Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Lucifer
The healer said Liam was out of danger.
I sat by the bed, only letting myself breathe after he finished that sentence. My shirt was soaked through.
The healer left. Just me and Lina in the bedroom. After the rage and panic burned out, my thoughts cleared. What would Elena gain from hurting Liam? This was a political marriage—our families' interests bound together. And even if she wanted to sabotage it, would she be this obvious?
Liam lay beneath the covers, face still pale, but his lips had color again—faint pink.
His chest rose and fell, steady now. I shifted my gaze from him to the other side of the bed.
Lina sat on the edge, one hand holding Liam's, the other touching his forehead.
She brushed the hair from his face so carefully, fingertips sliding from his brow to his temple and back again, over and over.
Light caught her profile. Her lashes were still wet, eyes rimmed red, but she made no sound.
She just sat there, hand never leaving him.
She'd cared for Liam for five years. Five years of fevers, scrapes, nightmares—sitting by his bed just like this, fingers resting on his forehead. I thought of what the maid had said. I stood.
"I'll be in my study."
Lina nodded without looking up. Her fingers kept brushing through his hair.
I left and closed the door behind me. Most of the hallway lights were off.
My footsteps echoed on stone. When I pushed open the study door, the lamp was still on.
The documents lay open to the page I'd left them, pen beside them, a small ink stain blooming on the paper.
I didn't look at the files. Just sank into the chair, head against the back, eyes closed.
My mind wouldn't settle on state business. Instead—cake crumbs. White porcelain. Almond flour on her dress. And those eyes when I told her to get out—frightened, hurt.
I opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling and exhaled hard.
She'd been trying to get close to me. Bringing me late-night snacks, asking about my schedule.
Those amber eyes always watching me, soft and tender.
And maybe that's why I couldn't say what needed saying.
Maybe that's why she got bold enough to ask about Liam's birth mother.
In that moment, I couldn't shake the suspicion—my Luna probing about my mate.
Did she want to replace her? Or was she just looking for leverage over me?
You don't treat her like you treat Lina. My wolf's voice was lazy, mocking.
I knew what it was getting at. "Because Elena is Luna. She represents Silver pine. I can't let things get too hostile—"
You said you'd treat her like furniture. My wolf cut me off.
I clenched my fist, caught. The wolf kept going. She made a mistake that hurt Liam, and all you did was tell her to get out of the studio?
"Something's off about this," I said it aloud, remembering her gentleness with Liam. I paused. "She likes him." But irritation still jumped through my veins. Yeah, she liked him so much—so why didn't she ask about the almond flour? Why did she let this happen?
You're holding her to a mother's standard? My wolf spoke again. She's not his birth mother.
I knew that. But I was still pissed. She'd disrupted my life.
I pushed out of the study. At the end of the hall, light leaked through a half-open door. I didn't knock. Elena sat on the edge of the bed. When the door opened, she looked up. Saw me. Stood. Her fingers tightened on her sleeve.
"Liam..."
"He's fine."
Her shoulders dropped. Just for a second, then tensed again. She stood there watching me, a brightness in her eyes I saw before she forced it down. Her lips moved like she wanted to speak, then stopped.
I took a step forward. I wanted to tell her she couldn't be this careless again. But what came out was different. "As Luna, you're Liam's mother in name. You failed to take care of him. Do you deserve to be his mother?"
I regretted it immediately. Too sharp. It landed hard—I saw it in her face. Her lips pressed tight, but she didn't back away. Didn't cry. Just stood there looking at me, chest rising and falling.
Finally, she said, "You think I did it on purpose? I was worried about Liam. I'm heartbroken."
"Your worry and heartbreak are useless," I said.
"What about you?"
Elena's voice changed. That tremor disappeared, replaced by something else—hard, cold. She stepped forward from the bed, staring at me. "Besides standing here yelling at me, what have you done?"
"What?"
