Page 40
Power clashes, a flash of blue lightning and black energy dancing up my arm and along my bed. I stagger as a force slams into me, blinding me, dragging me forward until I collapse on top of Lucas.
I stumble into Lucas’ dream.
A massive scarlet office surrounds me, housing a monstrosity of a wooden desk that is so large it could be mistaken for a sacrificial altar. Above it is the bleached white skull of a monster, a startling contrast to the paint. Its long horns are twisted and its maw stretched in a terrifying roar.
Recognition hits me, and I spin on my heel. This is the Amur’s office. It’s been years since I’ve been here, and back then I was with my father, his silent shadow during a Guild trade dispute between the Preservation Domain and the city.
Voices from behind have me turning around. Lucas is seated on a large leather couch, a full glass of whisky trembling in his hands. He’s younger, his hair trimmed short and his face freshly shaved. His clothes are finely made and both crisp and clean, the shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbow. His black flame tattoo is missing. Instead, an image of a stalking tiger crawls up his arm. The artist must’ve been extremely skilled to so effectively create the illusion of the ink’s claws sinking into Lucas’ flesh and the creature’s eyes track the observer in a disquieting way.
Gritting my teeth, my eyes flick to the man sitting next to him. Dimitar is much the same with his manicured beard and yellow eyes. He stretches his brawny arm out along the back of the couch so it nearly drapes over Lucas’ shoulders.
He sighs and taps the bottom of Lucas’ tumbler and rumbles, “Drink up. It’ll make it easier.”
Lucas chugs the drink obediently and gasps for breath after it drains. Dimitar refills his cup. Lucas’ voice is so small, so broken, I almost miss it. “You’re sure she’s—” He cuts off with a wave of tears that fill his eyes.
Dimitar nods solemnly. “My men went to check the apartment this morning. She appears to have passed in her sleep while you were away. I know this is hard, son. Your grandmother was a strong woman.”
Lucas wipes his face. “Fuck. Just, fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. These walls contain all secrets. You can tell me. I’ve practically raised you.”
Lucas nods. He downs half of his refilled drink before whispering, “I don’t know what to do. She… she was watching over my mom. How am I going to help her now?”
A gleam in Dimitar’s eye has my shoulders setting.
Dimitar croons, “Come here.” He pulls Lucas into a hug, one that the younger man is rigid in before submitting to the promise of comfort. But Lucas cannot see the way Dimitar breathes in his smell or how the older man turns his head towards Lucas’ trembling shoulders like I can. His hands sliding up and down Lucas’ back is not a fatherly comfort.
My teeth click together, my hands curling into fists. Mind healing was not one of my interests, but I know a thing or two about dreams. My magic pulses and I arc my attack towards Dimitar. It passes through the man with a ripple. My heart pounds. I’m not in a dream. I’m in a memory that Alasdair is forcing Lucas to relive.
Dimitar’s voice is full of gentleness, but it has a warning prickling up my spine. “Oh, Lucas. So much feeling. Let me take care of this for you.” I nearly turn violent when his hands shift, his face turning. “Let me make it all better.”
His lips brush Lucas’, and Lucas rears back. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Something dark slithers in my chest, a pressure building as Dimitar responds with a dismissive laugh, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
If only this were a dream, then I’d have some hope I could manipulate it, but I cannot rewrite a memory. Regardless, my magic pulses icy cold through my veins. Lucas mumbles something, but I cannot hear him over the pounding of my heart. All I can see is the way he attempts to pull back and how Dimitar grips him, keeping him close.
I stretch my neck, my teeth aching from how hard I grind them, and contemplate how to end this before Lucas is forced to relive something that I should not witness without his consent.
Dimitar sighs, like he has a heavy burden, “You’re already deeply indebted to the Guild because of your father.”
Lucas freezes, his eyes wide and staring at the wall.
Dimitar strokes the back of his hand down Lucas’ throat. “I helped you before. I hid his body. Cleaned his blood off you. Bribed the Magistrate to keep you out of prison. Got your mother and grandmother nice apartments in the city. Made sure those rings were passed to you.”
He takes Lucas’ limp hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “All things I was happy to trade you for. Now I ask that you consider me more than your mentor. Be with me, and I’ll ensure your mother gets the best help in the city. I’ll keep her safe.”
Lucas doesn’t move, and I can see the vacancy in his eyes. Rage trembles through me as Dimitar trails kisses up his arm to chuckle against the tattoo, “I’ve already marked you as part of my inner circle. What is one more mark? It’s an easy choice.”
Lucas flinches when Dimitar kisses his neck, panic flooding his face before he squeezes his eyes closed. He speaks softly—a fear response, as if he’s unsure of the outcome if he doesn’t appease Dimitar. “I need time to consider it. Please, let me have a few weeks so I can lay her to rest and grieve. She was everything to me, and I don’t want to disappoint you.”
He jerks his arm back, but Dimitar doesn’t let go of him. The shadows shift, and I cannot tear my gaze away as a dark smoke swirls from Dimitar’s form.
Lucas is changing, his brows furrowing as his hair lengthens and stubble grows until he appears exactly how I left him earlier. An echo reverberates around the room when he mumbles, “That’s not right… He let me go…”
Lucas throws his body back, but he’s not fast enough. Dimitar’s hand closes around his throat and he hurls him down on the couch with a slam. Dimitar laughs.
The memory has finally ended, and I move before I realize what I’m doing. Dimitar rips open Lucas’ shirt with long, curled claws, as he hisses, “She’d be alive if you’d been a good whore.”
