CHAPTER 28: POWER AND PAIN

Lucien had tolerated Devon’s evasions for weeks. He had tolerated the quiet lies, the exhausted smiles, the moments when Devon swayed on his feet after using magic he clearly couldn’t control. He had tolerated the distance, the one Devon insisted on, and the one Lucien had forced between them.

But tonight, he couldn’t tolerate it anymore.

Devon had collapsed again.

Lucien found him behind the servants’ courtyard, half-kneeling on the cold stones, blood dripping from his palm where he had drawn a rune directly into his skin. The faint afterglow of magic still pulsed under the wound, refusing to fade.

Devon tried to wipe it away with his sleeve as if hiding it could undo everything.

Lucien’s patience snapped. He crossed the space in a second, grabbed Devon by the wrist, and hauled him upright.

Devon gasped in pain, but didn’t fight back. He never fought back.

"Enough." Lucien’s voice was low, dangerous, a growl rumbling beneath every syllable. "I’ve had enough of this."

Devon looked like a fox cornered by a wolf. He was pale, trembling, and still trying to hide his bleeding hand.

"Alpha, I... I was just..."

"Trying to kill yourself?" Lucien snarled. "Because that’s what this is."

Devon flinched.

Lucien dragged him inside, through the halls, ignoring the startled looks from passing guards. He didn’t stop until they reached his private study, the only room with wards strong enough that no one could overhear them. The door shut with a slam behind them.

"Sit." It wasn’t a suggestion.

Devon obeyed, breathing shakily, his gaze fixed on the floorboards.

Lucien leaned over him, caging him in with both hands on the armrests. "Look at me."

Devon lifted his eyes slowly.

And Lucien saw it, the exhaustion, the fear, the loneliness, the belief that he was a burden who had to remain useful or be discarded. It made something harsh twist inside Lucien’s chest.

He hated it.

"Tell me," Lucien said, voice trembling with barely contained fury. "Where does your magic come from?"

Devon’s breath hitched. "I don’t..."

"Don’t lie." Lucien’s fingers tightened on the chair. "You’ve nearly died three times this week. You’re cutting runes into your own skin like a madman. You’re killing yourself without even knowing why. So tell me, Devon, what are you?"

Devon swallowed hard.

"I don’t know," he whispered. "I swear I don’t know."

Lucien slammed his hand on the armrest beside Devon’s thigh. "You expect me to believe that?"

Devon’s voice cracked. "I really don’t know. I wasn’t allowed to know anything. My pack..."

He stopped, breath faltering.

"What then?"

"Redstone never taught us anything unless it could make us useful."

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

Devon pressed a trembling hand to his chest as if pushing down pain. "The runes... they come to me in dreams. Or when I’m desperate. Or when Elias is in danger."

Lucien froze.

"And the magic," Devon whispered, "only responds when someone I care about is threatened. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know how to stop it."

Lucien stared at him.

All this time.

All the suffering.

All the secrecy.

And it wasn’t stubbornness or defiance.

It was fear, deep, bone-carved fear.

Lucien’s voice dropped to something softer, but edged like a blade. "Then why didn’t you tell me?"

Devon laughed weakly, hoarse, tired, broken. "Why would I? You barely speak to me unless it’s necessary. You regret the contract. You only married me to protect your pack. I’m... nothing."

Lucien’s breath caught. Not because the words were wrong, but because of how easily Devon believed them.

"Devon," Lucien said quietly, "is that truly what you think of me?"

Devon shook his head slowly, eyes dropping again. "It doesn’t matter what I think. I don’t have the right to ask anything from you."

Lucien stepped closer.

Devon’s shoulders tensed, preparing for anger.

But instead of shouting, Lucien reached forward and gently grasped Devon’s bleeding hand.

Devon inhaled sharply.

Lucien lifted it, inspecting the freshly cut rune, the way magic still shimmered like burning threads beneath the skin.

"You nearly tore your life force apart drawing this." His voice was barely audible. "If I had arrived moments later..."

Devon bit his lip. "Then I wouldn’t have been your problem anymore."

Lucien’s grip tightened, almost painfully.

"Don’t ever say that again," he growled.

Devon blinked, startled.

Lucien exhaled shakily, as if holding himself together by will alone. He pressed his forehead against Devon’s for a brief second, a gesture too intimate for an alpha who claimed indifference.

"Tell me everything," Lucien whispered. "Every dream. Every rune. Every time your magic hurts you. I need to know."

Devon trembled. "Why? You don’t owe me anything."

Lucien pulled back just enough to look at him directly.

"Because you are mine to protect," he said, voice rough. "Contract or not."

Devon couldn’t breathe.

Lucien’s thumb brushed the blood on his skin, slow, deliberate.

"And because," Lucien murmured, "watching you break yourself apart in silence is something I will not tolerate. Not as Alpha. And not as your husband."

Devon’s heart slammed against his ribs. He didn’t understand the meaning behind Lucien’s words, not fully. Not yet.

But Lucien did. And for the first time, he wasn’t running from it.

"You’re not leaving this room," Lucien said, holding Devon’s hand firmly, "until you tell me everything about your magic."

His voice was steady, certain, and unyielding. The way a man sounds when he has finally decided to fight, not for the pack, not for the duty, not for appearances... but for a person.

"No... I can’t..." Devon’s breath hitched, his back pressed against the cold stone wall of the training hall as Lucien cornered him. The Alpha’s eyes were no longer calm, no longer carefully restrained. They burned with a storm Devon had never seen.

"Enough," Lucien growled, voice low but shaking with held-back fear. "You collapse. You bleed. You hide runes in your sheets. You pretend you’re fine. And every night I find you unconscious somewhere in this mansion because you’re burning yourself alive."

Devon flinched. "I-It’s none of your..."

"It is my business!" Lucien snarled, stepping closer. "You’re my mate..." He cut himself off sharply, jaw tightening. "You’re my... responsibility. My Luna. And you are killing yourself with magic no wolf should even possess."

Devon’s stomach twisted. Hearing the word "mate" slip out, before being corrected, stabbed deeper than he expected.

Lucien exhaled shakily, composure fracturing.

"Where does your magic come from?" he demanded. "Who taught you? Why hide it?"

Devon looked away, heart pounding painfully. "Because it’s dangerous. Because it’s not supposed to exist. Because if you knew what I was, you’d regret tying yourself to me."

Lucien’s expression hardened, not cold, but wounded. "Devon... I already regret many things. But not you."

Devon froze. Those words terrified him more than any assassin ever could.