CHAPTER 138: ONE HUNDRED & THIRTY EIGHT

Lucien

Men charged. And died accordingly.

Some beheld me and ran. Many didn’t. I took no small pain in sending them off to their vain bitch of a goddess, screaming. Splinters. Clumps of broken ice. Dust. The castle was covered in snow-flaked blood, so much of it, I knew there would be no cleansing it. And death sang to me like an old lover, stuck as it had been to me since the first time I fought and killed as a lad.

And where I went, the bodies fell. Or knees bent. Either way, it was a predictable outcome.

What wasn’t, however, was Lilith’s immediate surrender. I had no interest in her, not yet, at least. She wasn’t worth stopping for, or acknowledging. But she was in my way, and I couldn’t tell if she thought me foolish or just had a death wish when she fell to her knees, lowering her head in submission. "Spare me, sire. I was brought here against my will—"

She gasped when I crossed the distance in under a second and grasped her chin, tilting her head to meet my gaze. "I would cut out your tongue for lying, but gods know where your mouth has been."

Despite the smell of fear rolling off her, she smelled heavily of want. Most women did with me, even when they were dying.

My hand was gentle enough to feel the tremor of her skin. And I exhaled.

Ice bloomed from my fingertips, delicate as lace, spreading across her throat, her jaw, her cheeks. A slow, intimate execution. Her skin paled, frosted white. Her lashes crystallized. Her pupils widened, drinking me in even as her life bled out.

She was dying beautifully. Almost... artfully.

Then, it came forth.

A blast of fire ruptured from her core with the force of a volcanic heartbeat. It tore through the air, pushing me back in a shockwave of molten heat. Flames roared up her spine, exploding outward as if she had ignited from the inside.

The frost I’d woven shattered off her in a storm of glittering shards.

Green eyes bled into black and smoke curled from her lips as the flames crawled over her skin in unnatural patterns. "Spare me," she murmured, raising hands jettisoning with flames. A soft, breathy chuckle escaped her as those arms took aim. "Spare me? Do you know who I am?"

A menacing lance of flames brandished the spot I had been only a second ago, another aim crackling the very air surrounding me. Her eyes glowed, the fire spreading from her skin, burning off her clothes, taking up a home in her hair, raising them high like a phantom wind moved the strands. She laughed, the sound like the shriek of a bird set free. And she burned brighter, wilder.

Like Ilya.

Her strikes were wild, rage untrained, movements sloppy. But her fire was merciless. It devoured everything the explosion hadn’t reached. Men screamed as it consumed them, and she inhaled their agony.

Had I been any other man, she might have been a match. A dangerous one. A terrifying one. But I was god-kin. And she was born to forever be the dirt beneath my feet.

Talons of flames slashed the air in front of my face and I glided back easily. In her frustration at not landing a single hit or drawing even a hint of blood from me, she followed. Like I’d predicted. Too late, she realized she was within range of my touch.

I caught her neck in my fist.

She fought. Harder than I’d expected, with the crazed, desperate lash of a woman who had gambled everything and lost everything, and now tried to take the world—me—along with her. Nails gouged my cheek. Fire kissed my skin and sizzled against the ice powerlessly.

I watched her squirm, choke as I lifted her off the ground, slowly taking her air and breaking the bones in her throat.

For one reason, I had laid off killing her. And every time, she tried me, like a cat with nine lives. Ilya loved her. Ilya wouldn’t have wanted her dead, just like she had given her chance after chance to mend her ways. I would adhere to her choice if all I could see as I stared at Lilith wasn’t every time Valka screamed.

At the Selection, when I had found Valka broken by the cliff’s edge, even if I hadn’t known or remembered why I cared for her, I had taken one step towards killing Lilith. One. Step. And I would’ve done it if Valka’s fingers hadn’t curled around my sleeve.

Then, it hadn’t made sense. But Ilya always did have a way of shielding her selfish older sister, even in death.

