Chapter Twenty-Five: Lucian Breaks

The blood was still warm when it hit the floor.

Not metaphorically. Not poetically.

Real blood. Fresh. Arterial.

And Lucian D’Arcy stood over it, silent, unmoving, the claws of his right hand still extended. His expression wasn’t rage. It wasn’t remorse. It wasn’t even human.

It was void.

The r...

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