Awakened Hunger and Lethal Deceit

TALIA POV

A heavy shadow swallowed the morning light before my eyelids could even flutter open.

I sucked in a sharp breath and jerked upright, slamming directly into a wall of solid muscle. Lucius was hovering inches above me. His massive frame blotted out the gilded ceiling of the master suite, his broad shoulders squared and predatory. Silver eyes pinned me to the mattress, cold and sharp as twin daggers.

"You stink."

The words came out in a dry, gravelly scrape. I blinked, my sleep-fogged mind trying to make sense of the giant Alpha leaning over my bare chest. I shoved both palms against his rock-hard pecs, but he did not budge a single millimeter.

"Is this your daily routine, or do you just enjoy lurking over people while they sleep?" I snapped, struggling to drag the heavy silk sheet up to my chin.

"I needed to confirm you were still drawing breath." Lucius did not blink. His eyes traced the line of my jaw with clinical precision. "You made it to day two."

"Congratulations to me. Now back the hell up."

"Your breath," he muttered, tilting his head slightly. "It smells like something crawled into your throat and died."

Heat flared across my cheeks, hot and furious. I yanked the bedsheet tighter against my collarbone.

"Well, you dragged me into this palace without clothes, a brush, or a toothbrush. Excuse me for not waking up smelling like fresh pine and crushed mint."

Instead of retreating, Lucius dropped his weight lower. The heat rolling off his skin hit me like a furnace draft. He dipped his head toward the curve of my shoulder, the rough shadow of his morning stubble grazing the sensitive skin right below my ear. His chest expanded as he drew in a deep, deliberate breath against my pulse point.

The vibration of his voice traveled directly through my skin.

"Your scent. Underneath the sour breath and the terror." His tone dropped an octave, thickening into something dark, guttural, and explicitly carnal. "It is distracting. The kind of distracting that makes me want to keep you tied to this bed all day."

My breath hitched in my throat. Every nerve ending down my spine ignited at once. The phantom pressure of his mouth on mine from the gallery rushed back into my head, hot and demanding, his fangs grazing my lips while his hands gripped my waist. My core tightened, my inner wolf pacing the edges of my ribs, eager for the friction of his weight pressing down on me.

Then, just as quickly as it flared, the heat vanished.

Lucius straightened his spine and pushed away from the bed. His posture turned rigid, his features locking behind a mask of glacial indifference. The hunger that had darkened his silver eyes snuffed out completely, replaced by the detached gaze of an executioner looking at an ant.

"Fix that breath situation," he commanded, brushing imaginary lint off his charcoal sleeve. "I will have my mother send decent clothes to your quarters."

"Wait." I sat up on my elbows, the sheet slipping down to expose the swell of my breasts. "About what happened on the balcony last night—"

"Last night is irrelevant." His voice was flat stone. "Oh, and I already dispatched the formal peace offering to the Ashcreek elders. To compensate them for your death."

The air left my lungs in a stunned gasp.

"My what?"

The heavy oak door slammed shut before the echo of my voice could reach the hallway. The latch clicked into place with finality.

I sat alone in the center of the colossal bed, staring at the polished wood panels.

The man had just whispered filthy promises against my neck, confessed he wanted to pin me to the mattress for hours, and then calmly informed me that he had already mailed out my death notice. He was treating my funeral like a foregone bureaucratic detail.

I raised a palm to my mouth, exhaled, and sniffed.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "God. He was not lying. I smell like a swamp."

Sitting around waiting for a death squad was not my style, and sitting around with toxic breath was even worse. I searched the grand chamber, but there were no toiletries, no fresh water pitcher, and certainly no garments. My original clothes were still ruined rags from the wedding disaster.

I kicked off the heavy duvet and stood up. Wrapping the ivory silk top sheet firmly around my nude frame, I tucked the hem across my breasts, knotted the excess fabric tightly at my hip, and fastened the edge like a makeshift toga.

If this pack wanted me dead, they could at least let me die with a clean mouth. My grandmother back in the borderlands had taught me about wild tunise leaves. The plant grew in moist, shaded soil, full of potent oils that could strip bacteria and freshen breath better than modern paste. I had caught the faint, peppery scent of tunise shrubs yesterday afternoon when they dragged me past the inner courtyards.

