Текст книги "Burning Blood"

Автор книги: Pepper winters

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Chapter Fifty-Eight

OUR CONVOY DEFINITELY DIDN’T BELONG.

It felt as if we’d stepped through history to a simpler time where stone roads, grassy verges, and a slower way of life ruled. White-washed buildings sprinkled the mountainside as if people had built wherever they felt like it—rather than following boundary lines and municipal plans.

Lucien sat beside me in the back of a rugged jeep that didn’t look anything like the flashy G-wagons from Cinderkeep. It had rusty dents and off-road tyres as if the rugged mountain road wasn’t welcoming to visitors.

Uncle Wen drove carefully, avoiding potholes, glasses perched on his nose, and a smile on his face as he waved at villagers he knew. Behind us—in equally weathered off-road vehicles that’d been stored in a huge outbuilding behind Ashfall Cliff—Dillon and the fifteen Snowflake Corp guards followed.

“How far is it to Brimstone headquarters?” I rested my hand on Whisper’s neck where he sat between us. The panther glowered out the windscreen, his eyes flicking from running children, fluttering laundry, and prayer flags looped across the street.

“From what I remember, it takes about two hours to get there,” Lucien replied, his eyes locked—just like Whisper’s—on the chaos darting outside. A flock of fat chickens scratched beneath persimmon trees, pecking at the fallen fruit. Another crowd of children darted in front of the car, waving at Uncle Wen as he stopped to let them pass—half-made lanterns swinging in their hands.

“Is it always this busy?” Lucien asked. “I don’t remember it being so...festive.”

“It’s Zhongyuan Jie.” Uncle Wen caught my gaze in the mirror. “That means the Hungry Ghost Festival. It’s the night we talk to the wandering souls and spend time with our dead loved ones.”

My eyes widened as we drove past a table full of young men and women, all carefully bending bamboo strips. More bamboo bundles waited by their feet, soaking in shallow basins to make it easier to bend into lantern ribs. A couple of women smoothed translucent rice paper over the dried frames before passing them down the line to be painted with Chinese calligraphy.

Uncle Wen smiled at my curiosity. “We spend the day making the lanterns so when night falls, we can send them into the heavens, taking our notes to our loved ones.”

My heart skipped a beat as we kept driving—passing clusters of children making their own lanterns and groups of adults hard at work. “It seems as though everyone in the village is making a tribute. Is that normal? Has death touched every family in this village?”

His hands clenched around the steering wheel. “Every family, no matter who they are, has lost someone but...you’re right. Unfortunately, the past twenty years haven’t been kind to the people of Mistwood or the other villages throughout this mountain.”

Lucien stiffened. “What happened to them?”

“Not sure.” Uncle Wen took a corner, bumping over a few rocks and waving at an elderly woman as she carried a basket of washing on her back. “So many have gone missing over the years. Of course, the river has flooded, and the rains have brought heavy landslides but...sometimes they go missing without cause.”

“And no one has thought to try to find them?” Lucien’s face went stony.

“Of course they have.” Uncle Wen braked as yet another flock of children darted past, raggedy but happy, half-painted lanterns flying behind them. “Mistwood and all the surrounding villages have arranged multiple search parties over the years. Together, we’ve searched every inch of the Gaoligong Ranges—the parts that are passable, at least—but no one has ever been found.”

“Even their bodies?” Lucien asked.

Uncle Wen shook his head sadly.

The coldness inside me woke up, tiptoeing along my ribs. Lucien shot me a grateful look, sensing the ice that’d risen to combat his increasing heat, but he wasn’t the only reason the frost stirred.

I couldn’t shake the awful feeling that something bad had happened to them...

We inched past a pack of dogs sunning themselves in the middle of the road.

“Lao Wen!” An old man rose from his stool where he sat with a group of elders playing mahjong. Cigarettes dangled from their wrinkled mouths and the sun was held at bay thanks to the gnarled ginkgo tree. “Here to paint your own lantern?”

