Lucian’s Reign: A Billionaire Romance
Lucian’s Reign: Chapter 13

“Accept me as I am…

because I cannot live without you.

For I’ve never loved before…

and I’m terrified of hurting you.”

Lucian

Lucian, 16 years old

Classical music mixes with glasses clinking against each other and a loud hum as people engage in conversations and laughed, enjoying this evening designed for their pleasure.

I growl inwardly, hating the charade.

Harold hovers behind me, pretending to right the table and whispers, “You have to smile, señor.”

“What the fuck for?” Grabbing a soda from the table, I crack it open and gulp it down.

Red stains appear on his cheeks and anger flashes in his gaze, which he cannot voice since he has the specific order to watch over me and do as I ask.

Grandpa dearest is too afraid to leave me unsupervised.

“Ah, to impress all these people?” I ask, crushing the can in my hand and throwing it away.

“Good impressions lead to profitable connections, and these are extremely valuable in business and private lives,” he explains. “This party dedicated to you might open doors for you in the future.”

“I thought all doors were already open for me, being a Cortez and all?” I pop a grape in my mouth, eating it while my butler huffs in exasperation, probably dreaming about killing me. Nevertheless, his frustration is amusing as fuck to watch.

“This is different.” His voice rises, and he quickly looks around, but everyone is too busy sucking up to my grandfather to pay attention to the illegitimate grandchild. “Think about the future, Lucian, and stop being so stubborn!”

“Or you’ll box my ears?” I catch Paul several steps away, laughing as he puts some water on the table before saluting me and running back to the kitchen.

He decided to help out his mother, and the money he’ll earn tonight will go to his college fund, so Harold must pay well for this.

We’ve bonded over our love for literature, and Paul has this peacefulness about him, believing in a higher power and a purpose in this life; it’s refreshing to be in his company.

Along with Harold and Ricardo, he’s one of the purest people I’ve ever met.

Even if I disagree with a lot of the shit he says.

“You shouldn’t have drunk that tequila!” Harold hisses but quickly schools his features. “There are several boys here. Make friends with them. In the future, they’ll be your partners.”

Although I respect Harold and Ricardo the most among the personnel in this house since they’ve gone out of their way to show me how much they care about me, even they don’t get to dictate to me.

Nor do I return their sentiments, because life has taught me that everything changes in the blink of an eye, so their affection today might turn into hate tomorrow.

Why waste time on all these attachments?

After my father brought me home, they called a doctor who once again checked my injuries, prescribed new medication, and advised me to eat a high protein and fat diet.

For the first week, I slept the whole time only to wake up to eat and then fall back to sleep again, enjoying the wide-open balcony door that allowed the wind inside, giving me a sense of freedom.

In the following months, I regained my strength and took long walks outside under Harold’s strict supervision. He practically pushed all the vitamins in my mouth.

I still half expected someone to show up and say it was all a mistake or for them to kick me out due to my nightmares and moody behavior, but they never did.

Dad summoned me to his office once a week, asking standard questions about my health and then wanted to know if I needed anything.

He wasn’t rude or kind, cold or warm. He was just lifeless. I wasn’t sure what to think of the man, so I dreaded these awkward five-minute conversations.

My grandfather just flat-out ignored me.

All I did was watch these men and women working at the mansion, notice every small gesture and wrinkle to see their true moods and intentions. Life in captivity taught me that people’s habits and faces are the true mirror of their intentions, and I would not live among demons ever again.

The first year was spent teaching me how to write, read, and count in two languages. I think I’ve read so many books that I get sick just looking at the library. During that time, Harold preached etiquette to me that bored me to no end.

The second year, they started on an express school program adding two more hours to my eight-hour schedule, trying to catch me up, and even though I wasn’t that great with all subjects, they were optimistic that I’ll finish school by the time I’m eighteen.

Well, with nine fucking tutors at home, it’s hard not to.

That’s when I discovered another carefully guarded secret in this family.

My father’s drinking problem.

On the weekdays, it was bearable, several glasses here and there, enough to relax him as he rested in the chair but not enough to cloud his mind so he wasn’t able to work in the morning.

On the weekends though?

A whole other story.

Every Friday, he’d come home from work, throw his suit jacket aside, and then plop on the couch in the family room before flicking the tequila open and guzzling it down, taking breaks for his cigars only.

He’d stare at the wall and continue to drink while reading the small red journal in his hands.

He’d lovingly run his fingers over the paper, pick up a black-and-white photo, and kiss it before putting it back into the journal.

After finishing rereading the damn thing, he would cry and cry before falling asleep on the same couch, snoring loudly until Harold and Ricardo would drag his body upstairs.

Only the next day to do it all again. He would stay holed up on the second floor this time, demanding more drinks until he would vomit all over the floor and the maids had to clean it up.

Then on Monday morning, he’d be gone, presenting the proper Juan Cortez persona to the world.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Every fucking week.

Mostly, Father stayed quiet, living in his head during his drinking parties as I called it, but sometimes… sometimes he would start smashing all the vases, glasses, and bottles around him, stepping on the shattered pieces and injuring himself in the process.

Smearing the marble with blood, he would seek me out while screaming my name, and everything inside me trembled at the idea of facing him, because it took me back to that fucking cage once again.

Where dark cravings ruled the mind so much they didn’t comprehend what they were doing.

Father would hug me close, rocking me in his arms and apologizing for listening to his father all those years ago.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And I’ve never hated him more than in those moments, not only because he sent revulsion through my system at the unwanted contact, disturbing old wounds, but also because of the weakness he displayed.

He grew up with everything, yet he failed to stay strong, and in this, he failed to help me when I needed him most, and I had to survive in the most hideous places.

Forgive?

Fuck that.

Never.

I tried being understanding, but he shut me out every time I wanted to ask about the past. In time, resentment only grew.

The only reason I played by his rules was because I needed power.

So I could punish all the fuckers still roaming the world, craving to kill them all one by one, and watch the blood pour from their bodies.

Not for myself, but so they won’t ever steal the childhood from someone else.

I wasn’t going around dreaming about killing any male who reminded me of James or anything. Although based on all the books I’ve read on psychology, it could have been the case.

No, my desires were so calculated and vivid they scared even me sometimes.

Because dreams about burning them alive or hanging them from the ceiling polluted my mind, demanding vengeance, even if it meant finding new sick bastards.

