Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
After the Flame
Lucien
Ishould have stopped. I know this with every fiber of my being, yet the taste of her lips still smolders against mine, igniting a battle that tears me apart from the inside out.
I should have torn myself away before her burning defiance seeped through my skin, before her courageous fire reached the hollow spaces within me and set something dark and long forgotten ablaze.
I should have remembered the monster I am.
I should have remembered the curse that coils in my veins, warping every touch, every longing, and every hope.
But the moment she whispered, “Then burn with me,” I was already lost, irretrievably so.
Her words were a spark, reckless and wild, and I surrendered before I even realized I could.
I kissed her. My hunger was raw, desperate, and driven by a hope so reckless, I could barely recognize it within myself.
It was a hope that felt undeserved, almost blasphemous.
With just one stolen breath, I am shattered and undone, exposed to the merciless magic that governs this castle and my own twisted heart.
The castle responds, roaring with my shame.
The stones themselves seem to recoil, groaning beneath the burden of my weakness, echoing my failure throughout every corridor and hidden chamber.
Portraits that once hung in silent witness now leer from their frames, their faces distorted into sneers and twisted grins, mocking the man I used to be and the monster I have become.
Outside, the roses shriek, their thorny vines lashing violently against the windowpanes, battering the glass as if, in their fury, they could break through and pull us both into their chaos.
In the darkness, they hiss: You falter. You betray.
You hunger when you ought only to destroy.
Rage erupts within me. I unleash it upon the room, my claws slashing at the nearest table, wood splitting and splintering in a shower of fragments.
I tear through velvet drapes and marble surfaces, bellowing in an attempt to rid myself of the memory of her mouth, her warmth, her unwavering gaze.
But it clings to me, stubborn and insistent.
I can still feel the impression of her lips, her defiance, and her surrender, the way she did not recoil when I bared my fangs but instead reached for whatever humanity might remain beneath horn and fur and monstrous form.
My claws gouge at my chest, frantic to claw out the ache, the longing.
The curse reacts, its thorns writhing beneath my flesh, tightening their grip around my heart, sinking roots deeper until each breath is agony.
They coil without mercy, feeding on the longing I can’t banish, punishing me for wanting the one thing I should never have.
Every shuddering breath is a torment. Each heartbeat is a reminder of how dangerously close I came to breaking the very soul I would die to protect.
Yet, the ache for her remains.
Unable to stay still, I stagger to the window, my jaws clenched and my lungs burning with every ragged inhalation. “You are falling for her?” Erik’s voice echoes in the darkness. As he steps forward, I turn to face him.
“You sound disappointed?” I ask.
“On the contrary, sir. I had hoped for this.”
“You did?”
“Honestly, I believe she is the only one who can bring you back.”
I grumble, turning back toward the window. “What if I don’t want to come back, as you say?” The glass fogs beneath my breath, my horns scraping the wooden beams overhead as I brace myself against the trembling frame. Erik does not answer.
Outside, the gardens are chaos. Roses tear themselves from the earth in violent spasms, their petals swirling through the wind like drops of blood spilled across fresh snow.
The curse is restless, jealous, and seething for dominance.
It wants her ruined, not cherished. It wants me cruel, not weak.
It wants to remind me that love is forbidden for monsters, that mercy is a chain meant to strangle hope.
Even now, I feel its claws in my mind, gnashing at every tender thought, every memory that threatens to soften me.
I hear Erik set the tea tray on the table and a few seconds later, the door softly closes behind him.
“I am the Vessel,” I snarl. My voice is raw, shredded by terror and defiance.
“You can’t have her. I will not let you.
” The words feel hollow, swallowed by the cold.
The thorns constrict in response, choking the sound in my throat.
Agony explodes through me, and I slam my fists into the wall, the force shuddering through the room like a thunderclap.
Deep cracks spider outward from the impact, and dust rains from above.
There is no relief, no catharsis—only the certainty that every act of rebellion, every fleeting hope, only strengthens the curse’s hold.
When I look down, my hands are slick with blood, crimson rivulets tracing paths along my fur and painting the floor beneath my feet.
The thorns drink greedily from each drop, as if my suffering is their feast and my resistance fuels their hunger.
The pain is relentless and unyielding, the price for every moment I dared to dream of mercy.
In the fractured glass of the window, I catch a glimpse, a warped reflection, flickering between monster and memory.
Her eyes haunt me: wide, sharp, and alive with impossible gentleness and rage.
Her mouth is swollen and defiant, marked by the kiss I dared to steal.
Her throat, pulsing beneath my hand, reminds me how I held her, how I could have crushed her, and yet I didn’t.
I couldn’t. The restraint it cost me is what terrifies me most, not that I lost control but how I found a part of myself that still desires tenderness.
For one heartbeat, I wanted more. I wanted so much more than the curse will ever allow, more than I have any right to ask for.
The man in the mirrors—Lucien, the husband, the father—claws inside me, desperate for the light Annabel brings, for the forgiveness and warmth that nearly broke through the darkness.
Her fire stirs him, beckons him to the surface, and dares him to reclaim what was lost. If I let him rise, the Beast will weaken.
I will fracture. And when that happens, the Serpent-Crown will come for her.
They will snatch Annabel as they took Evangeline, as they took Grace, leaving me with nothing but ashes and chains and regret.
The curse will not let me be both monster and man.
It will tear me apart, and it will punish her for every weakness I show.
Blood drips from my fingers, a morbid pledge to the curse, painting the stones with my torment.
I clutch at my chest and snarl against the pain, wishing desperately for it to drown out the memory of her touch—wishing I could truly be the monster the castle demands and I could sever whatever binds me to her.
It’s better to remain the Beast. Better that she hate and fear me. It will be safer for her, safer for me, and safer for whatever is left of our broken world. Love is sharper than claws or teeth, and I know now how much I can lose if I dare to want it.
And still, my lips burn with her name. Annabel.
The syllables are both lifeline and curse, echoing through the empty halls and the shattered ruins of my heart.
The castle shudders beneath the violence I can’t control.
I press my bloodied hand to the glass, watching as the roses coil and writhe, their rage mirroring mine.
I can’t keep her safe if I let myself grow weak.
I can’t let her into the heart of this ruin and expect her to survive the consequences that follow.
Yet I crave her. The bond between us pulses steady, bright, and hot.
It’s a thread that refuses to break no matter how hard I try.
I hear her heartbeat in the distant corridors, feel the echo of her pain and longing reverberate through my own chest. I close my eyes, wrestling with the monstrous shadow that clings to me, refusing to let go.
I am a wound, open, bleeding, and dangerous.
I am a monster the world ought to fear. But tonight, for one fleeting, breathless instant, I almost believed I could be more.