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Lucian
Present day …
“Roark!” I snap out of the nightmare, momentarily disoriented as I search the room for familiarity.
My son. Gone. Dead.
Bile rises in my throat, my head spi
The dark chandelier, white curtains, dark Victorian décor, all tell me I’m in Amelia’s room.
Amelia.
Turning to my side, though, I find black raven hair fa
Isa.
Shaken to my core, I drag her body into mine, where her small frame perfectly melds into my much larger form. With my face pressed into her nape, I screw my eyes shut, mentally pushing away the lingering images of my nightmare. My son. Pale and cold and dead.
Her scent penetrates the chaos inside my head, the warm and inviting aroma that’s a mix between sweet vanilla cream and her own personal fragrance. I drag my lips over her soft skin, kissing her shoulder, while my breaths calm, my pulse slows. Wrapping her tighter against me, I feel her body tick with life, her heartbeat and steady exhale like a metronome that lures me back to the present. I’ve had nightmares before, and woken up to cold sweats, sleepwalking, sometimes swinging out at nothing but shadows. Tonight, I’m grateful for Isa’s presence. The way she soothes the restlessness that claws inside of me. The wretched demons of my past spoiling for their usual nightly torment.
With her back to my chest, she shifts and moans, and I kiss behind her ear to settle her. For years, I’ve shu
I’ve been careful to avoid repeating the mistakes of my past, of tangling myself in another web of commitments and responsibilities, but this girl is different somehow. I can feel my defenses crumbling when I’m around her, and as much as that might frustrate the hell out of me, I don’t hate it, either.
Thoughts of her story from earlier come to mind, the way my body reacted to her distress, tense and shaking with anger. There’s more to what happened that night, something she’s leaving out, but I didn’t push it. I wanted to punish those who put the panic and fear in her eyes, while she spoke through detached words, trying to convince me that she left that party unscathed. I know better than that. A girl doesn’t sleep with a blade under her pillow and cut up her arms in the name of a friend. I don’t care how close they were. Those boys hurt her, too, and in turn, I wanted to hurt them—still do.
I would find joy in their misery, pleasure in their suffering, while gifting them with a slow and agonizing penance.
Perhaps I am a sadist, after all.
I would’ve destroyed every last one of them for her.
My raven beauty.
My Isa bella.