I also had ideas about how to help kids living on the streets that would come to fruition the minute I got my hand on the empire.

Turning sixteen became a magical number because that’s when father made the official announcement about him having a son.

Grandfather raged, screaming that he wouldn’t make a prince out of the tramp.

Considering his own son was a drunk with all his right upbringing, I seriously found it funny.

Since then, Dad has taken me with him on his various trips, introducing me to the people in the companies, and spoke to me about the business.

Somehow, this was the only neutral ground where we could talk for hours, discussing the future and interesting developments without it erupting into a fight.

I especially enjoyed going to the factories and watching how our products were created, craving to know it all from inside out.

Although I still have a long way to go in the study department, I do intend to rule it all one day.

Instead of just sitting on all this fortune though, I’ll do some good with it.

If only to spite my grandfather.

Which brings me to tonight, the official party where my father introduces me to all his friends and business partners alike, to make me one of their own.

“Hello, Jacob. My God, how you’ve grown!” Harold greets someone next to me, as the guy around my age reaches for the juice.

He flashes us a smile, winking at the old man. “Time ages us all, Harold.” My butler fucking laughs, finding this funny. “Good to see you too.”

Harold nods, then looks between us and slaps his forehead. “I forgot to check on the main course. Excuse me, gentlemen.” And he races to the hallway, leaving me alone with this guy.

“Subtle he is not,” he mutters, rightly guessing Harold’s intentions, and extends his hand to me. “Jacob Price.”

Right.

A jewelry heir.

I shake it, surprised at the strong grip, and reply, “Lucian Cortez.”

“The star of this evening.” He laughs as my brows furrow, detesting his comment, and I grab another can of soda. “I imagine you hate all this.”

“In a way.” I won’t be honest with a guy who can tattle on me to his father and, in this, jeopardize my position.

To survive in this luxurious world, you have to play nice and behave, create an illusion of fitting into their mold.

Until I have power, I cannot act out.

He lifts his glass at me. “Well, welcome to this glittering world that will swallow you whole if you let it.”

I give him a sideways glance. Aren’t these too big words for a guy his age? His greatest problem in life so far has probably consisted of Daddy not buying him what he wanted.

Connections.

I should think about that rather than the constant resentment present in my soul at the unfairness of it all. Although I do not wish my past on anyone. “Speaking from experience?”

“My father grew up into an asshole, so I guess speaking from his experience.”

I choke on my spit, coughing loudly, and he slams his fist on my back.

Clearing my throat, because who the fuck shares all this with a stranger, I mutter, “You don’t have much respect for your dad.”

“Oh no, that’s not true.” He unbuttons his jacket, tugging on his tie as he takes another sip before elaborating. “He’s on mistress number five right now while my mother cries at home, wishing he was dead. Still, she won’t divorce, him because she loves the status the family name gives her. And my grandfather will kick Dad’s ass if he dares to even broach the subject of divorce. I pity my parents, but I do respect them.”

Too fucking shocked and fascinated from all this info dump as it lifts the veil from this still undiscovered world, I ask, “Is divorce a sin among the elite?”

It would explain my father’s desire to never marry despite Grandfather still harboring hope for more grandkids.

After all these years, I still don’t understand their relationship. Why the mansion seems so cold, and why they never talk to each other unless it involves business.

Not to mention my father’s hate aimed at his. Sometimes, I wonder if the only reason he even decided to claim me was to take some kind of revenge on Alejandro Cortez.

But even that backfired as apparently Grandfather is satisfied by the result since he hosts his party, proudly parading me among his friends.

I guess some heir is better than no heir at all.

“It’s frowned upon, and besides, you won’t have a strong dynasty if you keep on divorcing.”

So it’s better to be stuck with someone you don’t love?

What a fucked-up way of thinking.

“And you plan to do the same? Marry for money?”

He shakes his head. “Worse. I will never marry. This should stick it to the old man.” Anger coats his tone, and he places the juice back on the table where it splashes onto the wood. “If I can’t be with the one I love, then fuck that shit.” He finishes, breathing heavily, and then quickly composes himself, settling indifference over his face.

His words evoke havoc in my mind, and my gaze lands on my father, who grabs a glass from the tray and drinks it, his eyes closing for a moment as he exhales a breath before grinning once again and spinning around to face whoever approaches him now.

Is this what lies beneath the surface?

My father loved someone in the past, and he couldn’t be with her, so he decided to stick it to Grandfather?

My mother?

I squeeze the can harder, the aluminum crackling under the pressure, while the unwanted thoughts pierce my mind.

The one subject I desperately crave to know more about but have never gotten any answers on is my mother.

It’s as if she never existed, a ghost that everyone is afraid to speak of or avoids the subject entirely.

Besides knowing her name, Camille, she is an evil mirage in my head who abandoned me when I needed her most and then disappeared God knows where.

But did she do it willingly?

Or someone forced her?

Fury flashes over me, and ignoring Jacob’s frown, I march toward my father, ready to demand answers here and now.

The beast inside me has sniffed the prey and intends to torture it until finally it cracks. So I will know the truth and can move the fuck on without having any regrets.

“Father,” I address him, and he pauses his conversation midsentence, swinging his head to me.

His gray eyes light up in unfamiliar joy, shining brightly at me, and he throws his arm over my shoulders, bringing me closer but not really touching me, so I can breathe freely.

Due to all the psychological help given to me, I can handle this stuff better, but still.

No one really knows how I plan to sustain the monster residing in my soul.

“Lucian, perfect timing.” I open my mouth to ask the question, everything else be damned, when he says, “Meet my old college friend, Diego Moore.”

I freeze and focus on the man in front of me as realization hits me like a ton of bricks, almost swaying me to the side, and the ringing in my ears starts, overpowering any other sound in the room.

All while the man who rescued me watches me carefully, his violet eyes glazed in warning, urging me to keep my mouth shut while his curves in a smile. “Lucian. It’s nice to meet you.” He points with his glass at my father. “Juan spoke so highly of you.”

I know I’m supposed to say something, but I’m too stunned to utter a single word, not knowing how to proceed.

This man… who came and rescued us all from James’s hell… is my father’s friend?

Scratch that.

He belongs to high society?

A man who murders and has an entire team to do his deeds…roams freely and openly?

How is that possible?