“Mei already made ours.” Uncle Wen pulled to a stop and clasped his friend’s hand through the open window. “We’ll be back when it’s dark to light our candles. However...” He shifted in his seat and pointed at Lucien. “We’ll have to send one less this year. Jin and Meilin’s boy is finally home.”

“What? No, it can’t be.” The old man peered at Lucien as if he was seeing a ghost. “Luxin? Little Master Luxin is finally home?”

Lucien gave him a polite nod.

“Shouxin, get back here! You’re ruining the game.” One of the old men threw a crab-apple at us. “Stop gossiping and play your hand.”

“See what I have to put up with?” Shouxin rolled his eyes. “So I’ll see you tonight?” His sharp gaze landed on me, widened on Whisper, then fell back to Lucien with a look of awe. “You’ll come to the festival. Let off a lantern for your parents?”

Lucien balled his hands and flickers of his feelings bled into me. Suspicion and distrust...the same wariness filling me.

Too much death.

Too much loss...

“We’ll stop by once we’ve returned from Brimstone.” Uncle Wen prepared to pull away.

“Good, good.” Stepping back from the car, Shouxin bowed at Lucien. “The villagers in these mountains wouldn’t have survived without your company employing so many of us, Master Luxin. We will always be grateful to the Yunhuis for bringing prosperity to us. Please do come. We’d love to give our respects.”

“Of course.” Lucien forced a smile, his gaze going past the old man to the rice paddies twinkling in the sun, carved into the hillside like a giant’s staircase.

The dogs moved and Uncle Wen resumed driving. Dillon followed—our convoy snaking its way slowly toward the outskirts of the village.

Lucien didn’t speak but I could feel him.

Feel him thinking, burning.

The bond flickered each time we slowed for a child or paused for another roadblock—his impatience growing hotter.

I tried to imagine how I’d feel heading back to Snowflake Corp after so much time away...but he’d only been a child when he’d inherited Brimstone. Marcus had snatched it off him before he’d even ruled and...I had no idea what we were driving into.

“Are you alright?” I asked quietly.

His hands flexed into fists on his thighs. “No.”

At least he was honest.

A waft of heat bled off him, making Uncle Wen look out the window. “Strange weather we’re having. I swear it’s getting warmer by the second.”

Reaching behind Whisper, I placed my hand on Lucien’s hot arm. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

He shot me a grateful look, then placed his other hand over mine. “Promise me you’ll stay close when we get to Brimstone. Like the old man said, my parents hired as many locals as possible to run the geothermal sites throughout these mountains. They’re completely innocent and I don’t want to hurt them.”

“I’ll be beside you every step of the way.”

“If Marcus is there—”

“I’ll take Whisper and Uncle Wen, and you can burn him into a piece of overdone jerky.”

He chuckled, his temperature cooling a little. Leaning close, he whispered, “I can smell you—that intoxicating scent that corrupts all my senses. It’s taking everything I have not to take you right here.”

My pulse skipped.

The jeep became far too small and far too hot as his breath brushed the shell of my ear. “Fuck, I want you, Rook.”

Desire shot between my legs.

“I guess you’re going to have to be patient.” I hid behind Whisper as I blushed. “However, you’ve now made me very eager to get home.”

His eyes darkened instantly. “Home? You’re calling Ashfall Cliff your home?”

“You’re my home.”

Whisper huffed as Lucien’s hand slid from mine and gripped my thigh, his fingers curling possessively. Lust heated the backseat as his thumb traced slow circles, making my breath hitch. “If you keep saying things like that, I’m going to snap before we even reach the village gates.”

Frost webbed over the back of my knuckles, looking as if I wore a pair of ice gloves. He groaned as he linked our fingers together, palm to palm, pulse to pulse.

Electricity fed through the link, tight and tingly. I shivered as he ran his thumb over the delicate veins of my wrists.

