In the wake of his words, the two males grew silent, watching him.
It was the greatest admission of guilt Vale had ever revealed. He kept everything close to his chest, hidden. They’d never know the nights he spent lying awake, wondering if perhaps they’d been wrong for what they’d done, for how they’d claimed her. But the war brewing didn’t allow for what he dreamed about—courting her, stolen kisses in chaperoned gardens, hand feeding her tarts and strawberry pastries on a sunlit balcony…
This was fate. Prophecy had brought them all together.
And their fate was not soft sweetness. It was rage, taking, claiming. Possession and obsession.
No matter how hard he thought and let his mind spin when he was alone, he could never figure out another way they could have had her if not by stealing.
It was the only way.
He hoped—and prayed—in time she would forgive. She’d already forgiven Bastian and Azgorath. And Vale thought, especially recently, with how often she stole away with him, that she’d forgiven Graves, even if she was not aware of it.
All that was left was him and Tharen.
Once the Tenebrae was killed—because there was no other option—he’d have time to prove himself to her. She was so sweet, too forgiving. She’d forgive him… eventually.
But she’d have to behereto forgive.
And she’d need to have pieces of her sweet soul left. She couldn’t be broken. She had to be safe, alive, whole.
"The Tenebrae has her. At this very moment, she is facing unspeakable horrors. Do you know what is being done to her?" Vale didn’t wait for an answer. "I do not even want to think of it, but I will—for her. If she has to endure it, I will force my mind to go there. I will force myself to think of everything that could be happening to her, the state she will be in when we find her—because make no mistake, we will find her. It does not matter where she is. She is mine—ours."
The room filled with the faint scent of smoke.
"We know where she is," Tharen said.
Bastian didn’t look at Vale. The small tattoo on the vampire’s chest—right over his heart—was revealed by his low-cut, open shirt. It was a flower. A rose, done in a mix of red and black ink. Vale knew he’d gotten it for Luella shortly before she’d been taken captive by them.
It must have been because the vampire had gotten closer to her by visiting her dreams those few days before they’d taken Solis.
It had been something Vale had thought hard on. Sending him to her dreams could breed weakness. But weren’t they all weak for her? It didn’t truly matter anymore.
"Where did they take her?"
Tharen swallowed, and the utter defeat that befell his face made Vale still as the Prima said, "She was taken to Luna."
67
COLD TO TOUCH
LUELLA
Meals were delivered—mere slop, shoved through the iron bars of Luella’s cell. It was a thick sludge, watered-down chunks of bread, soaked in thin soup.
She didn’t eat; instead, she stared at the walls listlessly.
That did not go on for long.
A clanging sound made her heavy head jerk up. Her arm twitched. It was sore, the skin tight over her bones and swollen. She wondered if it was infected. Dying from fever would be a terrible way to go.
Caliban stood before the bars, chin tipped high as he stared down his nose at her. He wore dark, regal clothes, with many jewels that shone in the blue-tinted light. "I heard you are not eating. Do you wish to die from starvation? Because believe me when I tell you it is a fucking terrible way to go. Your stomach will cave in, empty. Your body will start to use reserves for sustenance, then, when that’s gone, it will turn to other parts of you—needed parts. But you’ll be too far gone to realize you’re being consumed from the inside out."
The words were harsh, but Luella could only manage to stare up at him, knees tucked to her chest.
"You are so pathetic, sitting here like this."
The bars groaned as his hands tightened around them, shadows curling over the edges and drifting down the floor, seeking her bare toes. She tucked her feet beneath her thighs.