My father clears his throat, and I finally find my voice, speaking up. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Diego lives in Boston. He has a younger brother your age.” Dad chuckles. “Maybe we should plan a family vacation together so they can meet.”

“Maybe.” comes the dry reply, albeit I doubt he would want his brother to mingle with someone like me.

As he saw firsthand the things I’m capable of doing.

Not to mention I know what this man does in his spare time.

An older woman approaches us and exclaims, “Juan!” He looks at her, and for a second I see annoyance flashing in his eyes before he masks it.

“Suzanne.”

The lady taps her cane loudly, her eyes narrowing. “I came from New York. Couldn’t miss you introducing your son to us all.” She briefly glances at me, scanning me. “His manners and posture are impeccable. I see a lot of good things in the future for him. Although whether he inherited the Cortez famous knack for business remains to be seen.”

Diego smirks, while my father replies to her, “Suzanne, the way you cover your insults with compliments truly amazes me.” His tone stays even, yet I detect fury coating it. “Since you intend to live forever, I’d advise you to be careful though. One day, my son will be your business partner, and you don’t want a Cortez as your enemy.”

My chest warms at him protecting me. My father always does it whenever someone dares to send jabs my way, and he places invisible borders around me, announcing to everyone that they should watch themselves.

Although I squash this feeling quickly, not allowing it to take roots in my soul for fear of forming an undeserved attachment toward this man.

Because he just sticks to family principles.

A Cortez does not go against or harm their own.

Even my grandfather who didn’t want me officially claimed still intended to send me somewhere abroad and fully support me.

Suzanne slaps his arm. “Juan, you always find a way to surprise me. I’d like to talk to you about our contract.”

Dad’s brows furrow. “Of course.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Stay here,” he orders and then nods at Diego who salutes him with his drink. “I’ll see you around.”

The minute they walk away, I look around and since no one is close to us, I say, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

He takes a sip from his whiskey. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snaps his fingers at the server, pointing at his glass.

“You rescued me. Three years ago.” I tell him, exasperated that he doesn’t remember me.

Or does he do such stuff a lot, so we become interchangeable faces to him?

Who cares though as long as he saves the likes of us.

“Lucian, value the gift that I’ve given you and don’t overstep. Our meeting never happened, and if you want to succeed in this world, learn to play the game.”

What does it even mean?

He snags the whiskey glass from the server, puts his empty one on the tray, and starts to leave, probably not wanting me to push for more information on the stuff he does.

He stills though when I ask, “Could you teach me?” He blinks at my request, so clearing my throat, I elaborate. “To be like you. To do what you do.” I haven’t seen much, but by how many weapons he had, and how masterfully he inserted himself in James’s company to destroy them, it requires skills.

Skills I need to learn somewhere. Otherwise the voices muttering in my head and my sadistic tendencies will cost me my head.

He stares at me for a long time as the music continues to play and people converse around us, unaware that the star of the evening, as Jacob called me, wants his father’s friend to teach him how to murder monsters.

Finally, he speaks up. “I saved you too late.’’

These words became a stepping-stone toward me becoming a skilled monster who could use any weapon and make it work in his favor, enjoying the cries of his victims.

Diego was wrong though.

He saved me two times.

Once from endless hell.

And the second time from myself, because if it wasn’t for his teaching and channeling my inclination in the right direction, I could have ended up dead somewhere after doing hideous crimes.

Destiny gave me a chance.

I grasped it with both hands.

I never needed anything else…

Before my blue-eyed beauty entered my world.

And turned said world on its axis.

Esmeralda

I hear the door being shut as the last guest leaves the house. Twisting the doorknob in the bathroom, I peek my head out and spot a maid holding a tray of dirty glasses as she heads to the kitchen. “All clear?” She nods, smiling tentatively, and I exhale in relief, stepping into the hallway.

The party has been going on for ages, and for the last four hours everyone wanted a piece of me, ever since Lucian showed up and we cut the cake.

They would come to congratulate us, tell us that we are perfect for each other, and ask if we plan to start a family anytime soon.

I think I’ve put all these pregnancy rumors to rest when I shouted “no” as a reply and shocked a lot of women out there.

Countless useless conversations just to establish their pretense of loving us, so Lucian will continue to do business with them, and my grandmother as well. Apparently, she has more power than I thought. Since everyone predicts she will leave all this to me and, by default, to Lucian they have to play nice.

There were magical moments too, especially when Lucian tugged me onto the dance floor and twirled me in an intimate dance that was highly inappropriate for any audience.

But when he gazed at me in such a heated way as if no one else existed for him and erupted butterflies in my stomach, rushing through me in pleasurable sensations, I knew I didn’t care what anyone thought as long as I was in his arms.

In such moments, I could almost believe I married a beast who turned into a handsome prince and the whole kingdom came to celebrate.

Except my villain would never make me forget who truly claimed this particular princess.

Walking to the living room, I drop to the couch and slip off my shoes, rubbing my feet against each other and wiggling my toes, then groaning slightly. “Wearing all these heels is gonna kill me,” I mutter right as Harold comes in, grinning at me. “Please tell me everyone left.” I tap on the stiletto with my toe. “I cannot put this on again.”

“Everyone left,” he assures me and then locks his hands behind his back. “Lila asked me to tell you that she will send a driver for you tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“She said there is a perfect place for a gallery in Chicago, and she wants to show it to you.”

Oh, right.

She did have that conversation with one of the sponsors who wanted to sell his building, and since it’s located right in the center adjacent to the artistic street, opening a gallery there might be a good business opportunity.

I stay silent, pondering her request to send the driver while Lucian probably has cars in this house. Wouldn’t it be smarter to just use my own, so she won’t have to waste time dropping me off before she heads to the airport? “I can call her and inform her you object if you want?”

I shake my head. “No need. I don’t mind checking out the place.” I decide to change the subject. “The party was amazing, Harold. You’ve done a great job.” He straightens up as happiness flashes in his orbs, and he smiles so widely the wrinkles on his cheeks deepen. Noticing Ricardo strolling in the room, I tell him, “Both of you.”

The cook nods, his white uniform smeared with various sauces as he removes his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. “The pleasure was all mine. I’ve still got it after all these years.” He places his hands on his hips while Harold rolls his eyes. “This calls for scotch!”

“Ricardo,” Harold hisses, motioning at me with his head.