I cracked the bedroom door open. The corridor was empty, save for the faint glow of dawn filtering through the tall, arched windows. Barefoot and silent, I slipped through the quiet corridors, following the damp, earthy draft that drifted from the southern wing of the estate.

The palace opened into an expansive botanical courtyard. Giant stone pillars supported a glass dome high above, while lush ferns, hanging vines, and sprawling flowerbeds covered the ground. The morning air was sharp and cool, biting into my exposed shoulders and sending goosebumps rippling across my arms.

Near the stone fountain in the center, I spotted the serrated, deep-green foliage of tunise bushes growing along the border.

I knelt by the damp soil, plucked three fresh leaves, crushed them between my fingers until the pungent herbal oil coated my skin, and popped them into my mouth. The bitter, peppery burst hit my tongue immediately, scrubbing away the stale morning taste.

A sharp, rhythmic sound cut through the silence of the garden.

*Slap. Slap. Slap.*

It was wet, heavy, and frantic. Followed by a woman’s ragged gasp and a man’s low, guttural grunt.

I froze on my knees, the leaves half-chewed in my cheek.

Curiosity dragged my gaze toward a secluded stone alcove tucked behind a wall of overgrown ivy. I crept closer, the damp moss cold beneath my bare soles, and parted the thick leaves just enough to peer inside.

My breath caught in my throat.

A woman in a gray maid’s uniform was bent completely over a heavy stone garden bench. Her linen skirts were hitched up past her waist, bunched messily around the small of her back. Her bare thighs were spread wide, trembling against the cold carved stone, her fingers clawing into the damp masonry for purchase.

Standing right behind her was Lucius.

No—not Lucius.

The man possessed the exact same towering build, the same chiseled jawline, and the same dark, sweeping hair. But his trousers were shoved down around his knees, and his heavy, veined cock was burying itself ruthlessly into the maid’s wet slit.

*Slap. Slap.*

His hips snapped forward with savage, unrelenting force. Every brutal thrust drove the maid forward against the stone, her hips bucking helplessly as his thick shaft pounded deep inside her cunt. His large, calloused hand gripped her hair, yanking her head back so that her throat arched toward the glass dome, while his other hand clamped down hard on her bare buttock, kneading the pale flesh red with every violent slam.

"Ah... please... Lord Gideon..." the servant whined, her voice shaking as she took the full length of his cock over and over.

The man grunted, his pace accelerating into a relentless, punishing rhythm. His balls slapped against her wet folds with sickening, raw intensity. He was not making love; he was rutting like a wild beast in the dirt, entirely indifferent to the woman beneath him.

A sudden, traitorous heat coiled deep in my stomach.

I knew I should turn away. I knew I should run back to my room. But my feet remained rooted to the flagstones. My mind, still raw from Lucius’s suffocating presence earlier that morning, scrambled to superimpose Lucius’s face over this man’s features. What would it feel like to have Lucius’s massive hands gripping my hips like that? To feel his heavy weight driving into me, pinning me against the cold stone while his deep voice growled filthy praise into my ear?

My thighs pressed together involuntarily. My inner wolf stirred, whining at the sheer, base display of dominance.

A twig snapped beneath my heel.

The man’s head jerked toward the foliage.

His eyes locked directly onto mine. Piercing, mocking, and alight with wicked amusement.

He did not pull out. He did not even slow his rhythm.

Instead, Gideon drove his hips forward with deliberate, punishing force, burying his cock to the hilt inside the gasping servant while staring straight into my eyes through the leaves. The maid let out a choked sob of pleasure, her toes curling against the stone, but Gideon’s attention remained fixed on my crimson face and the thin bedsheet clutched over my breasts.

A slow, insolent grin spread across his sweat-glistened lips. He gave two more shallow pumps, then pulled his glistening shaft free with a wet slide, letting the maid collapse forward onto the bench in a panting heap.

The girl quickly scrambled to pull her skirts down, keeping her head low as she fled the alcove like a frightened rabbit.

Gideon did not bother pulling up his trousers immediately. He casually tucked his thick, semi-hard cock back into his linen drawers and buckled his belt, stepping out from the alcove toward me.

"Enjoying the view, little bride?" he asked, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

I stepped backward, clutching the bedsheet so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"I was looking for herbs," I said, forcing my voice to remain level despite the heat scalding my throat. "I did not mean to interrupt your public rutting."

