Lucille
Chapter
Forty-Four
Tingles skimmed across my cheeks as I opened my eyes. Alexei lounged beside me on the bed, but Ronen was there, kneeling in front of me on the wooden floor.
“Well, are we interrogating Sam, beautiful?” Alexei asked, impatience lacing his words, oblivious to the hole in my chest.
“Lucille?” Ronen breathed. He waited for me to confirm the source of his growing dread. He thought he understood my tears.
But he’d never guess the truth, why my legs rested numb against the bedframe, ignoring every signal to stand.
His fingers squeezed my thigh in question. I placed my hand over his, drawing strength from his touch, his unmovable presence, his filling essence. I swore I could feel more of him within me, reinforcing the weak spots and rebuilding my will.
I stood. I only wanted to tell this story once. “We need to see Oliver.”
The crack in my voice kept either male from questioning me. We made our way down the hall—me still in my patient gown with glassy eyes, and the general and his second beside me, battle-ready. A few healers turned their heads as we entered Oliver’s room.
Oliver lay asleep and vulnerable on top of the covers, snoring softly. Bandages wrapped his wounded foot, turning it into a cushioned club. His leg sat propped up and stabilized, and beside his bed… was a lemon bar. Sam.
Hadrian and Rune sat next to Oliver’s bed, alert and ready to bite off any hand that so much as touched him wrong.
I wanted to hug them, or maybe Aspen and Ronen, for giving them the order, even if it wasn’t needed.
MJ was propped up in the windowsill, twirling an arrow in her hand, looking rather bored, while Aspen sat in a chair beside her.
They both stood when we walked in.
Aspen drilled holes into my face. “What’s wrong?”
I passed Aspen and ignored his whispered conversation with Alexei and Ronen. I just wanted to hold myself together for Oliver.
I brushed the strip of black bangs on his forehead.
The mark he received from Marcus in his attempts to find her.
He put his entire life on hold for her. He risked Elora, deals with Lucifer, betraying me, all for someone who I doubted gave a shit about him.
My fingers traveled down to run over the rune still black and inked into his skin.
“Luce?” he mumbled sleepily.
Emotion welled in my voice. Thick. Wet. Loving. “Hey, Oli.”
It woke him up.
“What’s wrong?”
“We think Sam’s the evil mastermind behind the infection and has been playing us,” Alexei announced, ripping off the wrong bandage.
Oliver blinked, glanced at every face, landed on me, and my silence stole the pink from his cheeks. “You think it’s Sam?”
“It’s not.”
The words sat like daggers on my tongue. I wanted to keep them there, to sheath them, hide them, keep them far away from the goofy, loving heart I cherished. My fingers grazed the rune on Oliver’s wrist.
Oliver followed my line of sight, and I got to watch the light get sucked out of him.
“Melanie’s soul is inside Lucifer’s body,” I whispered. “She’s Lilith’s daughter, Anya’s sister, a powerful seer, and she’s eating away at Lucifer’s essence while using his body to build the army that’s taking over Hell.”
Silence.
The rune faded to white with my words. In the worst, most horrifying way, my father completed their deal. He helped Oliver find Melanie.
“You’re wrong!” He scooted up his pillows, wincing as his thick, bandaged foot dragged up the bed. “She’s not a blood-witch! She’s not Lilith’s daughter!”
“Oli.” I touched his shoulder, and he slapped me away.
“No! She’s my sister!” Oliver yelled, eyes jolting with green flames.
“I dream-walked—”
“Screw your dream-walks!” he screamed.
I flinched.
“You’re wrong,” he repeated, a little softer. “Right? Tell me you’re wrong, Lucy.” His glassy eyes pleaded with me.
None of us said anything. We didn’t have to.
Tears dropped silently onto his patient gown, each one slicing me open like a thousand cuts.
“I almost died for her,” he finally whispered.
“I know.”
“I gave up my life for her. I loved her that much.” His voice cracked, dragging tears from my eyes.
“I know.”
“How? How did it happen?” he demanded.
“She infected him at my mother’s funeral.
And she hid it.” In fact, she hid it well.
The dream-walks I’d had made more sense.
“I had dream-walked to your sister twice before I saw her the third time,” I murmured.
“The first time, she was talking to someone about making us pay. The second…” I swallowed, dread pooling in my stomach as I realized what the second was.
Why it was so cold. Why the icy wind tugged on me like it needed help.
I wasn’t in a cold grave. “Was of my father’s mind. ”
Rune pressed her nose into my hand, and Ronen wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into his warmth, and the rest gathered close.
“And the third?” Quiet tears rolled down Oliver’s cheeks.
“Melanie accused Lilith of making a stupid deal with Etan regarding the infection. I thought she was against Lilith, just doing what she was expected to so Lilith didn’t hurt her.” I scoffed. “But Melanie told her she knew someone who could make the infection better.”
“So the bitch queen was working with Etan, and my sister offered up a better plan to kill everyone.” Oliver let out a bitter laugh. “Sorry, excuse me, my ex-adopted sister who was really a blood-witch in disguise.”
I placed my hand on his shoulder, and this time he didn’t smack me away.
“So how do we plan to kill her?” Oliver asked.
My breath hitched.
“How about you two let us think on that while you rest for a couple hours,” Ronen suggested.
