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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LARK

I trace my fingers along the stone walls of the narrow alley behind the apothecary shop, Morel & Sons, remembering nights spent here with Zin.

It's a cruel thing, memory, always reminding me what I have lost.

A cat slinks past, rubbing against my silver skin. Black as night, just a bit darker than the abyss of her eyes. Everything here whispers of her presence—the scent of crushed herbs, the flutter of crow wings, the way shadows seem to deepen in the corners.

The hidden staircase creaks beneath my feet, each step a memory of nights spent climbing to her door. Third board from the top still groans. Fourth step still wobbles. Some things never change.

My broken horn throbs. The pain feeds something darker inside me, a hunger that coils and twists. Up here, the scent of dried herbs mingles with smoke from her eternally burning incense.

Her door. Plain wood, iron hinges. But the lock—that's pure silver, enchanted to keep intruders out. Has she changed the magic to keep me out?

My fingers shaking, I touch the silver, expecting pain.

But the enchantment recognizes me, warm against my skin. The door swings open to her sanctuary—bottles lined on shelves, grimoires stacked on tables, dried flowers hanging from the rafters. Everything exactly as I remember.

The hunger grows stronger. Here in her space, surrounded by pieces of her life, I feel my succubus nature rising. My skin grows hot, my breath quickens. The predator in me knows—this is where I'll find my prey.

"Come home to me, little bird," I whisper, using her words against her. The irony tastes sweet on my tongue. She kept me caged, fed me scraps of affection. Now I'll be the one doing the hunting.

I settle into her favorite chair, crossing my legs, letting my silver hair spill over my shoulders the way she always liked. The beast inside me purrs. Let her find me here, in her private space. Let her see what she created in that Tower.

I am no longer her pet songbird. I've grown talons and fangs of my own.

I trace my fingers along the dried herbs, remembering how we'd gather them together in the royal gardens. The nightshade blooms still hold their deep purple, even in death. Just like the bruises she'd leave on my skin.

"Such dangerous beauty," she'd whisper, those dark eyes consuming me. "Like you, my silver bird."

Chamomile dangles in delicate clusters. She'd brew it for me when nightmares kept me from sleep, adding honey and whispers of comfort. Strange how those gentle moments lived alongside the cruelty. Like the nightshade—beauty and poison intertwined.

"The deadliest flowers are often the most alluring," she told me once, crushing belladonna berries for her potions. The juice stained her fingers purple-black, like ink bleeding across parchment. She painted designs on my skin with those stained hands, marking me as hers.

My broken horn aches with the memory of her touch. Even now, after everything, my body remembers. The way she'd trace the curve of my horns, grip them to hold me still, use them to control me. The pleasure and pain she dealt in equal measure.

I shift in her chair, breathing in the herb-scented air. The hunger inside me grows stronger with each remembered touch. But I'm no longer the na?ve creature who fell for her poisoned honey. I've learned to wield my own venom.

The shadows lengthen across the floor. Soon she'll return, expecting to find her domain empty and undisturbed. Instead, she'll find the predator she created, waiting in the dark.

The door creaks open. Zin freezes in the threshold, her dark eyes widening. The sight of her hits me like a physical blow—she's exactly as I remember, from her ink-black hair to the way she holds herself, like a drawn bow.

"You came back," she breathes. Her voice sends shivers down my spine.

My breath catches—she's still beautiful, still dangerous as nightshade. "I couldn't stay away."

I grip the arms of her chair, fighting the surge of memories.

Now she stands before me again, and I feel that same magnetic pull. My succubus nature responds to the familiar scent of her rosemary perfume. The hunger inside me rises, remembering how sweet her lust always tasted.

I remember the day she betrayed me like a scar carved into my soul. The way Zin's dark eyes held mine as she wove the portal spell, threads of magic wrapping around my wrists like chains. Her betrayal tasted like copper on my tongue.

"For your own good," she'd whispered, pressing one last kiss to my lips before the guards dragged me through. The Tower's darkness swallowed me whole.

But now, watching her approach, I let none of that show. Instead, I channel the hunger that's always there, just beneath my silver skin. Let her see what she expects—a succubus desperate for touch, for taste, for feeding.

"I tried to forget you," I breathe, rising from her chair. My fingers tremble as I reach for her face—not from desire but from suppressing the urge to tear her throat out. "Tried to hate you."