"You tell me I'm not fit to be a mother," she said, each word deliberate. "You tell me I wasn't careful enough. You told me to get out. But what about you? How much time have you spent with Liam? You think you've raised him right?"
Anger spread through me, burning away any regret for my harsh words. "You're lecturing me?" I was Reserpine's king. Even the Elders didn't dare.
Elena crossed her arms. She shrugged, mouth twisting—not a smile, a sneer. "Oh no, of course not lecturing. I'm just curious why the king's adopted son is so rude he says things like 'bad woman' and 'I'll kill you.' Is that how you Hales raise children?"
She stepped closer, eyes locked on mine, words still coming. "When he pushed me, threw mud at me—you didn't think I was his mother then? Lucifer Hale, you think you're so perfect?"
She dared question me? Question Reserpine's king, the Alpha?
No one ever dared.
Liam was just young—unable to accept Elena "stealing" Lina's place. His actions weren't great, but understandable.
Yet she glared at me, eyes wide—no intimidation at all.
Strangely, my anger cooled a fraction. But Elena kept going, mouth moving, lamplight catching on her lips, making them look glossy.
My breathing grew ragged. Her sharp words buzzed around my ears, but I couldn't hear them anymore. Only one thought filled my head.
I needed to shut her up.
I grabbed her shoulders, pushed her back onto the bed, into the soft covers. She cried out—I swallowed it with my mouth on hers.
Soft. Wet.
I froze for a second. Then, almost instinctively, my hand slid down her side.
Elena made a muffled sound of protest and tried to push me away.
I caught her wrist with my other hand and pinned it above her head.
She frowned, then bit down hard. I pulled back, hissing.
Elena stared at me, defiant, chest heaving, the curve of it like waves breaking through the last of my control.
I'd lost it.
I kissed her again, tongue forcing its way in, prying her teeth apart. This time Elena kissed back just as fiercely, anger bleeding into it.
I pulled her close and pressed her body against mine. My wolf groaned. That familiar shiver ran down my spine—exactly like five years ago—
I couldn't hold back anymore.
My hands found the hem of her dress. She gasped against my mouth, fingers digging into my shoulders—not to push away, but to pull me closer. Her nails scraped skin. The fabric tore. I should have cared. I didn't.
Her breath came in short bursts. Mine matched hers. The lamp flickered. Shadows danced across the walls. The mattress dipped under our weight. I felt her everywhere—heat, softness, the frantic pulse at her throat.
But then I stopped.
My forehead pressed against hers, breath ragged. "Elena." My voice came out hoarse, barely controlled. "Do you want this?"
For a heartbeat, she didn't move. Then her hand came up, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me down. Her eyes burned into mine.
"Shut up and kiss me," she whispered.
That was all I needed.
Our mouths crashed together again. No hesitation this time. She arched into me, body responding before words could. Her hands were everywhere—my neck, my back, pulling at my shirt. I captured her wrists, pinned them briefly, felt her pulse hammering beneath my thumb.
She twisted, broke free, and shoved at my chest. I let her push me onto my back. She followed, straddling me, hair falling around us like a curtain. The defiance in her eyes hadn't faded—if anything, it burned brighter.
"You don't get to be in control," she breathed.
I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I surged up, flipped us again. The bed creaked. Her gasp turned into something else—not fear, not anger. Want.
"Neither do you," I said against her skin.
She bit my shoulder. Hard. I groaned. She smiled—sharp, dangerous.
We moved together, a collision of frustration and need. Every touch was too much and not enough. Her fingers traced scars I'd forgotten about. My mouth found the hollow of her throat. She tasted like salt and honey and something I couldn't name but recognized in my bones.
The lamp cast everything in gold. Time blurred. Minutes, hours—I couldn't tell. Just heat and breath and the sound of fabric sliding across skin. The headboard hit the wall. Neither of us cared.
She whispered my name. Not like a plea—like a command.