“But—”
Ronen snatched my chin, forcing me under his demanding stare. “Let me do this for you, Lucille. You have been through enough today.”
“I—”
“Please, Lucille,” he breathed.
I deflated. “Okay.”
He leaned forward, about to press his lips to my forehead, then stopped. My heart ached for his touch, for the tender comfort.
“I’ll find you after.”
He left with the others before I had time to nod or agree.
Did I do something wrong?
He had never used my name so many times in the span of half an hour.
I slumped onto Oliver’s bed, being careful not to jostle his foot, having no energy to process Ronen’s odd behavior. I curled into him.
“I’m sorry, Oli.”
He tucked my head under his chin. “Me too.”
Aspen threw a blanket over us and sank back into the chair near Hadrian, our silent, watchful guards.
Soft movement roused me semi-awake. I groaned, snuggling deeper into the spicy warmth. It was better here. Thoughts shied away. Dreams only plagued me if I intended them to. For once, I just wanted to rest. Rest in this heavenly smell, on this cozy, moving bed.
A door opened and closed. Cold air invaded my pleasant cocoon, and my eyes fluttered open to Ronen placing me in my bed.
“Ronen?” I rasped.
His gaze shot to my face. “Go back to sleep, Lucille.” He smoothed my hair back and tucked me in, but it wasn’t nearly as right as being in his arms.
“You moved me.”
I would’ve been fine sleeping with Oliver.
“I needed you closer,” he explained, removing his arms and turning to leave.
I snatched his hand, stopping him.
“Rest, Lucille.”
I dropped his hand like he’d burned me. What was that now? The fifth or sixth time he had used my name?
“What is it?” I asked, sitting up.
“Not now.” He took a step back.
I luscelered in front of him. “You wanted to tell me something. And I have a feeling whatever it is, it’s bad. So please, save me from a sleepless night and explain.”
Fear worked through his white-knuckled fists, the shadows winding around his neck, the flickering darkness in his eyes.
It invaded his mind and soul, eating him alive.
I stepped back when I should’ve stepped forward.
But his fear was infectious, eroding, and the larger it grew, the more I wished I had never forced his hand.
“This is the different way, isn’t it?”
He stared, drinking in my features, lingering on each one as if he weren’t searching, but memorizing.
I rubbed my chest, already feeling the pain. “That you lose me?”
Silence. Resounding, terrifying silence.
“Say it.”
He turned his head, Hell’s moon slashing shadows and light across the dejected planes of his face. Then he tipped it toward the ceiling, eyes closing as if sending a prayer to the Weaver.
“Ronen. Say it,” I snapped.
Those dark eyes reopened on me, guiding me toward the path of destruction. My muscles tensed, bracing for the final blow. My heart attempted to escape my chest. My knees questioned whether they’d be able to hold me up.
One second.
One breath.
One shudder.
“I knew you were killing your mother.”
Time slowed just enough for me to feel every part of my rib cage crush that broken organ inside me. And it had to be broken. Why else would I fall for a lying hypocrite? Why else would I still ache for the comfort in his gaze after he admitted to that?
I had read in a book that your first heartbreak was the worst. But I remembered what it had felt like when Aspen ripped me in two. This? This didn’t compare. I not only bled from one puncture, but two—his.
“Block it.”
He flinched as if I’d slapped him. His guilt swelled. His sorrow. It slammed me down, shredded me apart, and still expected more from me.
“Block our bond, Ronen.”
“I—I can’t anymore.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
Anymore.
I laughed. It sounded deranged. Ronen’s distressed shadows jerked with the sound.
“That’s why I never passed out. You accepted our bond.”
“I refused to lose you.”
That I understood. And if he had admitted to accepting it hours ago, I might’ve considered it myself.
“Like you refused to tell me I was killing my mom.”
He stepped forward, and I lifted my chin, stopping him from coming any closer.
“I will beg for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes. But I didn’t do it without reason. I never wanted to hurt you.”
I crossed my arms, wondering how my knees hadn’t buckled yet. “So what were your reasons then? Must’ve been good if it resulted in her death.”
If possible, Ronen appeared even more reluctant to answer than before.
I gestured for him to get it over with.
“Your father threatened to expose me to Etan if I told you.”
Heat flushed through my body, searing and twisting. Music, soft and haunting, whispered and scratched at my skin. “What?”
“He made a runed deal with someone to hide it from you.”
My chest heaved as I dug my nails into my palms. Tears spilled from my eyes—not sad, furious, and… confused.
“He blamed me, and he knew! My deadbeat, dying father fucking knew!” My knees gave out. Ronen lurched forward, catching me.
And I let him. For five blissfully agonizing seconds, I melted into him. It was as easy as breathing, and it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be so easy to love the male who kept this from me.
“You need to leave,” I whispered through the ache in my voice.
Ronen tightened his hold, pressed his face into my hair, and breathed deeply. Then he murmured three words that did nothing to lighten my anger or soothe the countless questions and what-ifs tearing through my head.
“Leave!”
He reluctantly pulled away and stood. The words poured from his mouth again, along with more apologies, before he finally left me alone on my bedroom rug.
Everything felt too big, too much without him. And yet I was grieving her all over again because of him—because of my father.