Her pulse jumps beneath my touch. Those dark eyes drink me in, and I feel her desire spark against my skin like static.

"But you couldn't," she murmurs, stepping closer. Her confidence makes my broken horn ache.

"No." I trace her jawline, remembering how she used to hold me down, control me, break me. "The hunger is too strong."

She smirks, thinking she's won. Thinking I'm still her tame little songbird.

I grab her hair and crush my mouth to hers. Pour all my rage into the kiss, let her mistake it for passion. Her lips part under mine and I devour her, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. Feed just enough to make her knees weak, to cloud her mind with lust.

She moans into my mouth, hands clutching my waist. The sound feeds both my hunger and my hatred.

This kiss tastes like vengeance.

I slide my hand under her skirt, fingers trailing up her thigh. Her skin feels like silk and memories flood back—nights spent tangled in her sheets, feeding from her endless desire. The familiar texture nearly breaks my resolve.

My succubus nature takes over as I deepen our kiss. I draw out her lust, drinking it like sweet wine. Her legs tremble. She clutches my shoulders, nails digging into my silver skin.

"Lark," she gasps against my mouth.

I could drain her completely. Take everything until she's nothing but an empty husk. The temptation burns through me, wild and fierce. My broken horn throbs with remembered pain, urging me to exact revenge.

But I need her. Need the information about Rook locked in that brilliant, cruel mind.

Still, I take more than I should. Pull the pleasure from her bones until she sways in my arms. Her dark eyes grow glassy, unfocused. The taste of her desire is intoxicating—spice and smoke and something darker underneath.

My fingers dig into her thigh, marking her pale skin. She whimpers, the sound shooting straight through me. Gods, I'd forgotten how responsive she is, how perfectly she yields to my touch.

The predator in me purrs. Here she is—the mighty royal sorceress, reduced to trembling need in my arms. I could keep drinking until she begs.

Until she breaks. I pull back just enough to look into those dark eyes, clouded with desire.

My silver fingers trail down her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my touch.

"You always liked it rough," I whisper against her ear. "You liked taking what you wanted."

Her breath catches. "And you always gave it so sweetly."

The words spark rage in my chest, but I channel it into hunger instead. Let her mistake my aggression for passion, my hatred for need. My lips find her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

"I learned from the best." I bite down, not quite breaking skin. She gasps, arching into me. "You taught me how to take."

Her fingers tangle in my hair, trying to direct me. Still attempting to control, even now. I growl low in my throat and shove her against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head.

"No." I squeeze until she whimpers. "This time, you're my prisoner."

I press my thigh between her legs, feeling her heat through the thin fabric of her skirts. Her head falls back against the wall, exposing that lovely throat. Such trust from someone who never deserved mine.

"Please," she breathes, and the sound feeds something dark inside me.

I kiss her again, deeper this time, drawing out her essence with each stroke of my tongue. She tastes like spiced wine and desperation. Her desire floods my senses, as intoxicating as ever.

Rook would hate this—this taking without true consent. But Zin and I have never known anything else. We've always lived in shades of gray, in the space between yes and no. I feel no guilt as I drink deeper, pulling more and more of her energy into myself.

Her knees buckle. I hold her up, pressed between my body and the wall, as I devour everything she has to give.

Her dark eyes remain defiant even as she trembles against me. No trace of remorse crosses her face, no whispered apology falls from those cruel lips. Just hunger and need and that same arrogant tilt to her chin.

Something inside me withers. A foolish dream I'd been nurturing in secret—of reconciliation, of her falling to her knees and begging forgiveness for betraying me to the Tower. Of explaining it was all a misunderstanding, that she'd been forced to do it.

But there's only calculation in those obsidian eyes, even now. She watches me like a predator sizing up prey, despite being the one pinned to the wall.

"Did you think of me?" I whisper against her throat. "All those nights I spent chained in darkness?"

She laughs, breathy and low. "Every night, little bird. Every night I imagined breaking you further."

The words slice through my chest. I'd imagined our reunion so many times in my cell—her tears, her regret, her pleas for forgiveness. Such a child I was, even after everything.

"And here I am," I say, tightening my grip on her wrists until she gasps. "Still unbroken."