Chapter 32Lucien
Chapter
Thirty-Two
LUCIEN
T he manor is unusually quiet. Too quiet. It’s as if the walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting for whatever comes next. I lean back in the plush chair, watching Adrian with narrowed eyes as he stands near the window, his back to me. The tension between us is thick, an unspoken rivalry simmering just beneath the surface.
I’ve always been a patient man, but tonight, patience feels like a luxury I can’t afford.
Adrian leans against the window, his gaze distant, yet calculating. I know that look; it’s the same look he’s had for days—like he’s been piecing together some puzzle we’re not aware of. It’s been gnawing at me since the Hunt began, and I finally decide I’ve had enough .
“You know something,” I say, crossing my arms and narrowing my gaze. “Don’t you?”
Adrian doesn’t turn to look at me, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
I step closer, my patience fraying. “About Selene. About what she is. About why the Order wants her so badly.”
He sighs and finally turns to face me, his expression carefully neutral. “I’ve been piecing it together. Trying to understand.”
“You’re holding back,” I accuse, my voice growing sharper. “You’ve known more than you’re letting on. You always have.”
Adrian’s posture stiffens, and for a moment, he doesn’t turn around. When he finally does, his expression is calm, almost bored, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. “And you’ve been trying to use Ronan against me,” he counters smoothly. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
I flinch, caught off guard by his accusation. He sees it—he’s always been perceptive like that—but I don’t deny it. What’s the point? It’s not like we’re not all playing our own angles in this. Still, I keep my gaze steady, unyielding. "And if I was? It's a competition, after all, isn't it? Or have you forgotten?"
Adrian’s lips twitch into a sardonic smile, but there’s no real humor in it. “Of course, it’s a competition. I don’t care what you do with Ronan, Lucien. ”
Adrian doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something he’s hiding. "Lucien, you need to understand that this isn’t about playing some game. This is bigger than any of us. The Order... they’re not what you think they are."
I scoff, crossing my arms. "What are they, then? Enlighten me."
For a moment, there’s only silence. Adrian sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of whatever he’s been hiding finally presses down on him. He walks toward the fireplace, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. “Fine,” he says, his tone laced with a mixture of exasperation and resignation. “But this is just based on my own research, passed down from my family lore. No guarantees, Lucien.”
“Spare me the preamble,” I snap. “Just tell me.”
Adrian steps closer, lowering his voice as if the shadows themselves are listening. "The Order weren’t always like this. They were once warlocks, just like us. Mortal men, with a hunger for power. And they found it... in witches."
I frown, unease settling in. "Witches?"
Adrian nods, the flames reflected in his eyes. “There was a time when witches were... plentiful. They had magic unlike anything we’ve ever seen, drawn from the very essence of nature itself. The warlocks... well, our ancestors discovered that witches’ souls held immense power. So they began to hunt them, like we hunt now. ”
His words sink in, and my mind races. “You’re saying the Order... they were cursed by the witches they hunted?”
Adrian nods, his gaze sharpening. "Witches are creatures of nature, connected to the very fabric of life and magic. Their souls are infinitely powerful. A single witch’s soul could give a warlock more power than he could ever need in a lifetime. But it comes at a price."
I stay silent, letting him continue.
"That power drives a warlock mad with hunger," Adrian explains, his voice taking on a darker tone. "Once you consume a witch’s soul, you crave more. Nothing else will ever satisfy you. That’s why witches were hunted to extinction. Our ancestors were mortal men, Lucien, who discovered the secret to consuming witches’ souls and ascended into something more."
The disgust rises in my throat, but I suppress it. "Mortal men? Our ancestors? That’s... revolting."
Adrian gives me a wry smile. "The truth usually is."
He continues, pacing now. "At first, warlocks thought the only way to release a witch’s soul was through death, so they burned them at the stake. It was barbaric, but they believed it was the only way to tap into their power. But the witches... they fought back. They cursed those who burned them, warping their souls and turning them into something monstrous. Those warlocks became what we now know as the Order. "
I grimace. "The burnings... that’s what caused the curse, isn’t it?"