“What? I have some in the kitchen, let’s go. Let the young ones clean it all up.” He cracks his neck from side to side. “I’m getting too old to stand on my feet all day.”

Before the butler objects out of a wrongful sense of obligation, I say, “That sounds like a lovely idea.” Ricardo grins, and then I ask, “Where is Lucian?”

“Outside. He walked through the terrace doors a few minutes ago,” Harold informs me, and I nod, getting up, moaning a little when my bare feet step on the cold marble, bringing relief to my abused flesh. “Do you need anything?”

“Harold, just go enjoy the rest of the night. We’re fine.” I kiss him on the cheek, and his face reddens. “Thank you for everything.”

I saunter to the terrace door and go outside, tilting my head back as the breeze glides over my skin breaking goose bumps, and cold granite greets me.

Various lights spread all over the perimeter brighten up the place, creating a false sense of security as if tempting you inside the garden where flowers bloom and trees grow, yet warning you that dangerous creatures might live there the farther you dare to go.

And among all this beauty, I see Lucian standing in the distance, his jacket and vest long gone while his open white shirt billows back from the wind, slightly exposing his scarred skin.

Thunder echoes in the sky, and the clouds gather together, threatening to pour rain on us any minute. But paying no attention to the warning, I go to him, my steps soundless on the grass, and since his back faces me, he might not even hear me.

Removing the pin from hair, I drop it and ruffle my locks, not wanting anything to bring me discomfort now.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

My arms wrap around his six-pack, my splayed palms settling on his hot skin while he doesn’t even jerk in surprise. A smile shapes my mouth as I bite his shoulder blade. “Ah, careful, gatita. I might bite back,” he teases, placing his hands above mine and running his fingers over my flesh gently.

“Rain will start soon.” I say the obvious, since thunder shakes the sky again. Kissing the bite I’ve just given him, I rest my check on his back. “What are you doing here?”

He stays silent for a while, his heart beating evenly under my touch, yet tension surrounds us. I feel a slight tremor go through him. He speaks up, his voice huskier than usual, and I press myself closer to him, sharing my warmth with him. “When my father brought me home… this quickly became my favorite place in the entire mansion.” I still, my heart speeding up in my chest because, for the first time, he willingly talks about his past. “After the doctor gave me the all-clear to go outside, I couldn’t wait to do it. I went out just as the rain poured from the sky, soaking me.” Doctor? I tighten my hold on him, not daring to say a word for fear of him closing off again. “I stood, breathing in the fresh air as droplets slapped against my face, and laughed for the first time. Genuinely laughed, because I was outside, fully fed and clothed. Found after all those years. And free. Free at last.”

Free?

Oh, no.

I jerk my hand, needing to face him to see the emotions playing on his features because his detached tone doesn’t give me much, but he holds me in place, grabbing my hand and sliding it upward to his neck. “For years, a collar resided here. Wrapped tightly with sharp thorns touching my skin so I wouldn’t dare move in different directions because another man held the leash.” Tears form in my eyes, and the air sticks in my throat while horrible images paint in my head, making me nauseous as sadness envelops me along with desperation. “They’d push my face into a bowl and order me to eat while they laughed and fucking laughed, showing me that their power over me was absolute.” I tug on my hands again, needing to cover my ears because I cannot bear to hear it. I begged him to share all this time, but right now my insides scream at me to block away his voice. The pain in my heart becomes so great, tears slide down my cheeks and my soul aches for the little boy he used to be who knew so much cruelty.

No wonder he feels this much resentment toward his father and grandfather. Whatever happened in the past clearly could have been avoided if they’d sorted out their family drama sooner rather than later.

He glides my hand over his various puckered scars, dragging it to his six-pack. “Knives, beatings, dangerous games for their own amusement. Rape.”

No.

No, no, no.

“I took it all. Because surviving meant killing them someday, and that desire was stronger than anything else I’d experienced.”

“And survive you did,” I whisper, sobs clogging my throat as he steps back from my embrace and spins around. The lightning flashes, showing his male beauty in the dangerous light.

His dark hair sways a little and it reminds me of a pirate who came to conquer what’s rightfully his.

Aguish and coldness fill his gaze while a chuckle escapes his lips, bitter and hollow. “I did.” He looks to the side. “Surviving wasn’t enough though. I craved power so they would know what it was like to be on the bottom and beg for salvation that’s denied to you. Monsters who lurk in the night, ready to strike, have no bravery, and when they meet an equal or stronger opponent, they cave, ready to run away with their tails tucked.”

“So you kill the men the little boy couldn’t?” I ask, stepping back a little. “Trying to balance the goodness and evilness in this world?”

Our gazes meet, and the amusement flicking in his confuses me, because what could possibly be humorous about my question? “Balance it? Claro que no, gatita, es imposible.” His knuckles wipe away my tears. “Because evilness rules me, and goodness doesn’t exist within me.”

I take another step back, avoiding his touch that disturbs my senses and frown. “I don’t understand. You told me all these men deserve to die. You don’t kill innocent people.”

“Yes. The men engaged in hideous crimes, feasting on the flesh of the weak and torturing them in the most vicious ways. People are toys in their hands, so they do whatever the hell they want with them. Morals, compassion, mercy, they do not exist for the men I kill or send to prison.”

If they do all these crimes, I have no compassion for them either. It sounds awful to justify what he does because only a crazy person would think so.

Or the one deeply in love with the man who received so much undeserved cruelty in this world.

Maybe his darkness is worth it as long as it ensures no other child suffers the way he did because such monsters never change.

They continue to use their power in ways that destroy souls and traps them in hell.

“See? It means you are using goodness in order to punish them for what they’re doing.”

Not that murdering people is the answer to such crimes, we have laws for a reason, but when one chooses between a psycho and a man who eliminates monsters, the choice is obvious.

“The mantra that kept me together was survive until I could beat them. Except I failed.” He grabs my elbow and pulls me to him, our chests bumping against each other as he wraps his arm tightly around me while his hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back. “Because I became exactly like them, mi amor.” I swallow as another tear escapes me while his tone fills with so much self-loathing I desperately want to soothe it but don’t know how. “Beating them would have meant moving past it and using all the opportunities life has given me to start fresh. Thousands of people suffer. Some less, some more than me. But they haven’t turned to the darkness like I did.” He leans closer. “They are the epitome of strength as they managed to do something I haven’t. Keep the light within them that shines brighter than darkness. I respect them more than they’ll ever know. I couldn’t resist its tempting call.” His thumb slides over my cheek, scooping more tears as confused emotions consume my head, his explanation only adding to the pain sinking its claws in my heart as they reek of hopelessness.

