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Chapter Twenty-Eight

LUCIEN

I heard Isadora’s cry, and that was all it took.

One moment I stood on the porch, listening keenly to their conversation. The next, I was inside. I didn’t remember moving—just the crash of the door as it splintered under my weight, wood shards catching in my coat as I crossed the threshold in a blur.

The scent of her blood hit me like a drug, and I dashed into the hallway, immediately spotting them.

Isadora stood trapped beneath Trystan, his mouth latched to her throat, her blood dripping down her shoulder. He didn’t even flinch at my presence. Just kept feeding, like an animal too far gone to know it was about to die.

My vision tunneled to red, and I simply reacted.

I tore through the hallway, gripped his throat, and ripped him away from Isadora. I flung him backward, toward Ricky. The werewolf caught him mid-air like a ragdoll and drove him into the floor hard enough to crack the wooden boards.

I followed and slammed my foot down on Trystan’s chest, hard enough to dent bone. He screamed and writhed beneath me, clawing at everything in range.

Ricky dropped to a crouch and seized both of Trystan’s arms, pinning them wide.

Trystan bucked and thrashed, his eyes gleaming with a madness so complete, it nearly stunned me. There was nothing left to him other than hunger and fury. I wanted to show him sympathy, but I felt nothing of the sort. He’d bitten Isadora and started feeding on her with mindless hunger.

And for that, he’d die.

“Lucien…” came Isadora’s soft voice.

I turned and found her leaning against the wall, her hand cupping her throat. Blood seeped between her fingers. But she was standing and breathing.

She lowered her hand, revealing the wound, and my breath caught. That was not a clean bite. He’d nearly ripped out her damn throat.

Rage surged so hot I saw white.

I turned back to Trystan. His expression was wild and terrified. Not a hint of humanity remained in him. I saw now what Selene meant. Keeping him alive like this was not only cruel but also dangerous. He would bleed the world, if given the chance.

“Izzy, sweetie,” Ricky said, as calm as a June day. “Stay by the wall but come closer. Under my coat on the left side, you’ll find a blade sheathed against my ribs. You’ll feel the hilt.”

He paused and met my gaze.

I nodded.

Isadora did as Ricky said, her bloody fingers eventually revealing a blade, exactly as he’d said.

I stared down at Trystan, still trapped beneath my boot. His chest rose in ragged jerks, bloodied lips snarling at us. I didn’t dare shift my weight for fear of him escaping, but I did extend my hand to Isadora.

“Give me the blade,” I said. “Let me do this for you.”

She didn’t look at me. Instead, she stared at Trystan, sadness dulling her eyes. Then she knelt beside him.

Ricky and I didn’t loosen our holds. We couldn’t risk it. But the vampire no longer fought. His limbs had gone slack and his eyes glassy. Maybe he was too far gone. Or maybe he understood what was coming.

Isadora studied him for a long, aching moment before reaching out to smooth his hair from his brow.

“I’m so sorry, Trystan,” she whispered. “I never meant for anything like this to happen. Didn’t even know it was possible.

But you’re hurting people, and we can’t allow you to harm anyone else.

I truly wish it didn’t have to end this way.

” She sniffled and wiped tears from her cheek, smearing blood across her skin.

Trystan just stared at her, as though transfixed. And for a flicker of a second, something in him changed. The crimson hue in his eyes dimmed and clarity surfaced. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for him to force out, “It’s okay, Isadora. I want this.”

They locked eyes, and she placed the tip of the dagger against his chest.

Finally, Trystan closed his eyes—to spare her the pain, I suspected.

She simply nodded, then drove the blade through his heart.

A shudder rippled through his body. His mouth parted in a sharp inhale, then came the slow exhale, the last one to ever leave his body. The tension bled from his limbs, and his head fell to the side, eyes still closed.

Isadora stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then, with one smooth pull, she withdrew the dagger and stood.

I moved without thinking, stepping in to steady her. I reached for her arm, ready to pull her close, to offer comfort, anything and everything she needed.

But she stepped out of reach.

Her eyes remained fixed on the body at her feet. Her lips parted like she meant to speak, but she said nothing.

“Isadora…”

She sighed, then turned and walked away.

I wanted to follow, but Ricky’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. “Maybe give her some space, St. Germain.”

I considered it for a moment, then shook him off and followed her out of the house.

Except, by the time I reached the street, she was gone.