“You have no idea what that does to me...feeling you. Knowing you need me as much as I need you.” Leaning closer, he breathed, “That damn bond isn’t helping either...it’s taking an axe to my self-control and I’m hanging on by a thread.” His mouth hovered over mine. “Kiss me.”

My eyelashes fluttered; my lips grazed—

BEEEEEP!

Uncle Wen leaned on the horn, stomping on the brakes. “What in the heavens?! What is he doing? I almost ran right into him.”

Lucien ripped away from me, his eyes locking on the roadblock.

An old man stood in the middle of the narrow road, his chest heaving as if he’d run to intercept us. Barefoot with his trousers rolled up to his knobbly knees, his hands were covered in soil as if he hadn’t had time to dress or wash.

His gaze locked onto Lucien. His white-streaked hair blew in the breeze, and he took one step toward the jeep before his knees gave out and he kowtowed in the middle of the road.

“Now what is he doing?” Uncle Wen unclipped his seatbelt. “I’ll go and make sure he’s okay.”

“I’ll do it.” Lucien opened the door and climbed out before anyone could stop him. Whisper growled as his master moved toward the old man bowing with his forehead pressed to the dusty road. The faintest tendrils of steam appeared from his shoulder blades.

I went to join him without thinking.

“Stay here, Whisp.” Darting out of the jeep, I caught up to Lucien, my borrowed blue dress slightly too long and trailing behind me.

Lucien bent to help the man up, but the moment he touched his shoulder, the elderly villager shot upright and grabbed Lucien’s hand.

The air shifted.

The gravel beneath Lucien’s boots smoked.

My body reacted instantly.

The hem of my dress crystallised, stiffening as ice conjured from nowhere. Cold lashed outward to counter him, meeting his heat in a crackling hiss that made the old man wobble on his knees.

Lucien tried to break the man’s hold on him, but he scrambled to his feet, clinging to Lucien with both hands. “Luxin? Master Luxin?”

Lucien nodded, his blazing fingers curling around the man’s wrist. Gritting his teeth, he plucked his hold off him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to play in the road?”

The old man gasped, shaking so badly he almost fell back down. “I...I need to talk to you.” Shooting a panicked glance around the busy village, he winced at the happy children, almost sobbed at the young adults making lanterns for their lost ones, then grabbed Lucien as if his heart had given out. “I’ve been waiting twenty years. I knew an Ashfall would return. I knew it would be you. You have to listen to me. Have to trust me. Please.”

Another waft of heat came off Lucien as he disengaged again and stepped away. “What’s wrong? Why are you in such a state?”

The old man’s eyes filled with frantic desperation. “Please.” Backing toward the small pathway where he’d come from, he put his dirty hands together in prayer. “Please come. You must come. Please? But not here.” His gaze darted to the convoy—to Uncle Wen and Dillon who stood beside the vehicles with questions on their faces. “Not in front of them. Just you. Only you.”

Lucien didn’t answer, but I felt his control fraying.

Fire coiled beneath his skin like a dragon straining at its cage. The air around him shimmered, distorting the sunlight, just as hairline cracks splintered the road as if the earth itself couldn’t bear his power.

The old man stiffened, staring at the heat bending light around Lucien’s shoulders.

We both tensed to see how he’d react but...there was no surprise in him. No fear. He merely sagged with weary confirmation as if his long wait was finally over. “Please...” He held up his hands again. “Please come with me. Let me speak.” Staggering toward Lucien, he tried to grab him again, only for Lucien to jerk back.

A pulse shot through my heart—the bond delivering echoes of Lucien’s dislike at being touched by strangers.

Without looking in my direction, Lucien extended his hand to me. The tips of his fingers glowed, barely there but growing worse each moment I didn’t touch him.

I went to him.

The moment my ice-laced hand slid into his, he shuddered.

The frost inside me arrowed into him like a dart, delivering an antidote to the flames poisoning him.

