Chapter 53 - Lucian
The snow muffles sound. Boots crunch in silence as we move through the forest, branches heavy with frost bowing low.
Every breath fogs the air, brief ghosts vanishing into the dark.
The rebels march in a staggered line, weapons slung, eyes sharp.
But my thoughts are elsewhere, locked inside the frame of a video I can’t escape.
Cassian’s face. Cassian’s voice. The edits, the scripts, the scars. The second packet plays behind my eyes even as I lead them forward. I don’t hear the forest. I hear him. You left me. You buried me. Eight years alone in the dark.
I shake the words off like snow, but they cling.
***
We break into a clearing by dawn. The ruins of a Crown outpost smolder here, walls gutted by fire.
Smoke rises in thin streams, carrying the smell of plastic and ash.
Elira prowls the perimeter, breaching axe in hand, searching for stragglers.
Rourke sifts through the wreckage, muttering curses at every empty crate.
“Too clean,” he spits. “They left nothing worth taking.”
“Not nothing,” I say.
My gaze falls on a charred filing cabinet half-buried in debris. The rebels drag it free, coughing at the smoke. The metal is scorched, but the bottom drawer sticks. I wrench it open with a knife. Inside, folders sealed in plastic, edges blackened but legible.
Rourke whistles low. “Looks like Christmas.”
I flip the first file open. Logistics manifests. Transfer orders. Names. My chest tightens. I skim until my eyes lock on one line stamped in red: SUBJECT: C.D., Transferred to Facility Cadmus.
The paper trembles in my grip. C.D. Cassian Dane.
“Cadmus isn’t just a name,” I mutter. “It’s a place. A project.”
Elira peers over my shoulder, scarred brow furrowed. “What is it?”
I don’t answer. Not yet.
Back at the safehouse, I spread the documents across the table.
The others crowd around: Elira, Rourke, and Vera.
The air crackles with the weight of what we shouldn’t have.
The words blur, but the meaning is clear: transfers, experiments, medical authorizations.
Cadmus printed again and again like a brand.
Vera’s hand hovers over one sheet. “Facility Cadmus. Not just a man. A program.”
My throat is dry. “A mask.”
The room stills. They understand, at least in part. But only I see the name stamped in code. Only I know what those initials mean. C.D. My brother.
Elira slams her fist against the table. “Then we burn it. We tear Cadmus down.”
“Not yet,” I say, sharper than I intend. “We can’t march blind. We need proof. Evidence.”
Rourke sneers. “Proof won’t keep us alive.”
“Proof will keep the world from believing their lies.” My voice rises, harsh. “They turned my brother into their mouthpiece. They’ll do the same to anyone they can. If we don’t show it, if we don’t drag the truth into daylight, then we’re just shadows fighting shadows.”
Vera lays a steadying hand on my arm. Her eyes hold mine. “We’ll find it. And we’ll find him.”
***
The night stretches long. I can’t sleep. The files lie open across the table, red stamps bleeding under the lamp. I trace each line, each code, until my eyes blur. Every word is a chain. Every page a wound.
When I close my eyes, the video plays. Cassian strapped to a chair, whispering words that I know all too well. Remember the brook. The loop claws through me until my chest feels hollow.
I whisper back into the dark. “I remember.”
The words don’t free me. But they keep me from shattering.
I wake with a gasp, my scream trapped in my throat, sweat soaking my shirt.
The tent is dark, the air heavy with the scent of canvas and earth.
My heart pounds, Cassian’s voice still echoing, his face burned into my mind.
I’m shaking, my hands clenched into fists, and I hate it, this weakness, this vulnerability that claws at me.
Then I feel her, Vera, beside me, her hand on my arm, steady, warm, cutting through the cold.
“Lucian,” she whispers, her voice soft but firm. She’s sitting up now, her hair loose, falling over her shoulders, catching the faint moonlight filtering through the tent’s seams. Her eyes are on me, piercing, seeing too much. “You’re here. It’s just a dream.”
I want to shove her away, to bury the shame of being seen like this, but her touch is an anchor, and I’m drowning without it.
“It’s not just a dream,” I growl, my voice rough, raw with the anger that’s always there, simmering beneath my skin.
She doesn’t flinch, just moves closer, her hand sliding up to my face, her thumb brushing my jaw. The gentleness is a shock, a crack in my armor, and I hate how much I need it, how much I need her.
“Then let me make it quiet,” she says, her voice low, a challenge hidden in the comfort.
Before I can respond, she leans in, her lips brushing mine, soft at first, almost tender.
But there’s an edge to it, a spark that ignites the fire in my blood.
My cock stirs, the beast waking, and I grab her shoulders, my grip hard, possessive.
I want to take control, to bury the nightmare in her body, to make her mine until the shadows fade.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue claiming hers, rough and demanding, but she pushes back, her teeth nipping my lip, drawing a sting that makes me growl.
“Vera,” I snarl, my hands tightening, ready to flip her onto her back, to fuck her until she’s screaming my name.