* * *

Eternity Falls had never felt so empty.

Outside The Crimson Veil, life carried on as though nothing had changed. But for me, everything was different.

All because I hadn’t seen Isadora in days.

Not since the night she walked out of Ella Black’s house without so much as looking back.

Not a word. No phone calls, no messages, not even a whisper of her presence in town.

She’d simply vanished. And for the first time in my long lifespan, I found myself uncertain of what to do with the ache she’d left behind.

My office door slammed open, and a pint-sized werewolf stormed in.

“I swear to the fucking moon, if someone doesn’t tell me where she is, I’m setting this place on fire.”

My gaze leapt to Thorne. She’d pulled her hair into a topknot, the strands more chaotic than usual, and she wore an oversized band tee that hung loose over her slight frame, for comfort’s sake.

She walked into my office, her limp slight, but still noticeable.

According to Ricky, with whom I’d maintained a steady line of communication, Selene had been stopping by the Wolfe estate to pass along a series of healing draughts she’d recently cooked.

The draughts had helped drastically, clearing up the majority of her wounds.

All that remained was her limp and a light scarring along her ribs.

But apparently Selene was confident she could handle both.

Isadora had changed everything and few realized it. Before her arrival, our three families would never have helped the other out of the goodness of their hearts, and here we were, communicating and contributing to each other.

All because of her. And she wasn’t even here to revel in her glory.

“Well?” Thorne demanded.

“You know as much as I do,” I admitted, though it pained me to say so.

She froze, her mouth parted as though she’d expected me to lie. “Wait, seriously?”

I didn’t answer. There really wasn’t anything else to say.

Thorne cupped the back of her neck. “She wouldn’t just leave us, would she? Not without saying goodbye at least?”

“Maybe she just needs time,” I said.

Though I’d been telling myself that for almost a week now.

So much had happened to her—it seemed logical to assume that one would need some time and space.

She’d ended Trystan’s life. I didn’t like saying “killed” because that felt unfair.

She’d saved him, released him from madness.

But at the end of the day, his blood was still on her hands.

I couldn’t begin to imagine how that felt.

I kept telling myself to be patient, but honestly, if this went on any longer, I had plans to visit New Orleans. It was the only place I could think of to find her.

According to Selene, Isadora and I were true mates. I had no intention of losing that or letting her disappear from my life.

A knock sounded on the doorframe, and Elias stepped inside, a stack of paperwork balanced in his arms.

“I come bearing offerings,” he said dryly, crossing the room. “Juliette sent all this for you. Something about revised permits, updated event schedules, liquor invoices, the works.”

He strode across my office and dropped the stack onto the corner of my desk. Juliette’s way of telling me to stop pining and get my ass back to work.

I sighed and dragged the stack closer.

Elias turned and spared Thorne a sidelong glance. “Nice to see you up and verbally assaulting people again.”

Thorne offered him a flat look. “Nice to see you still playing vampire butler.”

“Play nicely, kids,” was all I said.

Elias chuckled, then turned back to me. “Also, your mother has requested a visit. She said—and I quote—‘Tell Lucien, if he doesn’t come and speak with me soon, I shall drop in unannounced. And we both know how much he loves that.’”

I cringed. I’d been avoiding my mother for days now.

I knew exactly what she wanted to discuss—Isadora’s disappearance.

Word among my siblings was she believed I’d chased Miss Laurent from town once and for all.

I’d wanted to wait for Isadora’s return before I assuaged my mother of her incorrect assumption.

But it seemed Seraphina had grown impatient. As she so often did.

“I suppose I better go, before she sends a summons written in blood and drenched in Chanel No. 5,” I muttered, rising from my chair. I collected the stack of papers and slid them under an arm.

Thorne straightened, though one could tell she still favored her right side. “Want backup?”

I stared at the werewolf, warmed by her offer. Who would have thought I’d have such a spitfire for backup?

“No, but thank you,” I said. “My mother would likely keel over from a heart attack if you were to walk into our house.” Which almost made it worth the trouble.

We walked out together, side by side through the main lounge. It was early yet, too early for the bar to hum with life, and only a few staff floated about, preparing for the night.

At the doors, Thorne nudged me with her elbow. “When you find Izzy, tell her I’m mad at her.”

When. Not if. She didn’t know how much that comforted me.

“When I find her, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Damn right I will,” Thorne said. She peeled off in the opposite direction, walking toward her vehicle.