He signed himself a death warrant and does not expect or want redemption for his deeds.

But also… he doesn’t feel deserving of this because the motto that kept him alive led to his ultimate destruction and downfall into the vicious world. His darkness became addicting and a necessity in his life to calm the nightmares he must still live through.

What happened to me still plagues me and scares me, scarring my psyche so much on most days I struggle for composure. For almost ten years I’ve avoided any attachments or relationships for fear of losing them and in such hurting more.

Existing in a protective bubble though never made me happy, and when he showed up, my reality changed from black-and-white into a myriad of vivid colors.

However, he lived in hell for years, judging by his description, reduced to feeling like a toy who was created to be played with by awful people.

Denied his birthright, and even when the family claimed him, they didn’t heal his wounds.

Or rather he didn’t allow them to, because opening himself up for more pain would have been catastrophic for him.

A child who knows only hate cannot be expected to grow up into someone loving and caring without being shown the way.

And every time he kills these men… who is he saving?

Their possible victims?

Or does he try to atone for the small boy still living deep inside him who craves love and acceptance but does not dare to dream about it?

Would he stop if he received love, despite the things he has done?

Or are his inclinations so deeply rooted in him he considers them a part of himself, and that’s why he puts himself on the same level with all these hideous monsters?

“You’re nothing like them, Lucian.” I place my hand on his chest, right over his heart. “This still has goodness in it. You just have to—”

His harsh voice interrupts me, not letting me finish my thought. “Don’t allow your heart to show its compassion and find something romantic about my deeds. I told you. I’m not a Prince Charming and we do not live in a fairy tale.” His hold on me tightens, and he brings us closer, my gasp trapping between us as our breaths mingle. “I’m a villain who craves you to the point of insanity. Unfortunately, my obsession will be your greatest curse. Because you are trapped with me for eternity, and inevitably my darkness will taint you. Lo siento, mi amor. Te necesito demasiado para dejarte.”

I’m sorry, my love. I need you too much to give you up.

Need and obsession go hand in hand, and for a man like Lucian who learned to control his every emotion in order to survive… admitting to having such weakness equals loving a person.

A love he doesn’t know how to express or even name as he’s probably never felt it before, so his first instinct is to possess, trap, seduce.

A hunter got his prey, but he has no clue how to make her stop resisting her new reality.

Or how to keep her without hurting her in the process.

No one showed him how to love a woman, so he loves me in the only way he can.

After his words, the chaos in my soul, which has been present ever since the damned photos appeared, settles. I can finally accept him as he is with all his flaws.

But more importantly, without any guilt, doubts, self-loathing, or desire to change him.

Villains never become heroes again, since even their good actions are considered atonement and never a heroic act.

Most people would tell me to run far away, and hide from him; that the monster within him is hungry for blood and gore and never intends to stop indulging in all these horrible acts.

But most people don’t know him like I do.

I do, because no one ever filled my soul with so much warmth and happiness where the world became an adventure again and not merely a boring ride.

Nothing can taint it.

Even his darkness.

Our lips touch as I whisper, “Then I fell in love with the villain who has all my heart, and I don’t want to be free of him. I just want to be his.”

His fingers dig into my skin, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly, and his gaze roams over my face… not fully believing my words.

So, rising on my tiptoes, I close the distance between us and place my mouth on his.

The princess in this particular fairytale chooses the villain.

She never dreamed about a prince anyway.

Lucian

The door bounces off the wall when I kick it open, entering the room while holding my precious wife in my arms.

She laughs softly, tightening her arms around my neck. “The whole house will know about your intentions, Mr. Cortez,” she whispers, rubbing her nose up and down my neck and sending warmth through me that only blazes from inside out in her presence.

For before she stepped into my world, it was dark and cold, filled by endless torture and gore with nothing bright in sight.

And now in the garden she finally has accepted me as I am, ready to spend her days with the villain for whom she is the center of his universe.

Mi hermosa esposa.

My beautiful wife who made the organ in my chest beat again after being frozen for an eternity, because no one taught me what love is.

How could a monster crave something he never knew?

“I think after I fucked you in the garden the other day, they suspected about my constant need for you.” Shutting the door soundly with my foot, I walk farther into the room as the moonlight coming from the open terrace door brightens up the entire space, aided by two dimmed lights above.

Her sapphire ring glistens, sending square shadows on the wall, and satisfaction surges through me while a sinister smile shapes my mouth, reminding me about all the men watching my woman tonight and knowing who she belonged to.

They might dream about having someone like her one day; after all, she stood out tonight like a rare diamond among the regular stones, vivid and alive while her natural sensuality mesmerized every male in close vicinity, but they will never have her.

Because Rebecca Esmeralda Cortez belongs to me, and now the whole world knows it.

The light wind curls around us, the leaves rustling and owls hooting in the distance, as thousands of stars in the night sky create a romantic atmosphere designed for forbidden pleasures and wicked sins, ready to drag you to hell.

But you go willingly if it means staying by her side.

“Lucian!” she exclaims, mortification filling her tone, and she wiggles in my arms, adding “Put me down, please.” My brows furrow at the request, and my hold on her tightens instead as I head to the bed. I plan to ravish her for hours, staking my claim on her delectable body repeatedly, marveling at the fact that she won’t fight the pull between us anymore.

She shakes her head, licking her plump lips that I wish to bite and mark. “Please?”

What sane man could refuse when she pleads with these ocean eyes of hers that are so clear I want to drown in them and have them always filled with happiness and never fear?

Stopping in the middle of the room, I do as she asks, and she immediately takes a few steps back. I growl under my breath, sending a warning her way, but she only grins, her white teeth sinking into her bottom lip while she throws her heavy locks over her shoulder where they cascade down her back.

Crooking my finger at her, I say—but it sounds more like an order, “Come here, mi amor.” Her silky gown does little to hide her body from me, her nipples peaking, the tight buds visible through the material and begging for relief. The sight of her desire hardens my dick; it bulges painfully against my zipper. “Look at you, all turned on and in need of your man fucking you hard on the first available flat surface.” The air hitches in her throat, and she fists her dress on her stomach, her chest rising and falling. Removing my shirt and dropping it on the floor, I say, “Strip, mi amor. I bet that pussy is dripping for me.”

