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."

to help rather than take it. And if

lingered too long, it felt as if

lowered, the faint weight of dejection softening her expression, as though she had stepped out of line. And it was in that quiet drop of

her cheeks,

harsh, resembling injuries caused by something merciless. The linen already wound around his hand bore the red stain

the cotton into the alcohol he had poured in a glass, she gently touched it to his unbandaged hand, as if forgetting that he was a vampire. She lifted the fresh strip of linen and

as they wound the linen with care. The line of his sight climbed, brushing against her collarbone, then catching in the loosened strands of damp hair where they clung near

less than interest—yet the imprint remained, as though his gaze had caught on her without reason, an impression too stubborn to be

room until Ruelle felt his gaze. She dared look up

something you want to

you seem to have not learnt that

from the injured Halflings

remark struck, and Ruelle's hands hesitated before she answered, "I only wanted to be useful… But I could say the same to

second, something crossed across his face. His voice came low, more to himself than to her.

Her brows knit faintly, not quite catching

need to be useful?" Lucian

hands paused at his words. The question pressed too closely. For a moment she faltered, then let a

don't know

but conditioning—etched so deeply it no longer felt like choice.

was the only way she had ever grown? Like

for 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

of linen in place, she drew her

have suffered more than when I saw you in the underground." Her

her gaze, she found his eyes already on 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

almost detached. "than placing the anger where it

rain tapping against the glass. It seemed it was from training, not brawling. The sort that took blood and

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

murmured, tilting his head, "if I killed

place by his gaze,

A low sound escaped him,

as if

scrape of forks and the clatter of spoons filling the air.

Looking at the Elite's table, she found Alanna sitting there with distant eyes. Her eyes then

these weekends, we should meet off the Sexton

this weekend though—how

dragged her gaze away from the Elites' table and replied, "Next

their breakfast, Ruelle and her friends stood up and headed towards the door. Ruelle walked a step behind Kevin and Hailey. It was then that Leslie cut across her path. The young woman wrung

can I speak with you?"

"You

small. "I—I'm sorry. For what happened. I didn't mean… she threatened

small nod. "I

do?" Leslie's eyes glimmered with unshed

I know how persistent

a look of relief passing through her face. "I've felt guilty since yesterday. It

faint smile, enough to soften the air. Leslie then said, almost eagerly, "Then I'll

able to teach you anymore. Some of the Elites won't

eyes on her from

she turned and joined

in its surface. Her lips curved in displeasure. Last night had

the bridge of his nose as though the matter were hardly

have roaming so close to Sexton's grounds? It should be hunted down and killed. I was almost bitten

clipped voice. "For a pureblood

she demanded, incredulous, her hands curling

Mortis said, his gaze already dropping back to the stack of parchments before him, "the consequences are yours to bear. Sexton does not involve itself in the

teeth as she moved

Ruelle Belmont had dragged her name through humiliation over the stolen pendant, her

Ruelle 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 hadn't forgotten the sting of pencil driven into

thought that Lucian was helping the lowly human woman. Why was he,

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 infirmary at noon," Gwendolyn breathed, who sat

of her gaze. "I didn't know you were