I answered by pressing closer, eliminating any space between us. Her legs wrapped around my waist. My hand slid up her thigh, fingers tracing patterns that made her shiver. She retaliated by dragging her nails down my back.
"Elena," I said again, voice breaking.
"Don't stop," she said back.
So I didn't.
We fell into rhythm, instinct taking over. The anger that started this didn't disappear—it transformed into something rawer, deeper. Five years of restraint unraveled. Every kiss, every touch released tension I didn't know I'd been holding.
She pulled me down, kissed me like she was drowning and I was air. I kissed back like she was the only solid thing in a world spinning too fast.
The mattress shifted. Blankets twisted. Her dress—what was left of it—pooled somewhere on the floor with my shirt. Skin against skin, no barriers left.
Her eyes stayed open, locked on mine. Challenging me even now. I met that challenge, matched it, and pushed back. She didn't break. Didn't yield. Just held on tighter, demanded more.
And I gave it.
The light dimmed. Dawn crept closer. We didn't notice.
Finally—finally—exhaustion hit. We collapsed together, tangled in sheets and each other. Her head rested on my chest. My arm wrapped around her waist. Both of us breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
Neither of us spoke.
I woke when dawn was still gray. She was asleep, hair spread across the pillow, curled on her side. The blanket only reached her shoulder. Her skin was covered in marks—evidence of what we'd done. Clothes scattered everywhere. Her dress torn beyond repair.
I covered my face. What the hell had I done?
I stood, dressed quietly, fumbling with buttons. Shame, regret, awkwardness—all of it churned together. I didn't even finish fastening my shirt before I left. The only mercy was the empty hallway. I hurried back to the study, shut the door, and sank into the chair.
A knock. I straightened and composed my face. "Come in."
Marcus. His eyes went straight to my disheveled hair. He paused. Then his gaze dropped to my neck—where Elena had bitten. I coughed and pulled my collar up. "What is it?"
My voice came out harsh, defensive.
Marcus looked away. He seemed like he wanted to laugh but held it back and went serious instead. "Your Majesty, the investigation into Luna is complete."
I opened the file and scanned it.
"Before the Grays claimed her, she lived in the human district," Marcus added. "Her father died early."
"Father?" I frowned. "Her mother's a noble wolf, and her father lived in the human district?"
Marcus explained. "Luna's mother left them after Luna was born. Her father raised her."
"And—" Marcus lowered his voice. "He was human."
Human?
Marcus bowed his head. I said nothing, but we both knew—if that was true, then Elena was... mixed blood?
"However," Marcus continued, "the investigation shows no blood relation."
I tapped the desk. My instincts screamed that Gray had tampered with something. Too careful. Too deliberate. What human would adopt a wolf?
"But I can't find any records from before Luna was claimed," Marcus said. "We only know she worked multiple jobs."
I frowned, tapping the desk again. Abnormal. Her identity had been deliberately hidden. Did that mean... she really was sent by Gray with some hidden agenda?
I kept reading. Before being claimed, she'd worked everywhere. Gas station, nanny, cleaner, dishwasher. My frown deepened. She'd lived like this?
You feel sorry for her? My wolf woke up and asked me.
I didn't answer. But something in my chest did tighten. To cover it, I flipped pages quickly. Then my finger stopped. Five years ago, the Maple Hotel where I'd been drugged—she'd worked there.
My fingertip pressed into the paper. Didn't move.
Combined with last night, the strange familiarity of her body—could it be...
No. She was a wolf, just scentless. And my mate was human. Similar didn't mean the same. Probably a coincidence. I closed the file and locked it in the drawer.
"Understood. Keep this confidential."
Marcus nodded and left.
A crack in the window let in cool morning air. I thought of Elena's face. Hesitated. Then called the healer and told him to prepare contraceptive medicine for Elena.
Unfair to her, maybe. But I'd already decided—only Liam would be my heir.
Still. I wasn't as averse to Elena now as I'd been before.