Inhaling sharply, his fingers crushed mine. “Just tell me here—”

“No, no, no.” The old man shook his head. “Not here. It can’t be here.” He flinched as he looked at the Snowflake Corp guards. “Just you.”

“I’m not going anywhere without her.” Lucien tugged me to his side. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll talk to both of us.”

“Fine.” The old man took off, hobbling toward the path between the two buildings. “That’s fine. More than fine. Come. Hurry.” He disappeared into the shadows and Lucien shot me a look.

“Do we go?” he asked quietly.

“You kind of already agreed.”

He grunted with annoyance.

“Xiao Lu?” Uncle Wen called as we stepped toward the shadowy alley. “Where are you going?”

“Rook?” Dillon shouted. “Wait. I’ll come with you—”

“No need,” Lucien huffed. “Stay here.”

He dragged me between the buildings, and shadows swallowed us whole.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“STAY CLOSE TO ME.” I SQUEEZED Rook’s hand.

I hated how much I needed her—how much I relied on her to stop me from accidental mass murder. Really, I should’ve mastered my temper before stepping into public.

I was still too used to walls and silence to be safe in a busy village. The noise. The press of bodies. The stink of sweat and life. It all scraped against my nerves until the fire roared for peace.

Going to Brimstone this soon was also a mistake, but...Marcus’s silence irritated me. He was up to something. And before he had the chance to bring a battle to me, I intended to bring it to him—along with carving out his heart and barbecuing it for Whisper.

“I’ll make sure you don’t incinerate the poor chap by mistake,” Rook whispered as we chased after the old man who was far faster than he appeared.

The labyrinth of pathways between the buildings took us deeper and deeper into the village. Smells of cooking and snatches of conversation surrounded us as we wove around homes before spilling out into a common area. A communal eating table, drinking well, and ancient temple sat proudly in the sun.

Beckoning us to follow, the old man stepped through the open metal gates of the temple and vanished inside.

Rook and I slowed as we studied the place of worship. The timber had gone silver with age, the tiled roof sagging in the centre. Red lanterns swung from the eave corners; their tassels dull and frayed from bad weather.

Neither of us spoke as we climbed the three steps and entered the gloomy space.

Incense smoke clung to the walls, hazy and rich, coiling from multiple sticks that’d been lit in honour of the rows upon rows of memorial tablets. So many plaques—wood and brass, bronze and tin—hundreds of them standing like sentinels, balanced on shelves from floor to ceiling.

The old man bowed politely at the central offerings plinth before heading to a temporary table where pots, soil mix, and seeds waited to be planted.

That explained why he was so filthy.

On the floor, pots that’d already been planted waited.

He caught me looking. “I’m planting white chrysanthemums for the dead.” His hands shook a little as he made a bed of soil, dug his thumb in, and tucked a seed tight in the divot. “I’ve been the custodian of Mistwood Temple ever since they took you away.”

The fire inside me smoked with warning. “You knew when I was taken?”

I glanced around the space. Was this a trap? Was Marcus behind this and I’d stupidly stepped into it?

Not that it mattered.

Even if Marcus swarmed this entire village with a thousand men, he wouldn’t be able to touch me.

Not now.

Did that make me arrogant or just realistic?

The old man nodded. Grabbing another pot, he repeated what he’d just done. “I used to be a gardener at Ashfall Cliff. I worked happily under Head Steward Wen and often saw you when you were a boy.”

I tried to recall his face but failed. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

He didn’t reply for a while, focusing on spraying his newly planted seed with water. “You don’t remember other things either...do you?”

“Remember what?” My hand wrapped tighter around Rook’s, grateful when her arctic energy flowed through me, snuffing out the fires that kept springing to life.

Abandoning his potting, the old man locked eyes with me. “Back then, we all knew you were different. We all watched you grow up. No one would’ve said a damn thing. We loved your family. We loved that you employed so many of us and granted such wealth to these remote villages. So...when they took you—”

“Wait. How was I different?”