She sighs and then determination fills her blue orbs, and she sashays to the side when I try to wrap my arm around her, wiggling her finger at me. “No.”

My brow lifts. “No?” I unbuckle my belt, removing it with a swoosh, and she blinks at the sight, her mouth opening slightly.

Ah, my woman can play hard to get all she wants, but we both know she is dying for me right now.

A reflection of my need for her.

Because the beast permanently residing in me drives me insane, demanding to sink into her and show her how much she means to me. “You don’t want my tongue to soothe the fire burning in you right now, mi amor?” My voice lowers to a sensual whisper, while I push the zipper down and wrap my hand around my length, squeezing it hard, the precum leaking from the tip. “Or my fingers stretching the walls of your pussy, getting you ready for me?”

She scrunches her eyes as if some internal battle is going on inside her, and she shakes her head again, exhaling heavily. “No,” she repeats, then taking a deep breath, murmurs, “I don’t want to have sex tonight.” A beat passes, and she adds, “I want to make love.”

The organ in my chest pangs painfully; the word I never understood and hated sounds incredibly intimate coming from her, and for some reason, it fills me with unknown longing and an emotion I haven’t felt in more than twenty years.

Panic.

“Every time I touched you, it was special,” I tell her, wanting her to know I’ve never felt like this about anyone else and never worshiped anyone’s body the way I did hers. Whatever I did or will do to her in the future belongs exclusively to her. “I have no idea how to make love, mi amor.” Although maybe that’s a lie.

Maybe that’s what I did to her all along?

God, marriage is turning me into a sap. What’s next?

Writing love sonnets to my wife using the blood of my victims as ink, because anything of mine includes darkness and hideous weapons?

What was it that Esme said to me during our two weeks in New York?

Art became her escape from the emotions brewing inside her that demanded to be told or shown; otherwise, they would have overwhelmed her.

“I want to make love to you,” she corrects herself, padding toward me and placing her hands on my chest, gliding them up and down the vicious scars left by one of the clients who loved to press hot metal against my skin, enjoying how he destroyed my flesh while…

My hands fist, my breathing speeds up, and I do my best to control the rage slowly building inside me just at the memories alone, detesting her touch on the scars that always remind me of the worst time in my life.

One of the reasons I never let women see them or touch them, because once the nightmares appear in your psyche, it’s impossible to focus on anything else until the flashback passes.

Her hands move up until she palms my head and tilts it back so our gazes clash, mine lost and hers full of love.

She stands on her tiptoes, meeting my mouth halfway as we lock in a soft kiss that hurts my soul in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Her lips brush gently against mine, her tongue slipping inside as she leisurely teases mine, surrounding me with her lavender scent that tempts me like no one else, wanting to drown in all this. Gradually the old voices in my head tone down, becoming just an annoying buzz in my ears.

All while my woman continues to kiss me, as if putting healing ointment over the invisible wounds existing within me, bleeding to this day, and I hate them so much.

Only in this moment, she makes it almost okay, despite your age, to weep for something you never knew or the crimes you’ve committed ever since then.

Threading my fingers through her lilac locks, I take control of the kiss, deepening it, swallowing her moan.

Her body sways toward me as her hands travel back to my chest and slowly pushes me backward. Too lost in her, I comply with the silent request, heatedly ravishing her mouth until she bites on my lower lip and pulls it, sinking her teeth into it and making me hiss through mine. She licks over it, our mouths connecting one last time in a peck before she moves back, escaping my arms once again. “Mi amor.” Warning laces my voice, patience I do not possess wearing thin. My insides urge that I claim her again so I can prove to myself she’s real and won’t vanish at any moment.

My angel who dropped into hell and somehow accepted the devil, even though he showed her all his bad secrets. His soul too dark for salvation, yet he craved it nevertheless, as long as it meant keeping her.

She pays no attention to it though, turning around until she faces my back, and I feel her hot breath right before her lips settle over the scars, given to me by the bull who pierced his horn in my shoulder blade. The vicious mark never healed properly despite the doctor’s best effort. It has remained a hideous sight, a red, angry mark with pale skin, standing up in my tan flesh.

I close my eyes, enduring her study of me, even if I want to cover myself because her presence and touch destroys the walls I built around myself.

And the rawness, pain, and agony hiding behind it might scare her, and she’d want to run away.

The monster inside me roars at the prospect. The one bright spot in his hollow life cannot even think about disappearing, because existence in darkness no longer holds an appeal for him.

“I will never let you go, Esmeralda. Never.” The words come out harsher than I intend, my voice raspy from the tension in me. “You’re chained to me.”

She ignores the threat, and why wouldn’t she? She knows I would never physically hurt her. “My heart hurts at seeing these scars, and I wish I could have taken them all away,” she whispers, skimming her lips to the side where another scar resides. Given to me by a woman who loved to beat me with a sharp belt buckle, its imprint has stayed on me as a souvenir. Esmeralda rubs her lips over it before kissing it gently, her fingers running over my lower back where various whip lines lie, pale from all these years, but still there.

Always fucking there—I stare at the mirror—and maybe that’s why I despise my reflection.

“Don’t.” She shouldn’t be tainted by my darkness or hurt herself thinking about it.

My hideous past should be only my own, and that’s why I’ve never wanted to share it with her. It’s too heavy a burden to carry for her empathy and compassion.

“But as wrong as it sounds, I do not hate them.” She moves farther and bestows a kiss on the knife scar delivered carelessly by one of my captors designed to keep me in line. “You know why?” Her fingers slide to my sides, caressing the lower marks as she slowly shifts her lips over my bicep to my chest, placing several smalls kisses on those scars. “Because they speak about your bravery. To withstand all this… I can’t even begin to understand what hell it was… to live in such a nightmare.” She places her hands on my hips, her mouth traveling lower while her every single touch soothes the pain raging inside me. My self-control slips through my fingers as she continues to talk and kiss me. “Having these marks on your body shows me what makes you uniquely you. And to take any imperfection away… be it in character or anything else…you wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with.”

Ah, my wife wants to kill me, doesn’t she?

