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Chapter 213
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2025-03-27 18:00:45Lycidas' POV
I woke to the sting of sunlight slicing through the heavy drapes, the kind of light that felt like a mockery after the night I’d had. My head throbbed, a dull ache that seemed to echo the chaos of my thoughts. I rubbed my eyes, squinting at the room around me. It was obscenely luxurious, every surface polished to a blinding sheen, every piece of furniture carved with ornate, gaudy details. I sat up, the silk sheets slipping off my bare skin, and let out a bitter laugh.
Finn's bedroom?
The place reeked of excess, of a desperate attempt to mask something hollow. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something metallic—blood, maybe, or the ghost of it. I stood, stretching the stiffness from my limbs, and made my way to the bathroom.
The shower was scalding, the water slamming into my skin like punishment. I leaned against the tiled wall, let
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Lycidas' POVLucian shook his head, his eyes closing as if the effort of speaking was too much.Late afternoon light slashed through barred windows, gilding dust motes that swirled like trapped spirits above Lucian's bed. My brother's once-indomitable frame now sank into feather pillows as if the mattress conspired to swallow him whole. His labored breaths syncopated with the grandfather clock's metronome tick-tock, tick-tockfrom the western wall - a sound that had scored every pivotal moment of our cursed lineage. I counted them as one counts heartbeats before execution: thirty-seven ticks since he'd last spoken. Seventy-three since I'd entered this tomb disguised as a king's quarters.When Lucian finally stirred, his eyelids lifted like rusted portcullises. Sunlight caught the silver threads in his black beard - premature aging, or the Moon Goddess' fingerprints? "Lycidas," he exhaled, the name disintegrating into a wet cough. I watched his thro
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Leah's POVThe first thing I remembered was the cold. Not winter's bite, but the slick, oily chill of concrete against bare skin. My knees were scraped raw. My breath came in ragged bursts, fogging the air like gun smoke. I pressed my palms flat against the alley wall, felt the grime cling to my fingertips.Naked. The word slithered through my skull, venomous. Not just my body - my pride flayed open, left to rot beside dumpsters reeking of stale beer and regret.What the hell has happened to me? I remembered stabbing Lucas in the chest and walking into the flames.Now here I am. Naked in some sort of back alley.Voices slithered from the street."Lookie here... fresh meat. Yummy..." a man slurred. Three shadows lurched into the alley, their laughter wet and jagged. One held a bottle by its neck; the glass caught the neon buzz of the bar sign above. Red Rabbit Tavern. The letters bled crimson down the brick.Is this... human world?
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Leah's POVLiam stared. "What the hell are you?"I wiped my hands on his jacket. "Hungry."He laughed then, wild and unhinged. "You're crazy.""Crazy enough to fix your problems. If you obey.""Obey?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's kinky."I stared at him. "You want to save your grandmother? Stop playing gangster. You're a joke."His smile died. "Yeah? And what's your deal? Some kinda runaway mob wife?""Like you can't even imagine." I released him.Silence.He rubbed his neck. "Fine. What's the plan, boss?"I glanced at the photo. The old woman's eyes glared back, unyielding. "First, we get some money.""From where?"-Vinny's nightclub reminded me of Sheridan Club. It was a cacophony of neon lights and pounding bass, the kind of place where secrets were buried under the weight of too much noise and too many bodies.I walked in with Liam trailing behind me, his face still bruised
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Leah's POVThe supermarket fluorescents buzzed like angry hornets. I trailed Liam past pyramids of canned beans, his boots squeaking against linoleum. He moved like a feral cat—all coiled tension and sideways glances. The discount rack called to him like a siren."Jackpot," he muttered, scooping armfuls of spaghetti boxes into the cart. The packaging screamed ITALIANA AUTENTICA! in Comic Sans. I snorted. Authentic as his leather jacket's "genuine pleather" tag."Grandma's got expensive taste in hospice care, huh?" I nudged a box with my elbow. The noodles rattled like dried bones. "Why not buy her real food now that you're rolling in mobster cash?"He didn't look up. "Nonna'd skin me alive if I wasted good dollars on truffle oil when Barilla's ninety cents." The cart shuddered as he dumped another box. "Besides, spaghetti's her love language. Ate it every Thursday with Papa Enzo before the cirrhosis got him."I let my claws retract just enoug
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Leah's POVThe sky shattered above me, a jagged maw of chaos spitting debris like venom. But Darren was there, his arms clamping around me, fierce and unyielding, rolling me across the ground as the hulking ship model plummeted from the heavens. It crashed where we'd been, its splintered bulk clawing the earth, and I felt the tremor in my bones. Dust choked the air, a gritty veil, but all I knew was his body pressed against mine, hard and desperate, his heat searing through the cold dread coiling in my gut.When the world stilled, our eyes locked. His stare cut through the haze, sharp as a blade, stripping me raw. Memories clawed their way up—him looming over me, blood-smeared and feral, shielding me from death's jaws. Tears burned my eyes, spilling hot and relentless, carving tracks down my dust-caked face. I couldn't stop them, couldn't cage the ache ripping through me.But then I caught it - or didn't. The air around him was wrong, empty. No musk of wol
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Leah's POVThe limousine door hissed open, releasing me into a hurricane of camera flashes. Miami's salt-rotten breeze tangled with the stench of money and gardenias as I stepped onto the crimson carpet, Rafael Laflamme's final creation clinging to my thighs like a lover's last breath. The dress was a funeral shroud in reverse - black silk devoured by blood-red crystals, cut low enough to make the paparazzi forget their own names. Four tall, dark male models flanked me, their hollow-cheeked perfection a living barricade. I'd chosen them for their vacant eyes. Men who looked at nothing saw nothing.Whispers followed like gnats. Who is she? I smiled behind the lace mask, its spiderweb patterns itching my scars. Let them wonder. Let them choke on their own curiosity.The ballroom swallowed us whole, chandeliers dripping light onto a thousand masks - feathers, gold leaf, animal snarls. I tasted champagne on the air, acidic and false. The first waltz began i
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