But she’s faster, stronger than I expect, shoving me back against the bedroll, her hands on my chest, pinning me down. The move catches me off guard, my breath hitching, and I try to sit up, to take back control, my cock already hard, aching to be inside her.
“Stay,” she says, her voice sharp, and I freeze, my eyes narrowing as she pulls her knife from its sheath at her hip.
The blade glints in the moonlight, cold and deadly, and she holds it to my throat, not pressing, just hovering, a warning that sends a thrill through me.
“Don’t move,” she says, her eyes locked on mine, fierce, defiant, and I’m torn between rage and arousal, my cock throbbing painfully against my pants.
“Vera,” I growl, my voice a warning, but she doesn’t listen.
She leans down, her lips finding my neck, kissing, sucking, her teeth grazing my pulse.
I groan, my hands clenching at my sides, fighting the urge to grab her, to flip her, and fuck her senseless.
She moves lower, unbuttoning my shirt, her lips trailing down my chest, her tongue flicking over my skin.
She reaches my waistband, her fingers deft as she unbuckles my belt, freeing my cock.
It’s thick, heavy, the head slick with precum, and she doesn’t hesitate, her lips brushing the tip, teasing, torturing.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my hands fisting in the bedroll, and she takes me into her mouth, her tongue swirling, sucking passionately.
The heat of her mouth is overwhelming, wet and tight, and I thrust, shallow at first, testing her.
She takes it, her hands gripping my thighs, nails digging into my skin, and I fuck her mouth, harder, deeper, my cock hitting the back of her throat.
She gags, but doesn’t pull away, her eyes watering, locked on mine, daring me to lose myself.
I’m close, so fucking close, my cock throbbing, ready to spill, but she pulls back, her hand squeezing the base, holding my orgasm back.
I snarl, my hips bucking, but before I can grab her, she moves, swift and sure, straddling my face, her pants gone, her cunt glistening above me.
The scent of her, musky, sweet, hits me like a drug, and I groan, my hands grabbing her hips, pulling her down.
My tongue finds her clit, licking, sucking, and she moans, loud and reckless, her hips rocking, riding my face.
We’re locked together now, her mouth back on my cock, sucking with a ferocity that makes my vision blur.
It’s raw and primal, her cunt grinding against my tongue, my cock buried in her throat.
The tension is electric, the heat unbearable, and I feel her getting close, her moans vibrating against me.
My tongue works her clit, relentless, and she’s trembling, her nails digging into my thighs.
I feel the cold bite of her knife again, this time against my leg, and she slashes, two light cuts, just enough to draw blood. The pain is sharp, perfect, and I growl, the sensation pushing me to the edge as she comes, her cunt pulsing against my mouth, her scream muffled around my cock.
But she doesn’t stop, and I can’t take it anymore.
The beast roars, and I surge up, seizing her knife by the blade, not caring as it cuts into my palm, blood dripping.
I rip her shirt off, tearing it into strips, and use it to bind her hands behind her back, the fabric tight, unyielding.
She struggles, her eyes blazing with defiance, but I’m stronger, and I flip her onto the bedroll, grabbing her discarded pants to bind her ankles.
She’s trapped now, her body exposed, her breasts heaving, her cunt still wet, glistening in the moonlight.
“You’re mine,” I growl, my voice thick with anger and need, and I take the knife, dragging it lightly down her arm, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
She gasps, her body arching, and I lean down, licking the blood, tasting iron and her.
“Even your blood is mine,” I say, and her eyes darken, a mix of fear and desire that makes my cock ache.
I don’t wait, don’t ask, just thrust into her, my cock filling her tight, wet cunt.
She cries out, her bound hands straining, her legs trembling against the restraints.
I go on to fuck her senseless, each thrust hard and deep, the bedroll shifting beneath us, the tent filled with the sounds of our bodies, slapping skin, her moans, my growls.
Her cunt grips me, milking me, and I’m relentless, my hands bruising her hips, the knife still in my hand, a constant threat.
She’s shaking, her body yielding even as her eyes burn with defiance, and I feel the power, the control, surging through me.
I’m close, so fucking close, my cock throbbing inside her, and she senses it, her voice cutting through the haze.
“In my mouth,” she gasps, her voice raw, desperate, and I pull out, my cock slick with her.
I cut the bindings on her hands, just enough to free them, and she scrambles to her knees, her lips closing around me.
I thrust, fucking her mouth again, and she takes it, her tongue working, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach.
I come, hard, my cum spilling down her throat, and she drinks every drop, her eyes locked on mine, fierce and unbroken.
I collapse beside her, my body spent, my hand bleeding, the knife discarded.
For a moment, I pull her close, my lips brushing her forehead, soft, almost tender, and she doesn’t pull away.
Her breath is hot against my chest, her body trembling, and I feel it, the loyalty, the need, beneath the anger.
“You’re mine,” I murmur, and she doesn’t argue, just presses closer, her heart pounding against mine.