Her words sneak into every shattered piece of me, aligning them in blocks ready to glue them all back together with the love she gives me.

I understand why Hades tricked Persephone into staying with him.

What mortal or immortal man would willingly let go of a woman who taught him how to feel again?

She trails her lips to my six-pack, scraping her teeth over the muscles. My dick grows harder, and my hands clench and unclench with the need to throw her on the bed and have her right now.

Yet I do no such thing, because part of me yearns for her love like my next breath.

A rustling sound echoes through the space, and then her mouth fans over my navel, her hands slipping inside my pants and wrapping tight around my length, earning herself a hiss from me.

She takes my dick out and squeezes it in her palm before rubbing it from the base to the tip, scooping the leaking precum with her thumb while a whimper escapes her.

I snap my eyes open, finding her on her knees in front of me, her dress bundled up around her while she leans closer to me, pleading with her eyes, still so innocent despite all the ways I’ve tried to corrupt her.

Mine.

Only ever mine because no man besides me has ever touched her, tasted her, or driven inside her while she moaned from pleasure.

The knowledge pleases me like nothing else does because every pleasure she learns and discovers comes from me.

Barbaric thoughts?

Yes.

Do I give a fuck?

No.

Lust slides through my veins, responding to her silent call as she rubs her cheek over my hard-on, inhaling my scent. Her nipples stand out more, showing me how turned on she is.

I should have torn that fucking dress the minute we entered the room so her body would be in full view, as nothing turns me on more than seeing how much sucking me off turns her on.

“Esmeralda.” Her name sounds almost like a prayer because she has a very limited amount of time to play and enjoy herself before I take back the reins.

A wicked smile curves her mouth at the need she must hear in her name. She rolls her tongue out, swiping it over the precum, and moans, the sound causing my dick to jerk. My fingers tangle in her hair, tipping her head back slightly while settling her closer. “I love your taste,” she whispers, licking my length and tracing the thick vein with the tip of her tongue, which should be forbidden for all the pleasure she can give me. “It creates this ache inside me, flaring my blood and making me so wet I can’t think about anything but having you inside me.” She reverses her motions, her hands still gripping the base, which only adds to the sensations rocking through me. My hold on her tightens, pulling at her hair, urging her to give me what I want. “At the same time though, I want you as helpless as you make me when you love me with your mouth until I cannot even remember my name.”

Innocent?

Oh, no.

My woman already knows how to drive her man insane.

I growl, my hips thrusting forward, seeking her out, and she sucks on the head hard before drawing me deeper into her mouth. She glides her tongue over me while her hand runs up and down my length.

That’s what heaven feels like for sinners. No wonder all the saints strive their whole life to get there.

The wet heat surrounding me makes me hiss as pleasure fills every cell in my body, urging me to move forward and fuck her mouth, owning it in a way only I’m allowed, but I rein in the desire.

I hold her head in place, sliding deeper as she moans around me, the vibration traveling through me and going straight to my balls. More precum slips onto her tongue, which she welcomes. “Look at you so eager to suck your man,” I say, and she freezes, her eyes becoming glazed, and she resumes her action as she places one hand on my stomach, her nails raking my skin. I welcome the sting, love her marks covering the old wounds as if she claims me in her own way. “One day I’m going to fuck this pretty mouth, teaching it to take me deep in your throat.” She moans again, and her grip on me tightens, her mouth sliding up and then down again, going as far as she can, determined to make me come.

Fuck, just saying it paints a carnal picture in my head where she lies on the bed, and I feed her my cock, fully in control of my beauty who whirls in pleasure underneath me. It’s a wonder I don’t come.

Tugging at her hair, I slowly push her head back, watching my dick slip out of her mouth, coated in her saliva, and she nibbles on the head one last time, biting on her lower lip while her breathing speeds up. “But tonight, I need to fuck that pussy that has probably soaked your panties.” I drag her up, and she gasps when I slam my mouth on her, capturing us both in a hot kiss, and she pushes me back, our tongues fighting for dominance. The kiss becomes more heated by the second as we move blindly toward the bed.

I stop when my calves bump into it, ready to throw her onto it when she steps away from me and pushes me hard on the chest. I fall on the bed in the sitting position, my nostrils flaring at seeing her reaching for the zipper on the back of her dress. “Come here, mi amor. I’ll rip it and end your misery.” I quickly remove my pants and shoes kicking them to the side.

“I like it.” The dress slowly slips down, exposing her gorgeous naked body except for the beige barely visible thong. “It fits me.”

“I’ll buy you a thousand more,” I reply hoarsely, my whole attention on her hands.

She cups her round breasts, squeezing them tight, her thumbs brushing against her nipples. She moans, the sound affecting my dick like nothing else. “This body is yours, Lucian,” she says throatily, and I grip the sheets beside me until my knuckles turn white, barely holding onto my control to not ravish her right away. Hearing her admit she fully belongs to me doesn’t even compare to any other pleasure in this world.

That such a magnificent creature is mine, what else could a man possibly want?

I crook my finger at her, ready to show her what I can do with her body that craves me so much. Instead of listening to me though, her hands travel to her waist and then to her hips. “Do you like knowing that you are the only man who has ever entered me?” Her palm slides down her stomach to her panties, her fingers slipping inside, and she whimpers, her palm gliding up and down. “The only one who makes me this wet and achy inside?” She moans. “My one and only.”

“Come here,” I growl, roaming my gaze over her beauty, a temptation who can seduce even a saint, let alone a sinner like me. “I bet my tongue would feel better than your finger, mi amor.”

She gasps, desire sparking in her sapphire eyes, and slowly she takes her hand out and saunters toward me, her breasts bouncing. She stops between my thighs, places her fingers on my lips, smearing her juices all over them, and her familiar feminine scent penetrates me. “Taste,” she orders, and I indulge her, licking my lips and then catching her fingers, sucking on them, and the sweet taste hits my tongue, my dick springing up and down.

“Esmeralda.” My palms settle on her waist and I drag her closer, kissing her on her flat stomach, and she sighs contentedly.

“Yes, darling?”

“We’re done playing.” With this, I get up, grip her hips, and throw her on the bed. When she lands, her laughter bounces off the walls, sending more warmth through me.

Her lilac hair splays all around her, goose bumps breaking on her flawless skin as she extends her arms to me, wiggling her fingers, ready to welcome me in her embrace.