"Herbs." Gideon chuckled, his eyes trailing down the curves of my silk-wrapped body with brazen hunger. "Right. That is why your nipples are pushing through that sheet, and your pulse is hammering hard enough to echo off the fountain."

"You look exactly like him," I muttered, my stomach turning with a strange mix of disgust and leftover adrenaline. "It is unsettling."

"Except I am far better company," he replied smoothly, taking a slow step toward me. "And unlike my brooding twin, I actually believe in using what is right in front of me. Gideon. Third-in-command. The brother who knows how to make a woman scream for the right reasons."

"Your whole family is deranged," I snapped, turning on my heel. "I am leaving."

"Says the girl wandering the gardens naked under a rag, watching strangers fuck." Gideon laughed, the sound deep and mocking. "Did Lucius wear you out so completely that you forgot how to put on clothes? Or does he just prefer you stripped and ready for his convenience?"

"We did not touch," I fired back before I could stop myself.

Gideon’s eyebrows shot up, a dangerous smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"No? That is surprising. Because the scent of your arousal is hanging all over this garden right now." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a dirty murmur. "My brother is a fool. If you were mine, I would not let you out of bed long enough to ever need clothes."

"Go choke on a bone, Gideon."

I spun around and sprinted down the corridor, leaving his mocking laughter echoing off the glass dome behind me.

"Nice ass, sister-in-law! Lucius is going to kill me when he smells my scent on your trail!"

My bare feet slapped against the cold marble as I bolted back toward the residential wing, my heart thumping against my ribs. The depravity of this royal court was suffocating. Every Alpha in this bloodline seemed driven by either homicidal rage or raw, untamed lust. There was no middle ground, no sanity, and no peace.

I rounded the final corner leading to my quarters, slowing my pace to catch my breath.

The heavy door to my chamber clicked open.

A woman stepped out into the hallway, pulling a delicate linen handkerchief away from her mouth.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

It was Lucius’s mother. Lady Callista.

Her pale silver hair was swept up in an intricate, regal braid, her posture impeccable. But the moment her cold eyes landed on me, a flash of genuine panic flickered across her features. Her hand trembled slightly as she pressed the embroidered cloth back against her nose, concealing the lower half of her face.

"You are awake early," she stated, her voice muffled through the fabric.

I glanced past her into my room, then back to her guarded expression.

"What were you doing in my quarters?" I asked bluntly.

Lady Callista lowered the handkerchief by a fraction, her jaw tightening with distaste.

"Seasonal allergies," she muttered curtly, stepping briskly past me without meeting my eyes. "The dust in this corridor is unbearable. Your attendant left your attire on the bed. Put it on and do not embarrass this house."

Before I could demand a real explanation, she swept down the corridor, the hem of her dark velvet gown whispering against the stone floor until she disappeared around the turn.

I stood in the drafty hall for a second, my wolf prickling with unease.

The matriarch of the most powerful pack in the territory was sneaking out of my guest quarters, claiming to have allergies? Wolves of royal bloodlines did not suffer from seasonal dust allergies. Their immune systems burned through common irritants before symptoms could even manifest.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, bolting the latch behind me.

Lying spread across the pristine white duvet was a magnificent gown. The fabric was rich, heavy silk, dyed a deep, majestic shade of burgundy that looked like dark wine pooling on the linen. The collar was high and structured, designed to fasten tightly against the throat with silver clasps, while the long sleeves flared at the wrists with delicate black lace.

It was stunning. Far more luxurious than anything I had ever worn in Ashcreek.

I approached the bed, reaching out to touch the smooth silk.

A dense, cloying fragrance wafted up from the fabric. It smelled primarily of dried lavender—the traditional herb used by northern noblewomen to perfume formal garments. But right beneath the lavender, clinging to the weave of the silk, was another scent. Sickly sweet, like overripe plums rotting under a summer sun, with a faint, metallic undertone that made the back of my throat prickle.

I picked up the small parchment note resting beside the collar.

The handwriting was sharp and imperious:

*Dress immediately. The Grand Council awaits your presence. Do not make the Alpha of Alphas repeat his summons.*

I turned the gown over in my hands. Perhaps the strange scent was simply an expensive southern perfume, something reserved for palace elites. I could not afford to show weakness or disrespect today. If Lucius had already sent a death notice to my home pack, my survival depended entirely on projecting strength before the gathered Alphas.

I washed quickly in the basin, scrubbed my skin until it was clean, and slipped into the burgundy silk.

