15. Lucien

Chapter 15

Lucien

" Y ou gave her the pills? Her clothes?" Kim is leaning on the edge of my desk. He watches me storm into the room and go straight for the decanter of blood on the sideboard.

"She refused to take them."

"The clothes?" Kim frowns.

"The pills," I bark, downing a glass then pouring another.

"Why?"

I stalk to the computer and turn on the feed to the bedroom. She has moved the tray onto the floor, pushed it up against the armchair so she doesn't bump into it, and is feeling around on the bed for her clothes.

I watch her take off her jeans and her underwear.

She is completely naked.

"Lucien?" Kim taps the top of the screen, demanding my attention. "Why wouldn't she take them?"

"She says she won't take them until I tell her why she's really here."

I meet Kim's eyes. He smiles and nods approvingly. "Clever girl," he mutters. Then he nods at me. "She got the measure of you quickly, didn't she? She's been here less than twenty-four hours and she's already worked out that she's your Achilles heel."

"Tell me about the vampires at the house." I force myself to stop watching her. Even though she's bending over the bed, using it to steady herself as she steps into a fresh pair of underwear, exposing her ass in a way that practically makes me salivate.

Kim's expression turns serious. He runs a hand through his hair, a habit he has when he's about to deliver bad news.

"It was a mess, Lucien. Two vampires. They ransacked the place, looking for something. When I confronted the younger one, an older one showed up."

I tear my gaze away from the screen, giving Kim my full attention. "And?"

"The young one said something. ‘He will destroy you... all of you.' Before I could get more, the older vamp staked him."

My fist clenches around my glass. "And the older one?"

Kim's jaw tightens. "Staked himself. Said I'd get no answers and just... ended it."

"He killed himself rather than expose whoever sent them there." I down the rest of my drink, processing this information. For a vampire to kill themselves takes extreme strength. It goes against our very nature. We are wired for survival at all costs. "They were looking for something. What?"

"No idea. But—" Kim hesitates, moving around to my side of the desk and glancing at the screen where Luna is now fully dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "There's more. At the bookshop this morning, when you sent me to clean up, I felt something. Something I've never encountered before."

I raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

"I didn't tell you before because I didn't understand it. But it was powerful. Ancient. And hungry." Kim shivers at the memory. "I saw things in the mirror. Shadows moving where they shouldn't. It was like the place was alive with some kind of energy."

I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. "And?"

Kim meets my eyes, his expression grave. "I hate to say it, but I think you might be right. About Luna. About her connection to the Covenant."

I nod slowly, a mix of vindication and dread settling in my stomach. "So now you understand why she can't leave. Why she needs to be protected."

"Yeah," Kim says, looking back at the screen where Luna sits in darkness. "I get it now. But Lucien… some of the energy I've felt is dark. Incrediblty powerful. So, are you protecting her or are you protecting everyone else from her?"

I don't answer. Because honestly, I'm not sure I know the answer myself.

When Kim leaves, I settle in for a long night of watching Luna. There is nothing else we can do tonight, and if I'm going to make use of him tomorrow, he needs sleep.

He is human, after all.

I pour another glass of blood and stare at the screen. The darkness doesn't impede my vampire vision, and I see every painful moment of her stubbornness.

She tosses and turns, unable to find a comfortable position. Her face contorts with pain, and I can almost feel it radiating through the screen. She tries lying on her back, then her side, then curled up in a fetal position. Nothing seems to work. Her hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white with tension.

Hours pass, and she doesn't sleep. Instead, she curls into herself, trembling. I watch as she presses her palms against her temples, massaging in small circles as if trying to ward off dark thoughts. Her lips move silently – is she counting? Reciting something to herself? Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to help.

Occasionally, she sits up abruptly as if struck by a sudden jolt of pain. She rocks back and forth, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The motion is almost hypnotic, a desperate attempt at self-soothing.

When the first sob escapes her lips, it's like a knife to my chest. It starts as a small, choked sound, barely audible. But soon, it grows into full-blown weeping. I grip the edge of my desk, knuckles white, as I watch her cry. Each tear feels like it's tearing me apart.

I killed a man for making her cry like this. And now I am the monster destroying her beautiful soul.

She buries her face in her pillow, muffling her cries. Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs. Between bouts of crying, she gasps for air, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. It's as if the pain is stealing the very oxygen from her lungs.

I want to go to her, to hold her, to make the pain stop. But I can't. Not until she understands that she needs to trust me to figure all this out.

As dawn approaches, Luna finally moves. She's been lying still for the past hour, staring blankly at the ceiling. Now, she stumbles in the darkness, feeling her way to the bathroom. Her movements are slow, cautious, each step seeming to cost her great effort. I lean forward, frustrated by the lack of camera there. Minutes tick by, and she doesn't emerge. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty.

Finally, the bathroom door opens. Luna steps out, skin damp, hair loose over her shoulders, towel wrapped around her. In one hand, she's holding her pills. In the other... is that a razor?

I lean closer and watch her sit on the edge of the bed. She spends a long time just sitting there, staring at her hands even though she can't see them.

She shifts, and the towel rides up.

There is something on her thigh.

Are those scars?

Ice cold dread thickens instantly in my veins.

Luna presses the razor to her inner thigh. She screws her eyes closed, takes it away, bites her lower lip. She taps her foot, her toes curl.

The realization of what she's thinking of doing to herself hits me like a physical blow.

I'm out of my chair and running before I even register moving.