Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 68: Other routes to the same goal

Moonlight threaded the branches, silvering in streaks on the damp ground, where Ruelle, Lucian, and the wolf stood. The wolf crouched low, its ears pinned back in submission, and it looked meek before its master as if it knew it had done something it shouldn't.

Ruelle wondered if the wolf might have once belonged to his mother. There was something almost inherited in the way it answered to him, as if loyalty and obedience could be passed down like blood.

"What is his name?" she asked at last.

Lucian watched the wolf before his eyes moved to her. "Zhenya."

Her eyebrows slightly rose as she asked, "Like the one who fought the invaders and protected the village of Hacklerens?" It was a name she had come across from a children's book she had read when she was small.

Lucian studied her with his dark eyes. Then, after a pause, he answered, "Yes."

Who would have thought that a pureblooded vampire had read a book meant for humans, Ruelle thought. Let alone have a wolf as a pet. She now saw the wolf nose the dead rabbit.

"I think he's hungry," she murmured.

"I would doubt that, considering he bit two Halflings," Lucian said. He had only just returned to the forest when Zhenya vanished into the thicket. It wasn't the first time. But then the scent of blood had reached him and he found two Halflings on the ground, whimpering with their flesh torn from arm and leg.

Ruelle heard him exhale and say, "Eat."

The wolf's head lifted at once, and it lunged at the meat. In a few tearing swallows, the rabbit was gone. Ruelle stepped back, heart hammering at the violence of it.

That was when her eyes caught his hands—knuckles not only bruised but smeared in blood.

"Your hands, they—"

"Do I want to know what you were doing here in the middle of the forest at this hour?" Lucian cut in, his eyes subtly narrowing on hers. "Unless you were rehearsing to be a frog in your next life, learning how to predict the rain."

"Of course not…" Ruelle answered awkwardly, unable to pull her gaze away from his bloodied hands. "It was nothing important."

She left the rest unsaid. He already knew how often she stumbled into trouble, and she refused to sound like the helpless thing he must think her to be. At least this time, she had pulled herself out—even if it was his wolf that had done the tearing.

Lucian didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he remarked,

"At this pace," his gaze lingering on the torn edge of her sleeve, "your wardrobe won't survive the season."

Heat climbed her face. Her brown eyes lifted to meet his red ones, which held hers without flinching. She asked him, "What happened to your hands? It is the same as that day. You haven't been coming back, either…"

"Why?" Lucian's reply came without pause. "You should be glad—the bed is free in my absence. You may as well use it."

She shook her head and replied, "I am content with the couch."

Ruelle had seen him fight in the underground, had watched his ruthless precision—yet even then his hands never looked like this. Whatever he had been doing was no mere brawl. It was obviously something harsher, the kind that left its mark deep in the bone.

"Zhenya," Lucian called his wolf, receiving the animal's undivided attention. "Home."

The wolf, however, padded closer to Ruelle, bumping its head against her hand. As if letting her know it was leaving. Hesitant, she reached out and brushed her hand along its coarse fur.

"You were a good boy tonight," she whispered, noticing the wolf's tail swish. "Thank you," and the wolf then vanished into the shadows between the trees.

"Come." Lucian turned, footsteps crunching lightly against the forest ground. He did not look over his shoulder, yet she found herself following beside him, knowing he was heading back to the room this time.

Once they were in the room, Ruelle sat before the fireplace, watching the fire catch slow and low, smoke curling before flame licked the logs. She held her hands close to the warmth, letting it seep into her chilled skin. Having been drenched in the rain, she had freed her hair from its ribbon, letting her damp strands fall in waves past her shoulders, drying in the glow.

To think it was only an hour ago that she was walking on the ledge… A soft sigh escaped from her lips.

When she turned to look over her shoulder, she caught Lucian sitting at the edge of the desk. He was winding a strip of linen around his slightly wet knuckles, the motion precise and practised. With one hand occupied, the bandage slipped from his grasp.

Ruelle's feet lightly padded across the room to where he was. She offered softly, "I can help with that."