The dress fit like a second skin. The high collar closed snugly around my throat, the cool silver clasps resting against my pulse point. I looked into the gilded vanity mirror. The dark wine color brought out the green in my eyes and framed the sharp contours of my jaw. For the first time since being abducted, I did not look like a trembling borderland hostage.

I looked like a Luna.

A sharp knock rattled the heavy door.

"Lady Talia," an armored guard called out from the hall. "The high council is in session. Escort has arrived."

I took a deep breath, smoothed down the heavy skirts, and opened the door. "Lead the way."

We descended through the deepest levels of the palace, leaving the sunlit residential towers behind. The air grew progressively colder, thick with the scent of aged limestone, burning pine torches, and heavy wolf musk. The council chamber was an immense, subterranean hall carved straight out of the mountain's bedrock. Ribbed stone arches soared overhead, casting long, menacing shadows across rows of tiered amphitheater seating.

Dozens of high-ranking Alphas, pack elders, and seasoned warriors filled the benches, their dark eyes tracking my every step as the guards led me down the central stone aisle. The silence in the room was absolute, heavy with suffocating judgment.

At the far end of the hall, resting on an elevated dais of black granite, sat the high court.

I raised my eyes to the platform and nearly tripped over my own hem.

Sitting on matching carved thrones beside the Alpha’s seat were two identical women.

Same pale silver hair coiled into crowns. Same aristocratic bone structure. Same icy, pale-blue eyes staring down at me with unblinking disdain. Both wore dark silk, both held identical lace handkerchiefs in their laps, and both sat with regal, terrifying stillness.

Twin matriarchs.

My breath caught. When had there been two? Which one had I run into outside my bedroom door this morning? And why had nobody in this cursed fortress mentioned that the former Alpha’s widow had an identical duplicate?

Between the twin mothers sat Lucius.

He was dressed in formal Alpha regalia—a tailored coat of obsidian leather trimmed with dark fur, silver buckles fastening across his broad chest. His jaw was set like a block of granite. Flanking his throne were Cassian, looking tense and watchful, and Gideon, who caught my gaze and offered a slow, insolent wink.

Standing on the floor directly opposite the dais was a contingent of fierce, heavily armed wolves wearing gray cloaks embroidered with the Danvers pack crest.

The family of Camilla Danvers. The dead bride.

Their leader, a massive warrior with a jagged scar splitting his left eyebrow, stepped forward. His eyes burned with feral hatred as he pointed a thick finger at my chest.

"The blood on the altar has barely dried, Alpha Lucius!" the warrior roared, his voice booming off the vaulted ceiling. "Camilla was our brightest star, pledged to your house to seal the northern treaty! And this borderland stray, this unpedigreed parasite, deliberately murdered her on the sacred balcony to steal her crown!"

Murmurs of approval rippled through the gathered Alphas. The Danvers wolves reached for the hilts of their silver blades, their posture coiled to strike.

Panic surged through my chest, but I stood my ground, lifting my chin toward the throne.

"It was an accident," I declared, my voice echoing clearly through the stone cavern. "I was running from an arranged assault in the lower quarters. Camilla attacked me, the balcony balustrade gave way, and she slipped. I did not kill your sister."

The scarred warrior sneered, spitting onto the stone floor. "Lies from a venomous whore trying to save her own skin!"

I looked past him, locking my eyes straight onto Lucius.

"Alpha Lucius," I said, projecting authority I did not feel. "We swore the wedding vows before your entire court. The sacred union was witnessed by the ancestors and sealed by the ancient laws. Bride for bride. I am your wife."

The hall fell dead silent. Every Alpha turned to the master of the house, waiting for his judgment.

Lucius did not move for several agonizing seconds.

Then, slowly, he rose from his throne.

His massive frame commanded the room effortlessly as he stepped down from the black dais. He walked toward me with steady, predatory grace, his dark boots clicking methodically against the flagstones. He stopped less than a foot away, towering over me until his shadow swallowed me whole.

His face was void of all warmth.

"Yes, I married you," Lucius announced, his voice ringing with cold, absolute authority that brooked no challenge from the council. "To prevent a blood feud on the hour of my wedding. But you have not been marked. Your neck bears no claim. You are not my mate, and you are not the Luna of this pack."

The words struck my chest like a physical blow. The memory of his hands on my waist, his rough mouth consuming mine in the dark gallery, shattered into useless pieces.