As if reading my thoughts, Lilith rasped, blood curling from her lips as I crushed her bones. "W–why... h-her? Why... not... me?" Blood splattered across my cheeks. "I... was your... betrothed. I was... right there... and you... picked her. Why?"

The answer was as simple as it had been then as it still was now. "When Ilya was in the room, nobody else existed." I cocked my head left, recalling that day. "I didn’t notice you were there, in all honesty."

It might have sounded like a jab, but it was the truth. The second Ilya had shown up at the base of the staircases to greet me, unbathed, green eyes clouded with sleep, hair resembling a ripped-up hornets’ nest, her ugly and unflattering night shift crumpled and stained with peach juice, and she had grinned evilly and said, "Lilith will be down in a few minutes. I hope she figures out soon that you’re a half-witted piece of shit and burns you alive during your mating rite. I’ll eat your roasted cock for breakfast," I’d known I couldn’t marry anyone else.

And even when Lilith had shown up, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off the unruly creature. Not even for one second. It had nothing to do with Lilith’s beauty or lack of. She just wasn’t Ilya.

"And... it is... the same for... Lyra..." she wheezed. I shrugged in response. "Yes."

She stopped fighting. Let her hands fall to her sides.

Only to rip my sword from the scabbard with maddening speed and run it through my center. We both peered down at the wound and the blood that gathered just beneath the end of my armor, awfully close to my spleen, but not nearly lethal enough to actually hurt. And I exhaled, watching where she twisted it as she whispered, "Hearing that... makes me feel... less guilty about getting... her killed."

There was such silence in my head as I raised my gaze to hers. I saw her hungry for the recognition or satisfaction of making me feel something. Hurt, rage, hatred--just something--towards her, but her face fell when she noted my lack of response.

"I knew."

Returning to my human form after all those many years spent in the dark, the first thing I’d done was try to find the truth of who had leaked out that information. And even if I had circled back to a few who might have known, for the reason that she had been Ilya’s sister, I struck her off the list.

A part of me knew. But a larger part of me saw guilt and grief and convinced myself that it wasn’t true, just to spare the person Ilya had loved the most in this world, after Jessa and me.

But a few days to the wedding, Trenton had informed me of it. And my lack of surprise and rage had made me realize I’d always known she did it.

Against my better judgement, I had staved off the punishment. Because I wasn’t ready to give it. Because between fighting my feelings for Valka and the grief and guilt I felt towards a mate I hadn’t known I had lain to rest, I couldn’t bring myself to give the order, knowing it had been a foolish mistake.

But that was useless sentiment. Nothing I should have extended. There had never been a time in my life where I overlooked or hesitated that I didn’t suffer repercussions.

And as I stared into her green eyes, I knew that death would be too easy for her. Not because I was angry. Far from it. But because I would enjoy it.

"Lucien, please--"

"Shh," I hushed her, bringing her lips close to mine by my hand around her neck. "You have always wanted this," I murmured softly. "Consider this my gift of affection to you."

My lips brushed against hers.

Her body stiffened, and jerked as hoarfrost spread from the point of contact. And it didn’t matter how hard she jerked or how hot her flames rippled, fighting against the ice, it was a fruitless fight. Crystals formed across her skin, wicked dark veins twisting farther and farther until it encompassed her entire body and her skin felt like leather.

And further still, it grew.

It took the lushness from her skin. It drained all the color and life from her hair, turning it snow-white. It drained all the warmth in her blood. It took all the vivid green from her eyes, turning it pale.

When my lips left hers, she was little more than a lifeless husk, screaming and screaming.

She would never know warmth again. She would never know beauty again. And she would never hurt and burn another again.

**

There’s panic... and then there’s the kind where you’re sprinting, heart in your throat, convinced your mate is dying.

Only to arrive and discover she’s fine--more than fine.

She’s beating a man to death with a stick like it’s a competitive sport and she intends to win gold.

Seeing her covered in Rafael’s blood, I can’t decide if I want to stop her or fuck her. The urge is rather twisted, even for me.