Page 69

Luna

I don’t bother knocking. I slam the door open like I’ve got every right to be here, because I do, and because I’m done tiptoeing around his moods like they’re loaded weapons. Lucien’s already looking at me when I step inside, like he’s been waiting for me to lose my patience. His whole frame is rigid, his posture carved out of ice and steel, one hand braced on the edge of the window like he’s holding himself back from tearing the whole damn place down.

The look he gives me is enough to make lesser creatures back down. “What the hell do you want?”

The words are clipped, mechanical, like I’m already an inconvenience.

I shut the door harder than necessary, let it rattle in the frame just to watch his jaw twitch. “I want you to stop acting like a sulking child.”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He doesn’t move, but the tension in the room spikes sharp enough to draw blood. “Get out.”

“No.”

My refusal hangs there, and I can see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. I cross the room toward him, slow, deliberate, because I’m not about to let him hide behind distance or whatever bullshit wall he’s tried to shove between us these past few days. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague since thenight we slept together,” I say, voice flat, the accusation sharp and deliberate. “You leave the room when I walk in, you don’t look at me, and when you do, it’s like I ruined your entire fucking life.”

Lucien straightens, his frame unfolding like a blade unsheathing. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“And you shouldn’t be throwing a tantrum,” I snap back. “But here we are.”

His eyes darken, colder than usual, that calculating edge he keeps behind his pretty face slipping free. “You think this is about you?”

I laugh, a humorless sound, brittle and cracked. “Isn’t it? You’ve been storming around like someone kicked your favorite toy, but you won’t even admit why.”

He closes the distance, slow, measured, dangerous. He’s taller, broader, made of things that were designed to make people fall to their knees. But I don’t move. I meet him, head-on, because I’ve been through hell and back and Lucien Virelius is not the thing that’s going to break me.

“You’re not special,” he says quietly, voice like ice water down my spine. “Don’t mistake proximity for power.”

The words cut sharper than they should. It’s petty. Petty and cruel and exactly what I expect from him. I step into his space anyway, daring, furious. “No, but I was special enough for you to crawl into bed with me.”

He flinches—so slight most people wouldn’t see it—but I do. Because I’m watching for it. Because I know him better than he wants me to.

“That was a mistake,” he says, voice tight, and I hate how much that hurts.

“Then why are you still looking at me like you want to set the whole world on fire?”

Lucien lets out a breath like I’ve punched him, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s trying to pull himself back together, and failing. “Because I don’t regret it,” he mutters, each word heavy, jagged. “And that’s the fucking problem.”

I blink, thrown, but he doesn’t let me speak.

“You’re the problem,” he continues, voice harsher now, angrier. “You’ve always been the problem. Since the day you stepped into this world.”

My throat tightens. I want to scream at him. Want to hit something, hit him maybe. Instead, I hiss, “You’re a coward.”

He’s on me in an instant, voice like shattered glass. “Don’t talk to me about cowardice. You have no idea what I’ve done to keep all of you alive.”

“You’re not keeping anyone alive,” I bite back. “You’re just trying to survive your own mess.”

He looks at me then, like I’m something he wants to destroy just so he won’t have to want me anymore. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And you have no idea what you’re doing,” I snap. “You keep trying to pretend you don’t want me when everyone can see you do.”

We stare at each other like two storms circling, waiting to see who will tear the other apart first.

Lucien’s mouth curls, sharp and venomous, his eyes like black glass catching every crack I’ve left open.

“You think any of us wanted you?” His voice is silk over barbed wire, deceptively soft. “You think we sat around dreaming of the day some fragile, reckless little binder would stumble into our lives and tether us to her like fucking dogs?”

I flinch, but he doesn’t stop. He’s past the point of restraint now, and I can feel the weight of every dark, jagged thing he’s been choking on finally spilling out.