Chapter Nine – Lucian
CHAPTER NINE
LUCIAN
“How long has she been like this?” I ask as I scoop her fragile form into my arms. Her cheeks are sunken, and dark circles bruise the skin beneath her eyes. I can feel her ribs beneath my touch.
“She started leaving her food sometime last week,” Silas informs me.
My gaze snaps to him. “And you just left her?” I snap.
“Respectfully, she’s dead weight. We no longer need her, and we have more important, dangerous things going on. We don’t need her as a distraction,” he points out.
“So, you left her to die. Have you forgotten our code? Our laws?” I seethe as I march past him, down the hall to my room. Silas follows right behind me.
“None of us has touched her or harmed her. We gave her food. She refused. No laws were broken,” he defends.
I gently lay her on my bed, my fingers delicately brushing the hair from her face, then I launch myself at Silas. My hand wraps around his throat as I slam him so hard against the stone wall, and a loud crack splits the air.
“You may not have harmed her directly, but you stood back and watched her suffer. You watched as she faded away. It is not for you to decide who or what is an asset to us. It is not for you to decide who or what is a distraction,” I fume, pure rage flooding my veins as I bare my fangs.
“I merely thought it would make things easier,” he wheezes as my hand tightens around his neck.
I exhale a low growl and release him, turning my attention back to her. “Get me Talon,” I order.
“Lucian, we only did what we thought was best for you. For the coven.”
I don’t respond. Silas leaves without another word as I turn and look down at the fragile form on my bed. I go away with Hex and Viktor, hunting for answers, and this is what I come back to.
I trail my fingertips delicately down the side of her face. Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes.
“Why did you do this?” I ask.
Her dry lips part. “To be free,” she whispers.
I clench my jaw tight, her words hitting me in the gut like a harpoon. She would rather die than be held here. I can’t guarantee her freedom. I cannot let her go in death, nor in life.
“You will eat. I will not allow you to do this to yourself,” I fume, my anger building toward myself, toward my men, my coven, for allowing her to get this far.
“You can’t make me,” she argues, her voice dry and barely audible.
My anger eases a fraction at her stubbornness surfacing even now. “You eat, get stronger, and I will make you a deal,” I offer.
She blinks. “What deal?”
“Eat, and we will talk,” I assure her as my hand cups her cheek, unsure if she can see the desperation in my eyes for her to eat.
A knock at the door snaps my attention away. I withdraw my hand and abruptly stand.
“Enter!” I bark.
Talon walks in, his makeshift medical bag in hand. “You require my assistance?” he asks as he steps into my chambers. I don’t miss the way his body is taut, as if he’s waiting for me to attack, to inflict punishment.
“I do.” I nod. “Make her better,” I demand.
He looks from Evelynn to me. “I, I cannot.”
I move behind him in a blur, catching him off guard. “You can and you will,” I growl in his ear, the threat clear in my tone.
“I can stitch. I can cut. I can remove and bandage. This kind of medical assistance is beyond me. It’s beyond anything I have ever performed,” he says firmly.
“Then how do we make her better?” I seethe, stalking away to stop myself from ripping his head from his shoulders.
“Hex?” Talon suggests. “Maybe he knows of a ritual or elixir?”
I nod. “Get him,” I order.
Talon nods and makes his way to the door.
“Talon.”
He pauses, his hand on the handle, his body rigid.
“I’m calling court. I want you all in there waiting for me. I won’t be done until I am assured she is okay,” I order.
“Yes, Prez,” he nods before leaving.
Hex enters a few minutes later, a brown glass bottle in one hand. “This should help,” he says, kneeling beside her. He gently lifts her head. “Drink this,” he orders.
She parts her lips slightly to drink the liquid from the bottle. I watch as she desperately gulps down whatever he’s giving her until the bottle is completely empty. She hums in approval.
“What was that?” I press.
“Isotonic,” he shrugs. “Tropical flavour.”
“Then why did you put it in a brown glass bottle?” I ask, confused.
He shrugs. “Just seems a bit more spiritual that way. Not really much of an elixir if it’s in a brightly labelled bottle.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So now what?” I ask.
“I’ve got Diesel to bring her some soup,” he adds.
“Soup?”
“Yes. She’s not like us, remember?” he says, arching a brow.
I nod, having momentarily forgotten that if we were left starving, we would become ravenous, out of control.
The thirst, the hunger for blood, drives our entire being.
It’s an ecstasy like no other when that crimson liquid passes your lips.
We become the monsters we are designed to be.
But her… She slowly wilts like a dying, delicate flower.
Diesel enters, carrying a tray of soup and bread rolls. She tries to sit up, but her body is too weak. I am instantly at her side, helping her sit while taking the tray from Diesel with my other hand and gently placing it beside her.
Once she’s settled, I take the spoon and hold it out to her. Her dark, sunken eyes bore into mine as she slowly parted her lips. Delicately, I glide the spoon into her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed as she tastes the soup, a slight moan escaping her as she swallows.