“It was Housekeeper Mei who noticed first.” He pivoted and answered my question. “She was the one who taught us how to keep it a secret. How to make up stories to protect what you’d done.”

Rook sucked in a breath. “What he’d done?”

The man nodded, his gaze on mine. “Exactly like what you did before. On the road. You know...with the heat?” He shrugged with a wistful smile. “You made the ground crack as if you weighed as much as the mountain itself. You made the air shimmer as if you harnessed the sun. When you were a child, you did that too. You regularly burned the furniture in your room and the carpenter in the village had a full-time job repairing what you singed.”

“So that’s why she didn’t seem surprised,” Rook muttered. “She just looked resigned.”

“Who did?” I turned to face her, our fingers still entwined.

“Auntie Mei. When I woke up and you were missing—the night we fell into the waterfall, and...you know.” She flinched as if the memories of sex and setting the valley on fire weren’t suitable for a temple full of ghosts. “She noticed the state of your room—the warped walls and scorched handprints. She acted as if it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. We were all used to it,” the old man said, his voice wobbling a little. “We knew you were different, but we didn’t care. We were honoured. We thought you were a little god descended from the heavens to watch over us, so when you were taken...” His eyes clouded over. “We knew instantly that something had gone wrong.”

The smell of sandalwood and ash clogged my throat. “What do you mean?”

“After you left...the mountain got hungry.” He wobbled against the table, tapping his head as if fact and fiction tangled inside. “People went missing and we could never find them.” His gaze locked on the memorial tablets looming over us. “First it was just a few. Unlucky and lost but no one panicked. But I knew.” He tapped his scruffy shirt right above his heart. “I was the only one who heard the screams.”

“Screams?” Rook stiffened. “What screams?”

The old man swayed toward the incense sticks as if hypnotised by their smoke. “Men went first but then...women. My wife.” He spun to face us, his face slipping further from sanity with every word. “She vanished into nothing.” He looked at his hands as if water spilled through his fingers. “I spent three years searching for her. And I found nothing. Not a scrap of clothing or a single lock of hair.”

The flames in me grew stronger, crashing against Rook’s frost.

“The screams grew louder out there.” He flung his arm at the forest in the distance. “I moved away from the village, hoping she would be able to find me easier. But then children went missing. It was as if the very air snatched them straight from their beds.”

“And everyone just accepted this?” I scowled.

“The gods did it.” He whirled on me, his face contorting in rage. “They took them, just like they took you. I looked. I looked everywhere. That was all my life became. Looking. Searching. Hoping.”

“And you found nothing? No remains? No sign of them?”

“Not a drop of blood or single bone.” His laugh was brittle. “And how would we? They were stolen by people like you. People with power. Taken to the netherworlds to be devoured.”

“People like me?”

So we weren’t the only ones?

There were others like Rook and me?

“People with gifts.” He glanced warily at the door as if monsters were listening. “They’re eating people to become gods.”

“Eating people. Right.” My tension switched to annoyance. These were just the ramblings of an old fool.

“They even eat the bones.” He leaned closer, his eyes alight with madness. “That’s why we never find any remains.”

I wanted to shake him.

To interrupt his psychosis and drag the truth out of his damaged mind before my temper did it for me.

“They are. I know they are. But I know where the entrance is. I know how to get there.” He nodded as if he held the world’s biggest secret. “I keep telling everyone that the mountain swallowed them and we must make it give them back but...” Staggering toward me, he whispered like a drunk who thought he was being subtle. “No one believes me, but you must.”

Stabbing me in the chest with his finger, he caused fire to whip around my bones. “You believe me, don’t you? You’re not like the others. You have to help me. You must because you’re the only one who’s ever come back. You must’ve been there, yes? You must’ve seen? You know how to get free.”

“What would he have seen?” Rook asked gently, taking over so I didn’t hurt him. “What would—?”

“The mountain where they’re swallowed, of course.” His eyes lit up with an unnatural light. “You have to find them. Quickly. Before it’s too late.”

