves had said to her, she panicked and froze.
Caliban smiled faintly, as if he sensed her fear. "Sleep well, Luella. I’ll have the healers come to you soon—after."
After what? Luella wanted to ask, but she was so tired she fell back into dreamful bursts and illusory touches.
She woke up to a body on top of her. She couldn’t move her hands. They were trapped above her—her right wrist was being held carefully in an ice-like grip.
Stubble scratched her neck as Graves whispered, "Luella, you smell so sweet." His hand traveled down her stomach, gripping her waist.
She sighed. It was neither a pleased sound nor a protest; it merely was. As if she could no longer fight him off.
"The sound of your sighs makes me weak. Just let me touch you. Don’t move. Lay there. I can make you feel so good, I swear it to you—and when you awaken, please, I beg you"—Graves’s face moved until it was right before hers, his hands still on her, holding her still—"give in."
"I’m tired, Graves," Luella said softly between them. "I do not even know if I have what it takes to give in. It is so much easier to just lie here." A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Graves pressed his lips to hers. "I’ve never asked for much from you—for anything, truly. And yet you still won’t do this one thing for me? How could you be so selfish?"
And just like that, he was callous.
"Don’t—" she sobbed, wishing he’d return to his praising, soft tone.
Graves gripped her jaw and forced her head away from where she’d tucked it into his chest. "Don’t fucking hide from me, Luella. Face me—face this. Give in."
There was a whisper-soft touch between her thighs over her shift. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting it.
"What will it take? If I touch you here, will you grow sweet for me, will you be pliant?"
She hadn’t lied to him: she was so tired.
So desperate for any bit of affection she could find.
Physical touch was something that had been held away from her for her entire life.
She hadn’t even known she was starved for it until she met them, until Az had awoken her in the dungeons of Serpentis with a tickle against her nose.
From that point on, he always held her hands through the bars.
She had grown to love touch, being touched.
Fingers locked with hers, kisses on her brow, her lips.
Without it, Luella was so cold. She was unsure if that was the bond sickness or herself.
Graves’s hands were too firm, but she could forgive his ire if he only kept touching her.
Her nipples rubbed against her shift, and his chest pressed down against hers.
It was reminiscent of their few instances of intimacy—but he’d always shoved her away before he could become too rough.
Maybe this was real. Maybe this was truly Graves, and he was tired like she was, unable to temper the weight of his desire any longer.
Luella stared up at him. "You’re real, aren’t you?"
His forehead fell to hers. "Of course, I’m real." Fingers grazed her thigh as her shift was moved higher. It was cold as his fingers brushed upward, skimming the spot where her thighs met her hips.
She was bare beneath the shift, no undergarments. There was no barrier when his fingers finally traced over her core.
"You’re not wet. Do you need to be kissed more?"
He kissed her fiercely, fingers tracing against her. She flinched from the coldness of his touch.
Before long, her traitorous body grew soft. She melted and knew the precise moment her body answered him, for he groaned deeply.
"Look at that. You obey me so well. You’re so warm," Graves said against her mouth.
He parted her, seeking that spot that made her gasp and clench around nothing as he brushed over it softly.
It was just a dream. This wasn’t real. She could enjoy it.
"Just like that," he praised. "Just feel it."
The words were so much like him. Everything was. Save the absence of his scent, the unease in her body, as if she wished to reject him, and the coldness of his hands.
The sickness inside her welled like a fearsome ocean wave, surging over her until she was left gasping. Pleasure and nausea tangled until she couldn’t tell one from the other.
Caught between two intense feelings, she didn’t know which way to let herself fall.
"I-I think I need to stop. Graves, I don’t feel well." She tried to close her legs.
His knee lodged between her thighs, forcing them open.
When she blinked her eyes open, she saw shadows quickly retreating from his irises. Her warring body trembled beneath him.
Graves’s hand surged up, cupping her throat beneath the collar. "I told you to feel it. Stop thinking so hard. Let me touch you. Let me help you."
She turned her head to cough violently. His fingers tightened around her throat.
And she fell wholeheartedly away from pleasure. Her climax fizzled out—she was left unsatisfied, and so glad of it.
Beneath him, Luella could only sob brokenly. "I want to go home."
Graves leaned down and took her lower lip between his teeth, biting so hard that blood welled. He pulled away, and her lip came free with a soft pop.
"You have no home but this. Give in."
He was right. She had no place to call home. But anywhere would be better than this.
His lips teased the point of her ear, his tongue tracing the shape of it and dipping inside. Even his breath was cold. His stubble scratched the side of her face, and she wanted so badly for this to be real and not a dream—a consequence of her fever.
Luella turned her face away as Graves continued to kiss over her ear, until he moved back to her lips, claiming them with rapacious intent.