Adrian nods, his jaw tight. "Yes. The witches, in their final moments, cursed those warlocks. The more they burned, the stronger the curses became, until the warlocks could no longer fend them off. The Order... they are what remains of those cursed warlocks. Immortal, yes, but no longer themselves. The power they sought has trapped them in an eternal prison. They exist now only to control others, forever tormented by the very power they coveted."
I shudder at the thought. "And the Hunt? Is that how it started?"
"Not exactly." Adrian’s gaze darkens. "The Hunt came later. You see, after the Order was cursed, realized that burning witches wasn’t the only way to extract power. They discovered something else. A soul is at its most vulnerable during pleasure, not death. In that moment, it can be consumed, and the witch survives—but her power is stolen, turning her into a mere human.”
I feel my stomach churn. "That’s..."
"Monstrous?" Adrian finishes, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Yes. But effective. It allowed warlocks to continue feeding without killing, without burning. They perfected the process over time, and now, it’s what we do every year during the Hunt."
"So the Hunt is just a way for the Order to control the warlocks’ power?" I ask, feeling a deep unease settle over me.
"Yes. The Order can’t afford for warlocks to become too powerful, too uncontrollable. They stole the souls of the last of the witches. The Hunt gives the Order a way to manage us, to allow us to feed without upsetting the balance. We are slaves to it, in a way. The Order has ways of controlling us that even warlocks as powerful as us cannot fight against.
“The Hunt has evolved over time, of course. With witches hunted into extinction, warlocks found that they could claim humans as well. But it was never the same as claiming a witch’s soul. Humans are... fleeting, shallow in comparison. Their souls provide only temporary sustenance.”
Adrian’s eyes narrow, the weight of his own family’s history pressing down on him. "But this year... this year is different."
The pieces start to fall into place, but there’s still one lingering question. “Do you think Selene could be a witch?”
Adrian hesitates, considering my words carefully. “I don’t know. As far as I was aware, all witch bloodlines were ended long ago. She could be the last witch, Lucien. The Order must know this. That’s why they’re desperate to claim her. If any warlock claims her, they will greatly upset the balance."
I let that sink in, the implications weighing heavily. " And that’s why we all lose control around her. Because we want her soul, whether we realize it or not."
Adrian nods, his expression grave. "Exactly. Her power... it calls to us, like a drug. It’s why we must be careful, Lucien. If any of us claims her soul, it will grant us immense power, yes, but ultimately destroy us."
I glance at Adrian, trying to read him. "And what’s your angle in all of this? What do you really want?"
Adrian smirks, though there’s no humor in it. "I want to survive, Lucien. I’ve seen what happens to warlocks who lose control. The lesser warlocks who participate in the Hunt every year? They descend into madness because they don’t have strong enough bloodlines to handle the power. They’re like wild beasts, driven by their hunger. They’re easier to control that way."
"That’s convenient for the Order, isn’t it?" I say with a bitter laugh. "Keeps the lesser warlocks in line, ensures the power stays with those like us. That’s why they don’t let us feed year-round. Except for Damien, of course. He’s allowed to do whatever he pleases because he’s the Order’s pet."
Adrian’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t disagree. “Damien’s position comes with its own... burdens. He’s not as free as you think. He answers to the Order constantly. Personally, I’d rather have my freedom and feed once a year than be leashed like that. ”
I snort, leaning against the mantle. “And yet, even you lost control around Selene, didn’t you?”
Adrian’s gaze sharpens, but a wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “True enough. It seems we all did.”
Just as the weight of our conversation settles, a pulse of energy ripples through the room. I can feel it in my bones, a surge of power coming from the forest. Adrian stiffens, his gaze snapping toward the window.
"Did you feel that?" I ask, my voice tight with tension.
Adrian nods, his expression dark. "Something’s happening. We need to move. Now."
Without another word, we both rush toward the door, the pull of Selene’s power drawing us toward the forest.