My woman. My wife. Mi amor.

Putting my knee on the bed, I hook my thumbs in her thong and slide it down. She raises her perky ass, smoothing the way for me, and a second later I drop them on the floor, exposing her glistening bare pussy to my view. “Lucian,” she whispers, her hands clenching the sheet as she arches her back, begging me to end her sensual agony.

Pushing her legs apart, I lift her foot to my mouth and kiss her ankle, sliding my lips to her knee and then move upward, biting the inside of her thigh, earning myself her loud gasp. Satisfied by the red imprint, I settle on my stomach and shift my attention to the other one, repeating my action. “Lucian, please,” she begs, placing her foot on my back and opening herself up more for me.

“Don’t like to be teased, mi amor?”

“No teasing.” Her fingers lace in my hair, and she grips me hard, the pain zipping to my dick and hardening it even more, her demanding tone blazing the lust in me. “I want your mouth now.”

Skating my hands under her, I dig my fingers in her ass cheeks and raise her up to my lips. Stiffening my tongue, I stab it inside her as her moan echoes through the space, joining the thunder shaking the sky while rain pours heavily, slapping against the railing on the balcony.

Her sweet and tangy taste hits me at once, more intense than just seconds ago, and I want to bathe in it so her scent will envelop all of me wherever I go.

Groaning into her pussy, I push my tongue deeper, roaming inside her walls, all while she whispers, “Lucian.” Her grip tightens, and she digs her heels into my back, bringing me closer to her as if she’s afraid I might change my mind.

Never.

Licking her from bottom to top, I draw in her lower lips one by one, the sucking sounds mixing with her whimpers as she thrashes on the bed. I trap her clit between my teeth, scraping the tip before sucking it hard into my mouth, and she shoots up in bed. “Please,” she begs. But too addicted to her scent and taste, I slip my tongue inside her once again, pushing in and out of her as a prelude to what’s coming next.

She grinds on my tongue, her nails scratching my scalp and pulling at my hair so hard she might rip it off, but who gives a fuck?

I catch her lust-filled eyes on me as her other hand drifts to her clit, pressing on it hard and in time with my movements. Her gaze becomes glassier as her pussy clenches around my tongue, signaling she’s close.

I will feast on her flesh for hours, not giving her reprieve from her torment, our bodies coated in sweat while our combined scents float in the air as desire consumes us both.

But not tonight.

Tonight I need my wife to come with me inside her.

Slowly pulling my tongue out, I give her slit one last long lick before moving upward, trailing my lips over her navel to her soft stomach, wiping my mouth on it and then reaching the underside of her breasts.

Biting gently on them one by one, I put my hands on either side of her and raise my chest up. I lean toward one tight peak and roll it between my lips before nipping it, then sucking it into my mouth. She thrusts her hips up, the tip my dick brushing against her entrance. “Lucian, please,” she whimpers, her nails clawing my nape while I ravish her flesh and then leave a wet trail along the path to the other. I enclose her other nipple, delivering it all the attention it deserves.

She pulls at my hair until her nipple escapes me with a loud pop, and she drags my mouth toward her, our breaths mingling.

My cock grazes her entrance, the head slipping in as her heat urges me to plunge deeper, but I wait, watching the pulse beat wildly on her neck, a droplet of sweat sliding down her collarbone, her skin glistening.

We stare at one another for what seems like forever, and then she palms my head, whispering her demand. “Make love to me.”

And these words finally break all the chains around my heart. The love and lust toward her consume me whole, leaving no place for the darkness calling my name from the other side.

I thrust hard into her, her pussy stretching around my length and her heat instantly clasping me, pleasure rapidly moving through me, and we groan, sharing each other’s breath.

My mouth falls on hers, locking us in a kiss, my tongue dueling with hers while our combined taste mix into one powerful aphrodisiac, which only intensifies the need driving me to push farther into her.

Swaying back slowly, I let her feel my whole length leave her tight heat, and then I slam right back in, shifting us on the bed while swallowing her moan. She wraps her legs around me, her heels burrowing in my ass.

Our lust burns between us, creating a cocoon and blanketing us from head to toe, painting another world where only our needs remain, urging us to find the euphoria our bodies beg for.

Our kiss becomes more sensual; she tilts her head back, allowing for deeper penetration, and our tongues move in rhythm with my dick slamming into her slowly, prolonging the bliss consuming us.

Her hands slide back to my nape, her fingers running through my hair while she hikes her legs higher. My cock is root-deep in her, and fuck… the fire boiling my blood flares with more power, my hips jerking as precum leaks from me.

Snatching her lips away, she breathes heavily and hisses. “More, Lucian, more. Faster.”

Speeding up, I drive into her harder and harder, her nails raking my back while she gulps for breath, arching her neck, and I place my open mouth on her pulse, sucking the sensitive spot.

My hands grip her thighs, opening her wide for my harsh thrusts, each stroke more focused than the previous one. Our slapping sounds rock off the walls, and she whispers, “Lucian.” Her pussy clenches around me tighter and tighter until she cries out, her chest rising and falling. The familiar tingling in my spine alerts me to my own release chasing after me.

She lies still, letting me use her body, her skin flushed from our actions as I thrust in and out. Her pussy still clenches around me, creating tighter and tighter heat that pulls me toward the madness awaiting me.

Loving and wanting her will turn me into a madman.

One stroke. Two strokes. Three strokes.

My sweat slides down my back, my length thickening in her, and she drags me back for a kiss, biting on my tongue hard, and that’s enough to send me over the edge and spill inside her. The pleasure crushes me in powerful waves, knocking me off my feet, because it doesn’t compare to anything I’ve ever felt before.

Every time with her is special; everything I’ve done before she entered my life can’t even compare to what we have and shows me that in every way, this intimacy is new to me too.

Love makes all the difference.

Our kisses gradually transform into softer ones until we only share a few pecks and I roll to the side, taking her with me. She rests above me, hiding her face in the crook between my neck and shoulder while I run my fingers over her back.

We need to take a shower, but I do not break the silence around us.

Instead, we lie peacefully, the rain raging outside, content in each other’s arms, not dreading the nightmares for the first time in our lives.

Why would we?

After all, the princess has the villain who will chase all the monsters away.

And the villain?

He has a princess who has managed to heal him, if not fully then partially with her magic touch, giving him something he never knew before.

Love.

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