His hand stilled between her legs, fingers settling over her upper thigh, as if he was awaiting her to melt for him once more.
But she could never melt again. She felt frozen, encased in ice.
Her eyes fell shut.
The hand on her throat tightened, cutting off her air.
Would it be so bad to let him steal her breath and take her life this way? It was only a dream, after all. She couldn’t be hurt in a dream.
Her mind softened to the idea, but her body struggled for air. She seized, mouth opened in a silent plea for breath. She felt Graves’s lips against her own, but she couldn’t even draw in the air that he teased against her lips, because the hand around her throat kept her from doing so.
Slowly, everything faded…
Any moment now, she’d wake up.
It was a dream.
Graves was choking her.
He wanted to kill her in her dreams.
She wanted to let him.
Her hands went slack where she gripped his cold shirt.
Footsteps pierced the air, jolting her back into awareness.
"I must say, you’ve disproven my original assumptions of you," said Caliban.
She didn’t want him in her dreams.
"Open your eyes," Graves said against her mouth.
Luella opened her eyes, then turned her head to find Caliban gripping the bars, watching Graves force her into the ground, his hand still beneath her shift, the other cupping her throat.
"You’ve been stronger than I thought, even weak from sickness.
I never planned on you growing sick, but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?
You’ve not performed the Rite of Vincire yet.
Your body is fighting the distance between you and your Vincire.
So long as you don’t die, I have no problem with this—I couldn’t have planned it better myself.
Weak and ripe with fever, desperate for touch. "
Shadows curled around the bars and swooped to the floor. Luella tried to shift away, but Graves didn’t let her.
It all felt too real.
"What are you talking about?" Even the coughing fit that broke up her words felt real.
"You mean to tell me you still have not figured it out?" Caliban laughed lowly. "This will be so enjoyable."
Something cold fell on her cheek.
She turned her head back to Graves and gave a choked scream when she saw his face. It was melting off.
Graves’s flesh oozed, black tendrils dripping onto her skin where she was trapped beneath him.
His hair fizzled away, flesh melting, falling onto her in thick puddles. It was so cold. Beneath his flesh, he had no bones, no blood. He was made entirely of—shadows.
She sobbed and sobbed. "Graves, no, no. Don’t—"
When he was gone and the frigid mass that once held his shape coated her shaking body, it twined together, drifting over her like a serpent as it slithered to the awaiting shadows on the ground.
They merged.
And Caliban’s dark sounds of amusement grew louder.
"My shadows can open doorways to other places, act as spy, kill"—his smile grew—"offer pleasure. And they can even take another’s form."
Luella covered her face with her hands and cried. "It’s just a d-dream. I’ll wake up. This isn’t real."
But it felt so real.
"You thought this was a dream? Foolish heirus." Caliban’s voice grew hard, deadly quiet. "I kept waiting for you to break, but you held on. Even thinking it was a dream, your resolve was so great. If being begged by your lovers doesn’t break you, then what will? Because I will find it eventually."
Horror was overcoming her sickness. Her sobs were so violent, she gagged. It was real—this was real. She was slowly understanding. None of it had been a dream or hallucination wrought from fever. It had been real. A trick.
She uncovered her face, fingers of her ruined hand curled toward her palm. "Why?" she asked Caliban. "Why trick me?"
Was he even real? Or was this a trick, too? What if everything had been fake?
Vale, Graves, Tharen, Az, Bastian—what if they all were shadows?
Was she going crazy?
"That is how I break you. I told you there were steps.
I leave you alone, let you grow desperate, then you seek any touch you can find.
Whether it is good or bad, gentle or rough.
When someone is alone for so long, they begin to crave any sort of company they can find.
" Caliban’s expression bordered on wistful.
"It is a weakness, but for me, your weakness can be used to my benefit.
" He held her eyes, his dark gaze raking over her; her wings were crushed beneath her, but she barely felt the pain anymore. "There is no being rescued."
The same words Az had said to her. It already felt so distant. But if she had any reservations, those words shattered them. Az, Bastian, Graves—they had been a trick, sent by Caliban to soften her up and force her to give in.
Luella wondered why the shadows never took the form of Tharen or Vale. Was Caliban afraid to conjure a likeness of his half-brother? Or had he simply not had the chance to?
"I won’t break for you," she uttered, eyes going out of focus. His form became a dark blot behind the slats of the bars.
"You will." Caliban turned and left, taking his shadows with him.
In the quiet, she felt her tears dry and stick to her cheeks and temples. She had no tears left to cry.
Luella felt so undone, so tired, as she lay there on the floor, skin pebbled with chill from the memory of the shadows. The stone was hard beneath her back and wings. Not moving, she closed her eyes to chase sleep, but dreamed only of melting flesh and hollowed pits where deep blue eyes once were.