Page 41 of Lustling

“I’ve got steam to blow off.” My voice is flat, heavy. My shoulders crack as I roll them back, already itching for pain. Someone else’s or mine—I don’t care which.

He eyes me, squinting like he’s doing the math on body counts and liability. “You gonna kill anyone?”

“Not unless they ask me to.” I mean it. If they do, I’ll make it fast.

He jerks his chin toward the back. “Get in the cage.”

I strip my hoodie, then my shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to my skin from the sweat that hasn’t had a chance to cool. My boots thud against the metal walkway as I step into the circle. The gate shuts behind me with a clang that echoes in my bones.

They throw me a guy with a solid build—probably a minor shifter, cocky and covered in ink that screams overcompensation. He dances like he thinks I’ll be impressed.I’m not. He lasts three minutes. I let him land a hit just to see if it would wake something in me.

It doesn’t.

The next two are bigger. Meaner. One’s got eyes like a predator, the other a scar running across his cheekbone that probably came from someone just like me. They fight dirty. I fight worse. One of them gets a lucky shot across my jaw, and I see stars for a second. I let him feel good about it. Then I break his ribs with a well-placed elbow. The other one tries to run. Doesn’t get far.

By the time I’m standing over them, blood running down my knuckles, my chest heaving, the crowd roaring behind the cage—I still don’t feel any better. The ache hasn’t left me. The burn is still there, deeper now. It’s like pouring gasoline into a pit. All it did was give it room to grow.

She’s under my skin. And I don’t want her there.

The locker room reeks of iron and testosterone. The showers hiss and echo down the tiled corridor. A few groupies loiter near the benches—same as always. Girls with eyes too wide, too glassy. One of them steps closer, hips swaying like she thinks it’ll do something for me. She’s curvy, full lips painted red, tits spilling out of her top.

“You were amazing out there,” she purrs, tracing a painted nail down my chest.

I don’t ask her name. She doesn’t deserve it. I grab her wrist and drag her into the corner stall, shoving her against the dented metal of a locker. Her breath hitches like she thinks this is foreplay. Her fingers are already fumbling with my belt, needy and practiced.

I don’t kiss her. I don’t whisper. I don’t even look her in the eyes. I just fuck her. Hard. Fast. Brutal.

She’s wet. Warm. Tight enough to scratch the itch but not fill it. My hips drive into hers with the kind of rhythm that should’vesatisfied me years ago. She cries out, clutches at my shoulders like I’m a savior and not the fucking storm.

But the whole time, all I see is Lillien.

Her arched back, the way she moaned when Deimos marked her, the way her claws tore into the sheets. The wildness in her eyes when the bond snapped into place. She looked hungry. Ravaged. Glorious.

This girl? She’s a placeholder. Just a shell. A puppet with no fire behind her eyes.

I fuck her harder, my grip tightening around the locker above her head as her body shakes beneath me. Her cries get louder. One of her legs slips, but I don’t slow down. I don’t care.

I just want it to end. And then it does.

Abruptly.

Her head slams against the metal. Once. Twice. The sound it makes on the third hit is wet and wrong.

She goes quiet. Still. I finish with a grunt, buried deep inside her, and only then does my mind catch up.

She’s not breathing.

Her head is tilted at an unnatural angle, mouth open like she’s still trying to moan. Blood trickles from the corner of her lips, thick and red and final.

I stare down at her body, limp in my arms, and feel… nothing. Not panic. Not guilt. No remorse or dread.

If anything, I feel calm.

She’s a demon. Low-level filth. The kind that gets off on pain and attention. No one’s going to come looking for her. And if they do, they’ll know better than to ask questions.

But even if she weren’t?—

What does it say about me that I don’t care? What does it say that part of mewishesit had been Lillien? That I could’ve broken her this way—brutal, bloody, permanent?