Lucius stepped closer, leaning down until his lips hovered a fraction of an inch from my ear. His deep baritone dropped into a devastating whisper meant only for me.

"You want the truth, Talia? I was curious. You survived the night, and for a fleeting second, I wondered if you were different. If you had the power to break the curse." A bitter, icy breath brushed my skin. "You do not. You cannot break what has doomed this house for seven years. You are going to die just like the rest of them. And I would rather hand your corpse to the Danvers pack than watch you rot in my bed."

He pulled back, his silver eyes completely empty.

My throat constricted, the silk collar suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight against my windpipe. I refused to let tears fall in front of these wolves. I swallowed the bile rising in my mouth and stared right back at him.

"You were growling a very different tune on that balcony last night, Alpha," I whispered back, my voice laced with venom. "Or was that just indigestion?"

A muscle twitched violently in Lucius's jaw.

Taking the Alpha’s detachment as open permission, the scarred Danvers warrior lunged forward from the floor.

His thick fingers clamped like an iron vise around my upper arm. He twisted my flesh brutally through the burgundy silk, yanking me off balance toward the Danvers delegation.

"Since she is nothing more than an unmarked pretender," the man bellowed to the crowd, baring his yellowed fangs in a vile grin, "she belongs to us! My brothers and I will drag this little Ashcreek slut to our encampment! We will take turns breaking her between our legs until she begs for mercy, and then we will gut her like the dog she is!"

The Danvers warriors cheered, stepping forward with drawn daggers.

The air in the room shattered.

Lucius moved faster than thought.

There was no warning growl, no shifting posture. Just a sonic crack of displaced air as Lucius closed the distance in a fraction of a millisecond.

*CRACK!*

The sound of shattering bone echoed like a gunshot through the vaulted hall.

Lucius’s fist slammed directly into the side of the warrior's face. The sheer, terrifying impact fractured the man's entire lower jaw into jagged splinters, spraying teeth and bright arterial blood across the polished floor.

The Danvers warrior did not even have time to scream. The concussive force lifted his two-hundred-pound frame off the stone, hurling him backward through the air until his skull slammed into a support pillar, leaving him crumpled in a twitching, bleeding heap.

The council chamber exploded into frantic shouts, Alphas leaping to their feet, blades half-drawn.

Lucius stood over the fallen warrior, his silver eyes blazing with feral, homicidal madness. His upper lip pulled back to reveal fully elongated fangs, dripping with saliva. A suffocating wave of Alpha aura blasted from his body, thick as molten lead, smashing down upon every wolf in the room until the lesser Alphas dropped to their knees, clutching their throats in agony.

Lucius turned his lethal gaze upon the terrified Danvers delegation.

"Don't you EVER," Lucius roared, his voice carrying the thunderous resonance of a prime predator, "call my wife a slut."

The silence that followed was suffocating. No one dared to breathe.

Lucius stepped over the groaning, blood-soaked warrior, his eyes raking across the elders.

"Lay one finger on her," Lucius growled, each syllable vibrating with lethal intent, "and I will personally hunt down and castrate every male in your bloodline. I will burn your lands to ash and feed your whelps to the vultures. She is my wife by ancient law. She is not going anywhere."

My heart hammered wildly against my ribs.

He had just rejected me. He had just claimed I was doomed to die. And yet he had shattered a high-ranking Alpha's jaw simply for touching my sleeve.

"Lucius," Cassian called out carefully from the dais, his hands raised in a calming gesture. "The council is watching. You cannot fracture the northern alliance over—"

"I am the Alpha of Alphas!" Lucius snapped, not even turning his head. "Everyone in this room bows to my command!"

I parted my lips to speak, but the words withered on my tongue.

A sudden, catastrophic wave of heat ripped through the center of my chest.

It did not feel like a fever. It felt like someone had poured boiling liquid silver directly into my aorta. The room began to spin violently, the vaulted ceiling tilting at a sickening angle.

"Talia?" Cassian’s voice sounded muffled, as if he were shouting through deep water.

I reached up to claw at the burgundy collar, struggling to draw air into my burning lungs. My hand brushed against my upper lip.

It came away coated in thick, dark crimson.

A hot trickle cascaded from my nostrils. Then, a sharp, piercing pain stabbed behind my temples as blood burst from my tear ducts, spilling over my eyelashes and painting the world in a blur of terrifying red.