I place the spoon down and tear off a small piece of the bread roll, dipping it slightly into the soup. Her eyes follow the movement before flicking back to mine as she parts her lips, allowing me to feed her the soup-soaked bread. Her bottom lip lightly grazes my fingertip.
Hex clears his throat behind me, but I don’t look away from Evelynn. “What?” I ask.
“Shall I wait for you in court with the others?” he asks.
I want to say yes. I want to stay, feed her, care for the fragile mortal before me, but I know I cannot. I swipe a small droplet of soup from the corner of her mouth.
“I have to go. You promise to eat?” I ask, though my tone makes it more of an order.
She swallows and gives a small nod. “Yes,” she rasps.
Reluctantly, I stand, placing the tray on her lap. “I won’t be long.”
I turn to face Hex, his disapproving gaze locked on me. “Not fucking now,” I hiss.
He leads the way. Diesel stands at the door waiting, his eyes constantly flickering to Evelynn.
“I suggest you keep your eyes to yourself, or you’ll find them clawed from their sockets,” I growl.
“Sorry, Prez,” he mutters, turning on his heel.
As Hex and I follow the corridor toward Court, he speaks. “It is not my place to say—”
“Then fucking don’t,” I snap, cutting him off.
He plants a forceful hand on my chest, halting me. I snarl.
“She cannot be part of our world. She cannot be who you want her to be. Fuck her, do with her as you please, but that is all. You risk everything falling for a mortal. History, if nothing else, has taught us that,” he bites out.
I wrap my hand around his wrist, wrenching it away from my chest. “Whatever you think you see, you don’t, and you’re right. It is not your place to say. If I want your opinion, I’ll fucking ask for it,” I seethe.
Entering court, all my brothers’ eyes land on me, watching, waiting for me to brief them. I hold out my hand.
“Cigarette,” I demand.
A packet is slid across to me. I take one, light it, and drag in the smoke, taking my time before I face the barrel of questions I know are coming.
“Start,” I sigh.
“We are all concerned with how you are treating the girl,” Silas states, his voice firm but wary.
I stare him down. “And how would that be?” I counter.
He doesn’t back down, not so much as a blink. He’s strong. One of the only ones not afraid to face me. It’s one of the reasons he’s my VP.
“You’re too invested,” he starts.
I shift, already feeling my anger rise. “Invested how, when I’ve not been here in days? I come back to find her starving. Near fucking death.”
“She wasn’t near death. Mortals can survive weeks without food,” Talon adds.
He has my attention now. “Really? And after weeks with no food, are they okay?” I ask, arching a brow. I know the answer. I don’t need medical knowledge to know that.
“No. Not always,” he answers through gritted teeth.
“Our laws, our rule… We swore no women and children,” I remind them, repeating our own law back at them. I take another pull of the cigarette.
“Unless they prove to be a threat to our club. Our coven,” Viktor points out.
Grunts of agreement echo around the table. I look at every one of them.
“And this is what you all believe? That she—that weak human who is currently eating soup in my bed—is a threat to us? To our coven?” I fume, leaning forward and stamping my index finger down firmly on the table.
“More to the point, you think I would selfishly put you all in danger? I would sacrifice all of you for her?”
My anger rises to impossible heights. I fight the urge to bare my fangs, to challenge every one of them for even thinking it. The sheer disrespect.
To my surprise, Clutch speaks up. “For those of us who’ve been in love with a woman, and remember what that feels like…” He pauses. “Yeah, you most certainly would, Prez.”
I rise to my feet. “I swore, I vowed, that nothing would ever harm the coven, our club. For over six hundred years, I have fought, I have fucking killed, destroyed anything that dared to come close. You’re all worried about a feeble mortal when the real threat is whoever made those markings.
They are the threat. They could end all of us.
” My attention snaps to Hex. “Tell them,” I roar.
“Tell them exactly what we are up against.”
Hex’s jaw is set tight. He reaches behind him, pulls out his leather-clad journal, and slaps it down on the table. He flips it open and taps on an image.
“Hunters,” he says. “Not normal hunters. Not human. They are undead.”
“Pfft. We are the undead,” Clutch snorts arrogantly.
“Not like these. We can be destroyed. They cannot,” Hex says.
“Come on. Can we really believe that? No offence, brother, but you talk to your fucking bike,” Echo argues.
“He’s not wrong,” Viktor answers before Hex can. “That’s why we’ve been looking for answers. Other plausible answers.”
“We met with other covens,” I say. “Or what’s left of them.” I sigh. “They warned us not to fight, not to hunt these fucking things, but to run. To hide.” I meet each of my brothers’ eyes.
“We don’t run,” Marko grinds out.
“I’ve heard of them before,” Shade interrupts, his gaze fixed on a dent in the table.
“Anathema,” a deep voice states.
I look to the door to see Cain. A nomad. I feel the others shift in fear and uncertainty. His large, broad frame fills the doorway, his dark red eyes glimmering with ancient horrors.
He is tied to no club, no coven. His presence can only mean one thing.
Fucking Armageddon.