Chapter 51 Lucian #2
Emily's eyes are closed, and her lips move in a silent chant that makes the air taste like ozone. The minutes drag by like years until her eyes snap open, glowing with residual power.
"Basement level," she confirms, her voice tight. "And I'm picking up some serious dark magic down there."
Ah yes, the lovely remnants of Azrael's glory days. Back when this basement was his soul-trafficking hub. That sadistic bastard used to lock people in cages down there, feeding their souls to Moretemis like he was running some demonic drive-through.
Lilith's heels click against the marble stairs like a death knell. I flash a quick hand signal, and Emily and Sable vanish down the hall, slipping into their hiding spot like shadows.
Brax guides the Prada, Piece of Shit right to me, her emerald dress swishing with each calculated step. A predatory smile on her ugly fucking face "Well, isn't this cozy?"
I bare my fangs in what might pass for a smile. "Bitches first." I sweep my arm toward the room with exaggerated flourish, like some demented ma?tre d'. "After all, we're here to make a deal, right?"
Come on, you psychotic cum-stain. Step right into our trap.
"Lucian, darling, you're not trying to pull a fast one, are you? We both know subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit."
My fangs ache with the urge to rip her throat out. "Cut the shit, Lilith. I'm here for one thing—Seraphina. Hand her over, and you'll get your precious prize."
She examines her blood-red nails, boredom etched into every perfect feature. "Speaking of my prize, where's the other half of the stone? This all seems a bit too... convenient. Do you think I'm that gullible?"
I spread my arms wide, flashing my signature smartass grin. "Step into my office, princess. Let's negotiate like the civilized immortal assholes we pretend to be."
Before I lose what's left of my already threadbare patience.
Not-Rhyland's grip tightens on Lilith's arm, his growl low and menacing. "Enough games. Get your ass in there before I throw you in myself."
Lilith's eyes sparkle with perverse delight. "Mmm, there's that alpha male charm I adore. So forceful, so... demanding."
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Brax hurls Lilith through the doorway like yesterday's trash. Her Louboutins screech against hardwood as she stumbles, and I move faster than thought. The syringe finding her neck with pinpoint precision and I slam the plunger home before she can react.
Big mistake.
Her shriek of rage shatters my eardrums as she whirls, moving faster than any drugged vampire has a right to. Her claws rake the air where my face was a millisecond ago. The scent of her fury fills the room—expensive perfume mixed with ancient vampire blood.
Then her body slams into mine.
Holy mother of—
The impact drives me into the floor like a fucking meteor. Every bone in my body screams as my skull bounces off hardwood. Black spots dance in my vision, and I'm pretty sure I just felt at least three ribs crack. Her weight pins me down, those murderous eyes boring into mine.
Brax materializes behind Lilith, moving with a speed that would make The Flash jealous. The syringe glints in his hand like a tiny silver sword, plunging into her neck.
Lilith screeches like a banshee on steroids, her heels scraping against the floor as she whirls to face her attacker. But the toxin is already flooding her system, turning her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
Those killer stilettos that could normally eviscerate a man's heart now scrabble uselessly against hardwood, seeking purchase that isn't there. Her body sways drunkenly, her emerald eyes, usually sharp, cloud over.
"You... treacherous..." The words fall from her blood-red lips like dying leaves. Her body sways—then she crumples, folding in on herself like a broken marionette. Her precious mask skitters across the floor, a final insult to her infamous vanity.
Nighty night, bitch.
"Now that's what I call supernatural synchronized swimming." I flash Brax a fanged grin, but he just stares at me like I'm speaking Klingon. Tough crowd. Apparently demons don't appreciate quality pop culture references.
Two syringes of witch-brew to knock her out. Impressive. Though how long this magical roofie will keep her ass down is anyone's guess. Ancient vampires aren't exactly covered in Emily's witchy manual.
Emily bursts through the doorway. "What now?"
I yank my custom Glock from its holster, loaded with special wooden rounds. The grip feels cold against my palm as I press it into Brax's waiting hand.
"Keep Sleeping Ugly here nice and docile." My fangs itch with the need to end this once and for all. "If she so much as twitches, put a round in her kneecaps. But keep her dead ass alive—we still need that other half of the Soul Stone."
Brax's fingers wrap around the gun with practiced ease, the metal clicking ominously as he chambers a round. His borrowed face—Rhyland's face—twists into a predatory grin that would make our resident Viking proud.
The bond trembles in my chest, weak and fading.
"Luc...ian..."
Phina's voice barely whispers through our connection, each syllable drenched in pain. The echo of her suffering tears through my heart like barbed wire. She's reaching for me with whatever strength she has left.
The connection pulses downward, a failing beacon in the darkness. "Emily," my voice comes out rough, all traces of humor stripped away. "You're with me. Sable, stay with Brax." My fangs elongate. "Time to collect what this bitch took from me."
I blast through the crowd like a bullet, scattering champagne flutes and immortal socialites in my wake.
The basement entrance gapes before us—a familiar mouth of darkness that still haunts my nightmares.
These tunnels are etched into my memory like scars, every cursed corner a reminder of darker days.
"Jesus Christ," Emily pants behind me, her heels clicking frantically to keep pace. "What kind of psycho builds a dungeon under their mansion?"
The kind that makes Hannibal Lecter look like a amateur, I think, but the words stick in my throat. The bond's getting weaker with every step, and there's no time for a history lesson about Azrael's house of horrors.
The temperature drops as I descend, the air growing thick with the stench of old blood and darker magic. Azrael's legacy seeps from these stone walls like poison. The golden thread of our bond flickers weakly in my chest, growing fainter with each step—like someone's slowly smothering a flame.
Hold on, angel face. Just hold on.
The passage opens into the cavern—that massive underground chamber where Azrael conducted his worst atrocities. We round the final corner, following that weakening pulse of our bond, and—
My legs give out. The world tilts sideways as my knees crack against stone. My lungs forget how to work, throat closing around a scream that won't come.
No.
My world fractures, reality splintering like a broken mirror. The scene before me carves itself into my retinas, a nightmare made flesh that tears my sanity to shreds.
"Dear God..." Emily's horrified whisper barely registers through the roaring in my ears. My mind short-circuits, refusing to process what my eyes are seeing.
No. No. No. Not like this. Not her.