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He thrives in it. The aftermath. The violence.
And he wants me to feel it, the same way I feel pain, wants me to understand that he has the advantage here.
"You should be angry," he continues, voice soft, taunting. "Because she’s out there, and you’re in here. And for someone like you, that’s not just an inconvenience." He crouches down, so close I can see the flecks of crimson burning in his eyes, the telltale sign of his body drinking deep from whatever bloodshed he left behind. "It’s a leash."
The word slithers between us, settling in the space where he wants guilt to bloom.
"Tell me, brother." He grips my jaw, forcing my head up, his fingers digging into the bruises already forming. "Does she feel it? When they tear you apart?"
Something inside me stills.
Vaelrik’s smirk doesn’t falter, but I see the flicker of something deeper behind his eyes, watching, waiting, reading.
Waiting to see if he landed the blow.
I exhale slowly, letting my lips curve into something lazy. Something effortless. "Why?" My voice is rough, scraping against my throat. "Are you jealous?"
That makes his grip tighten.
"You always hated when something was mine." I let my head tilt, let my lips ghost against his knuckles, the mockerydeliberate. "Does it bother you, Vaelrik? That I chose something else over you?"
Vaelrik watches me the way a man watches something already broken.
He’s waiting. Not for my answer. For my resistance.
Because that’s always been the fun part for him, watching me fight, watching me bare my teeth and snap at the leash, watching me lose.
He exhales, slow and indulgent. "It doesn’t have to be like this, you know."
I tilt my head back against the wall, shifting my shoulders, ignoring the way the chains constrict like they’re sentient, like they can sense him. "That’s adorable," I murmur. "You almost sound sincere."
Vaelrik grins. "I am sincere."
He reaches out, dragging a lazy finger over the runes carved into my shackles. My vision pulses, just for a moment, dark and searing as the magic reacts to him, like it knows we share blood.
I don’t flinch.
He doesn’t stop smiling. "You think this is satisfying for me? Watching you waste away, rotting in Severin’s playroom, feeding your pain into nothing?" He leans in, voice softer. "You think this is what I wanted for you?"
A chuckle pushes past my teeth, raw and dry. "Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you’re suddenly sentimental."
"Not sentimental." His fingers close around the shackles at my wrists, just enough pressure to make the magic flare. "Strategic."
The magic burns, but I don’t give him the reaction he’s looking for. I just arch a brow, waiting.
Vaelrik watches me for another moment, then exhales, shaking his head. "You always needed a reason to fight." Hisgrip tightens. "A purpose. Some noble fucking cause to make it all worthwhile. But look where it’s gotten you."
His gaze drops pointedly to my ribs, to the bruises already blooming beneath the shackles, to the slow trickle of blood down my arms where the runes have been eating through my skin. "Tell me, Riven." His voice dips lower, a slow drag of a blade against flesh. "Was it worth it?"
The laugh that rips from my throat is almost genuine. Because of course this is where he’s going with this.
"You think you’ve got something better to offer?" I meet his eyes, unblinking. "Go on then. Convince me."
Vaelrik’s lips curl, pleased. "You stay here." He gestures around us. "You fight with us. No more leashes. No more taking orders from Lucien. No more binding yourself to things that make you weak."
My stomach twists, but I don’t let it show. "You mean no more binding myself to her."
His grin widens. "Exactly."