She shot me a worried look.

This man needed serious help.

“I went there,” he whispered suddenly.

“Where? Where did you go?” Rook tried to bring him back, talking gently as if he was a child.

“The eastern peak.” He hugged himself with a shiver. “The trees are so thick, and the cliffs are so steep. No one goes there but I did. And the screams...they’re so loud.” His eyes widened. “I went further than anyone dared to go. I-I almost got in. Almost saw. But there were too many of them.”

“Too many what?” I wanted to leave. To get far away from this nonsense.

“Demons.” He shuddered. “So many demons. Making everyone scream.” He swayed, steadying himself against the table. “It’s not the wind. I know it’s not.” He glowered at the door as if a crowd of villagers suddenly jostled in the temple’s doorway. “No one believes me. But I know. They’re screaming.” He tapped his temple again. “The sound gnaws away inside me.” He whirled on us. “The mountain eats them! It eats babies because they’re soft and drinks blood because it’s ravenous. You have to believe me!”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rook slipped her hand from mine, leaving me at the mercy of my flames. She stepped toward the man as if he was a panicking animal. “You’re alright. You’re safe—”

“But they’re not safe!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the beams. “They cry and cry and cry and no one listens! No one believes me. The mountain is full of them. Full of teeth and blood and fire!”

Footsteps sounded behind us.

I spun around, heat coiling around my fingers as a young village girl with black pigtails appeared. She almost dropped the bowl she was holding, full of rice and cut fruit for offerings.

“Lao Li?”

The old man’s attention snapped toward her.

For a second, clarity flickered.

His mouth opened. He shook his head as if trying to chase away the madness but then lost himself to it. Racing toward her, he shrieked. “Close it. Close the door! They’re watching. Listening! Close it!”

Stepping nimbly out of his way, she set the bowl down and grabbed his elbows. “Lao Li, how many times do I need to tell you? Nothing is watching us. You’re safe. You’re here with me in Mistwood.”

“But I hear them.” He sobbed, fighting her weakly. “I hear them all the time. They’re dying and no one listens.”

“You promised you wouldn’t get upset, remember?” The girl flashed us an apologetic smile. “How about I make you some tea and you can take your nap, okay? Did you finish potting the chrysanthemums?” She glanced at the half-finished table. “That’s fine. I can do the rest. Come on.” Looping her arm over his frail shoulders, she pulled him toward the exit. “I’m sorry about this,” she said to us. “Lao Li is...fragile. The lantern festival makes him worse. He suffered a fall twenty years ago and has never been the same since.”

“It wasn’t a fall! I saw. They tried to kill me. They’re screaming—”

“Alright, alright. I know, I know.” The girl tugged him out of the temple and into the sun. He sagged as if the light stole his panic, making him docile. He mumbled under his breath as the girl guided him toward the nearest house.

Just as they crossed the threshold, the old man turned and said, “I’m not crazy. Just like you’re not like the rest of us. Requiem. I heard them say Requiem—”

“Okay, that’s enough, Lao Li.” The girl gave us one last grimace and pulled him into the house.

Silence rang in my ears.

Requiem.

R gene?

Fuck...

Incense smoke lashed around me; the burning in my heart grew worse.

Maybe he wasn’t mad.

What if everything he said was true...

Marching into Rook, I grabbed her cheeks and kissed her. Hard.

She gasped as my tongue slipped into her mouth, hunting her coolness, needing her to calm me.

With a soft moan, she opened for me—drenching me in wonderful, flame-dousing ice.

I kissed her all while my mind raced.

The old man might be senile. He might’ve suffered a fall that led him to living in delusions but what if he was right?

Mountains eating babies and drinking blood.

It sounded ridiculous but...I’d spent my life trapped in the middle of England in a palatial prison. If anyone heard me ranting and raving about blood harvesting and women trying to breed and kill me, I would’ve been branded a lunatic too.

Requiem...R gene...

