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“No,” he grumbled, the world rumbling from his chest as the shadows deepened.
No, he couldn’t. Because if he did…Gods help him, if he did, he’d remember last night. Remember how his body flooded with the violent need to protect Elarian as Vaelor reached for her throat. The way he’d carried her through the corridors, chased by whispers but only caring that she survived.
And oh, gods, how they drank each other’s blood, a union most unholy even in this land of accursed sinners.
If Lucan looked at Elarian, he would only see everything he had just doomed for the fickle desires of his human heart.
“You have to breathe,” Elarian said again, voice maddeningly gentle.
“We’ll find another way.”
Another way.
There had never been another way with Aurelion—only survival masquerading as obedience. Something inside Lucan snapped. He surged to his feet so violently, the room seemed to recoil from him. Shadows lashed out like frightened serpents. One struck a crystal goblet near Elarian’s hand, shattering it against the wall.
That howling beast inside him surfaced once more.
“Don’t,” he said coldly, voice barely human. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Elarian frowned.
“Like what?”
“Like—” His breathing fractured. “Like you…pity me.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“No?” His laugh came hollow. “You only think you understand.”
“I understand enough, Lucan.” She gently touched the two puncture marks still healing over her neck. “You are afraid. So he has left with his letter—let them come.” She laughed. “Return my silver, and once they all lay dead at my feet, then we can return to being enemies.”
“No, Elarian,” he snarled, crimson eyes burning with fury. “You understand nothing!”
The palace shook, and a crack raced across the marble beneath their feet. Elarian remained still, watching him with those impossible eyes the color of pale amaranth blooms.
“I thought I saw something beneath all of this,” Elarian said quietly.
The disappointment in her voice cut Lucan deeper than a blade ever had. His defenses crumbled around Elarian; gods, he hated her for it. Hated how she did not bow to the monster he’d turned into.
“I thought there was still a man beneath this, Lucan.” Elarian swallowed hard. “I…I touched him for a moment.”
Her eyes searched his face.
“He held me,” she whispered. “Carried me through like the palace like losing me would break him.”
Elarian backed away, her hand inching toward the empty crystal goblet behind her. Lucan only stared, unable to breathe. He staggered backward as if struck by her words.
No.
Gods. She had seen him and found something worth saving—had seen the frightened man bereft of home and family, strangled beneath centuries of crowns, blood, and obedience.
No.
He could never be anything more to her. Godsdamn him all over again; he had survived centuries precisely because he did not let himself become something more, because he denied himself every chance at happiness, sabotaging even the best of relationships before he could present a new blade to Aurelion.
They were simply supposed to kill Vaelor Thane. Two enemies forced to become political allies only to survive long enough so that they might return to the battlefield once more.
Elarian was never supposed to become something more.