I climbed into my own and gave my driver my destination. While he cruised through the streets, I handled the paperwork, happy to tick something off my to-do list. I didn’t look up until we arrived at the estate.

Setting the stack of papers aside, I exited the car and made my way up the drive. The doors opened immediately, compliments of Henrik, of course.

“Good evening, sir. Your mother awaits you in the conservatory.”

I greeted him, then followed the familiar path through the estate’s sweeping corridors, my gaze and mood distant. I truly didn’t want to be here, discussing Isadora with my mother.

Bracing myself, I sighed, then pushed open the conservatory doors and entered.

The room blazed with sconce light, and in the center, surrounded by marble floors and ivy-covered walls, was my mother. She sat in a high-backed chair like a queen surveying her realm, dressed in a winter white gown that sparkled whenever she moved.

“Ah, Lucien,” she said without looking up. “How nice to finally see you, dear.”

Yes, yes. I’m a horrible son.

When she did finally look up, her eyes widened. “Good heavens. Couldn’t you have at least tried to look the part?”

I glanced down at my rumpled shirt, the top two buttons at the collar undone. The cuffs hung loose at my wrists, and I hadn’t bothered to fasten my jacket, let alone steam it. I looked like someone who’d slept in his clothes—which, to be fair, I had.

I raked a hand through my hair, not bothering to smooth it out after. “If you’re here to scold me on my wardrobe, I can leave.”

My mother seemed stunned by my response.

She rose from her seat, her gown shimmering with every movement.

“I didn’t summon you here to discuss your recent descent into bohemian mourning chic, no.

” She drifted across the room and poured herself a fresh glass of bloodwine. “But I assume you know why I did call.”

“Isadora.”

My mother took a sip and nodded. “You did as I asked. You ran her out of town. I just wanted to express my thanks.”

Already tiring of this conversation, I said, “I didn’t run her out of town. She left on her own.”

“Yes, well, however you want to word it, dear. The point is: you got the job done.”

I didn’t respond. Not at first. I simply stared at her, willing myself to stay composed.

“I didn’t run her off,” I said at last, my voice like ice. “She left. Because she’s been through hell and needed some space. And I hope to hell she comes back.”

Seraphina stilled, her fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass. “Excuse me?”

I met her gaze head-on. “You heard me.”

She set the glass down with careful precision.

“I thought,” she said slowly, “we understood each other. You run her out of town, and we get to keep our power.”

“ My power, mother. And to be quite frank, I never agreed to that. You assumed. I simply never corrected you. I have no intention of ever running Isadora out of town. Not now, not ever.”

“Oh, good heavens. Don’t tell me you’re attracted to the girl. There are plenty of others if you need someone to bed. We don’t?—”

“I’m not simply attracted to her—I love her,” I stated boldly. “She’s my mate.”

Seraphina froze as though I’d struck her.

Her painted lips parted—soundlessly at first. Then she blinked. “You… love her?”

I didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

She barked a short, incredulous laugh, sharp as a blade. “You love her? A Laurent? You must be joking, Lucien. They are beneath us.”

I sighed, realizing now how toxic and poisonous my mother was.

“They are not beneath us, Mother. If you opened your eyes and ended this melodramatic bullshit of yours, you would see that no one is beneath us. I’m sick of playing your games, of lording power over other people’s heads.

I came here tonight to inform you that Isadora Laurent is my mate.

My fated mate. And when she returns, I plan to marry her. ”

“Lucien!” my mother scoffed. “Her family is poison. They’re nothing . Worthless. I will not accept you marrying a girl steeped in scandal. For crying out loud, she has nothing .”

“She has me,” I bit out. “She doesn’t need anything more than that.”

“I will not stand for this?—”

“I don’t care,” I interrupted. “It’s not your choice. It’s mine. And I’ve made it. And know this, Mother. If you ever try to harm Isadora or her family, I will no longer be your son. I’ll be your enemy.”

My mother stared at me in stunned silence. Her fingers trembled and the bloodwine sloshed in the glass. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I will protect her until my dying breath from anyone who brings her harm.”

“Your father?—”

“Will understand, or he won’t,” I said. “But that’s his choice to make. As it is yours. Now, if there’s nothing else you want from me, I am needed elsewhere.”

Like in New Orleans.

I didn’t care what it took—I would find Isadora, and I would bring her home.