Breaking the kiss, I pressed my forehead against Rook’s, my heart burning out of control.

“Easy.” She cupped my cheeks, her fingers feeding me pure winter.

“Come with me.” Snatching Rook’s hand, I dragged her outside.

The flames in my blood tasted a clue, latching on, wanting to hunt.

My gaze landed on the sharp stone peaks rising behind the rooflines—

“Lucien?” Rook jogged to keep up, her skin icing over. “Where...where are we going?”

“Home.”

“What? Now? But I thought we were going to Brimstone.”

“I think Marcus has hidden something in these mountains.”

“Wait, you do?” She frowned. “But that poor man was obviously upset. I’m not denying some of the things he said gave me chills but—”

“Some of it could be real.” I pulled her down an alleyway. “Even if it isn’t...I won’t be able to rest until I find out.”

“But what about Marcus?”

“He can wait. He can’t touch me now and...if he is up to something, isn’t it better I find out what it is, so I can repay him exactly what he’s owed?”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but...I trust him.” I shrugged. “I trust the old man because I was him.”

Rook squeezed my hand as if she understood exactly what I meant. “I’m sure Lao Li will be very grateful to know someone finally listened.”

“You listened.” I squeezed her hand, rushing her back the way we’d come. “I’m free because you were the first and only to help me.”

“And you want to return the favour.” She stayed glued to my side. “You lived twenty years in a similar state of entrapment. You know how it feels to be ignored and forgotten. I get it.”

I slammed to a stop, awed and so fucking grateful. Wrapping my fingers around her nape, I dragged her into me and kissed her again.

I kissed her deep and slow—not because I wanted her ice but because I wanted to show her just how much I fucking loved her.

When we pulled apart, she cracked a smile. “Tell me honestly, though...do you really think the mountain is eating people?”

“Of course not.” I jerked her back into a walk. “But I do think Marcus wouldn’t stop at just breaking me. And if I find out he’s hurting others. If he’s trapped and tortured others like us? Well then, I’m going to hunt down every bastard involved and make them wish they’d never been fucking born.”

* * * * *

Whispering Dragon welcomed us home as we drove back to Ashfall Cliff.

The huge stone dragon seemed to shift—its scaled sides and thick legs tensing for a battle that’d been brewing for two decades.

I never let go of Rook as Uncle Wen went to park the jeep and we marched over the threshold into the Dragon Courtyard, Whisper at my heels.

Dillon quickly ordered the Snowflake Corp guards to find something to do before scurrying after us.

I was burning and short-tempered.

I didn’t want to delay my fight with Marcus but...I also felt blind to what he’d truly been doing.

All those bags of blood he’d taken from me.

All those years he’d kept me trapped.

For what?

Why did this feel bigger than just taking over my family’s company?

“Lucien?” Rook squeezed my hand, her frost reacting to my blazing heat. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Even her calming presence couldn’t stop my racing mind.

I had to know.

Had to find out.

This was going to end with Marcus in pieces, but how many other people did I have to kill to make things right?

Slamming to a stop, I turned around so fast, Dillon almost crashed into me.

“Fuck’s sake, a little warning would be nice.” He rolled his eyes, rocking back on his heels.

I’d reached my limit where Rook’s bodyguard was concerned, but—

“Can I trust you?” I narrowed my eyes, yanking Rook close and shivering with relief as her cold body pressed against my very hot one.

He scowled. “I don’t care if you trust me or not. As long as Rook is with you, then I’m going to be hanging around like a bad smell to protect her.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Rook shot me a look. “What’s fine?”

Turning to face her, I cupped her cheeks, planted my mouth over hers, and kissed her deeply, desperately.

Dillon wisely didn’t stop me as I used her to control myself.

Everything about her was a temporary cure—her smell, her saliva, her wetness when we had sex. She stopped me from turning into a pyre, and I just had to hope the kiss would be enough to prevent me from burning Ashfall Cliff to the ground while we were apart.