His eyes were trained on his hand as he continued wrapping. "Do you think me incapable of binding my own hand?" The words carried no sting, only a polite sort of dismissal.

"No," the word faltered from Ruelle's lips. "It is just easier with two hands… and I am free."

This time, he looked at her and she noticed the coolness behind those red eyes. Lucian murmured, "If this is your idea of repayment, you should aim higher."

Her breath steadied, and she answered softly, "Then…let me start here."

she wanted to be able to help rather than take it. And if not for his

felt as if he

as though she had stepped out of line. And it was in that quiet drop of her gaze, his hand lifted—palm

an emotion of triumph and warmth filling her. Not the kind that burned her cheeks, but steadier, quieter. She felt glad at finally being allowed

by something merciless. The linen already

to his unbandaged hand, as if forgetting that he was a vampire. She lifted the fresh strip

sight climbed, brushing against her collarbone, then catching in the

though his gaze had caught on her without reason, an impression too stubborn to be

Ruelle felt

you

How you seem to have not learnt that

forest, he had overheard from the injured Halflings

only wanted to be useful… But I could say the

a second, something crossed across his face. His voice came low, more to

brows knit faintly, not quite catching what

need to be useful?" Lucian

question pressed too closely. For a moment she faltered, then let a small smile appear on her lips. She

I don't

didn't look like kindness but conditioning—etched so deeply it no longer felt

Ruelle know when it was the only way she had ever

doing less, but for Ruelle, worth came only through being useful. It was the kind of lesson that sank in too early, shaping her until she believed usefulness was

the final strip of linen in place, she drew her

have suffered more than when I saw you in the

her. The glow from the fireplace cast across his face caught the stray strands of black hair that fell loose across his temple, soft against the severity of his features.

this," Lucian replied, voice even, almost detached.

angry?" Ruelle's voice was as soft as the rain tapping against the glass. It seemed it was from training, not brawling. The sort that took blood and gave

touched his lips—too fleeting to be called a smile, but

his head, "if I killed someone? Or

she didn't look away from him. Held in place by his gaze, she replied quietly, "Would you have

but in something keener. A low sound escaped him, the ghost

he said, as if the word

and the clatter of spoons filling the air. The smell of fresh bread and porridge pulled

there with distant eyes. Her eyes then shifted to the

toast, "One of these weekends, we should meet off

fun. Not this weekend though—how

gaze away from the Elites'

step behind Kevin and Hailey. It was then that Leslie cut across her path. The young woman wrung her hands, as if any more than that, the

can I speak with you?" Leslie pleaded,

she said, "You can say it

happened. I didn't mean… she threatened to break my arm if

gave a small nod. "I

do?" Leslie's eyes glimmered with

how persistent they

whispered, with a look of relief passing through her face. "I've felt

to soften the air. Leslie then said, almost eagerly, "Then I'll see you this evening.

faltered with guilt. "I won't be able to teach you anymore. Some of the Elites won't like you mingling with me. You'd be better off

to soften. Feeling someone's eyes on her from the Elite's table,

she turned and joined her friends at the

the Elites' table, Alanna sat rigid, the blood in her glass untouched, her reflection rippling faintly in its surface. Her lips curved in displeasure. Last night had been

spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose as though the matter

Alanna snapped with agitation. "What business does a wolf have roaming so close to Sexton's grounds? It should be

forest," Mortis replied with a clipped voice. "For a pureblood to feel alarmed in such a trivial thing—one would

do anything?" she demanded, incredulous,

him, "the consequences are yours to bear.

gritted her teeth as she

matter with a single word. But ever since Ruelle Belmont had dragged her name through humiliation over the stolen

managed, Alanna's anger deepened. It wasn't enough to see the Groundling stumble. She wanted the human brought down further—humiliated, writhing, begging. She

the lowly human woman. Why was he, of all people, shielding her? He, who

scraped the board while a hush-ward thrummed in the room, turning whispers into harmless noise. Alanna didn't hear a word that the instructor spoke. Across the rows, Lucian sat straight-backed, the light catching the sharp line of his

crawled into the infirmary at noon," Gwendolyn

gaze. "I didn't know you