"Look at her!" someone screamed from the upper benches.

"The curse!" another voice shrieked in horror. "The bride curse is taking her!"

My knees liquefied beneath me. The agonizing heat clawed through my veins, tearing at my organs from the inside out. Hot blood dripped from my ear canals, pattering softly onto the stone floor.

I collapsed forward, ready for the impact of the flagstones.

Strong, familiar arms caught me mid-fall.

Lucius pulled my failing body against his chest, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. His face swam above mine, distorted through a veil of my own blood.

"No," he muttered, his deep voice cracking with a raw, desperate edge. "Not yet. You were supposed to be different..."

"I told you," Cassian said from somewhere nearby, his tone heavy with grim resignation. "No one survives the seventh year. The curse took her."

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream that my throat was on fire, that the silk on my skin felt like acid, that the bitter taste of tunise leaves could not mask the sweet, rotten poison pooling in my veins.

But my jaw locked. Darkness dragged at the edges of my vision, thick and heavy.

Lucius carried me out of the screaming council chamber, his long strides moving swiftly through the corridors. He kicked open a pair of heavy doors, stepping into a massive, dusty room dominated by a dark four-poster bed.

The ancestral bedchamber of his late father.

He laid my twitching frame gently onto the dusty counterpane. Blood continued to pool from my nose and mouth, staining the ancient sheets.

Lucius hovered over my face, his silver eyes dead and shuttered once more.

"You were my favorite," he whispered softly, his thumb brushing away a trail of crimson from my cheekbone.

He did not check my fading pulse. He did not call for a healer.

Lucius turned his back on me, his heavy boots carrying him toward the doorway.

The heavy wood swung shut. The latch clicked.

Total, suffocating silence swallowed the room.

My heart fluttered once.

Twice.

Then stopped.

My chest went completely still. Darkness claimed my senses, pulling my consciousness down into a bottomless, icy abyss. The seventh bride had fallen. The ancient tragedy had run its course.

One minute passed.

Then two.

In the dead quiet of the abandoned room, my left index finger twitched.

Deep inside the frozen cage of my ribs, a concussive shock exploded.

*THUMP.*

My heart slammed against my breastbone like a sledgehammer. My lungs expanded violently, spasming with savage fury.

I arched off the mattress with a ragged, blood-curdling scream.

My throat convulsed, and a fountain of thick, viscous black bile erupted from my mouth, splashing across the linen duvet. The fluid was unnatural, pitch-black and boiling hot. It hissed as it struck the fabric, releasing thin wisps of acrid smoke.

Instead of soaking into the cotton, the black bile began to move.

It slithered across the surface of the bed like living tendrils, writhing and curling until it formed intricate, glowing arcane runes—the exact geometric patterns I had glimpsed in the margins of the ancient grimoires in the library.

"LUCIUS!" I gasped, my fingernails digging into the mattress as I dragged myself upright.

The black runes flared with blinding silver light. Then, reversing direction, the glowing script raced across the linen and sank directly beneath the skin of my forearms, burning into my flesh like hot iron brands before vanishing beneath my pores.

I fell back against the pillows, clutching my bruised throat.

The scalding fever was gone. The blood dripping from my eyes and nose had ceased. My body felt battered, raw, and exhausted, but the air flowing into my lungs was clear and sweet.

My gaze fell upon the high burgundy collar of my gown. The sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit hung heavy in the air, radiating from the crushed fibers of the silk.

The truth struck my mind with the force of an avalanche.

"I was poisoned," I whispered into the empty, dusty room, my voice trembling with profound shock. "There is no curse. None of it was real."

A low, deliberate creak broke the silence.

The heavy bedroom door swung open on its hinges.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the pale corridor light, was Lucius’s mother.

Her embroidered linen handkerchief was still clutched tightly in her pale fingers. But as her eyes fell upon my living, breathing form sitting upright on the bed, her face contorted in disbelief and fury.

She stepped over the threshold, kicking the heavy door shut behind her with a soft, final thud.

"You are supposed to be dead," she whispered chillingly, her voice void of any maternal softness. "All of them were."

Down the distant corridor, the frantic, thunderous footsteps of Lucius came racing toward the bedchamber, rattling the ancient walls.

Yet as the matriarch raised her cold, calculating eyes to mine, her lips slowly curled into a sinister, unapologetic smile.

"But I can fix that."