Page 107 of The Monster You Made
My throat is dry. “A mask.”
The room stills. They understand, at least in part. But only I see the name stamped in code. Only I know what those initials mean. C.D. My brother.
Elira slams her fist against the table. “Then we burn it. We tear Cadmus down.”
“Not yet,” I say, sharper than I intend. “We can’t march blind. We need proof. Evidence.”
Rourke sneers. “Proof won’t keep us alive.”
“Proof will keep the world from believing their lies.” My voice rises, harsh. “They turned my brother into their mouthpiece. They’ll do the same to anyone they can. If we don’t show it, if we don’t drag the truth into daylight, then we’re just shadows fighting shadows.”
Vera lays a steadying hand on my arm. Her eyes hold mine. “We’ll find it. And we’ll find him.”
***
The night stretches long. I can’t sleep. The files lie open across the table, red stamps bleeding under the lamp. I trace each line, each code, until my eyes blur. Every word is a chain. Every page a wound.
When I close my eyes, the video plays. Cassian strapped to a chair, whispering words that I know all too well.Remember the brook.The loop claws through me until my chest feels hollow.
I whisper back into the dark. “I remember.”
The words don’t free me. But they keep me from shattering.
I wake with a gasp, my scream trapped in my throat, sweat soaking my shirt. The tent is dark, the air heavy with the scent of canvas and earth. My heart pounds, Cassian’s voice still echoing, his face burned into my mind. I’m shaking, my hands clenched into fists, and I hate it, this weakness, this vulnerability that claws at me. Then I feel her, Vera, beside me, her hand on my arm, steady, warm, cutting through the cold.
“Lucian,” she whispers, her voice soft but firm. She’s sitting up now, her hair loose, falling over her shoulders, catching the faint moonlight filtering through the tent’s seams. Her eyes are on me, piercing, seeing too much. “You’re here. It’s just a dream.”
I want to shove her away, to bury the shame of being seen like this, but her touch is an anchor, and I’m drowning without it.
“It’s not just a dream,” I growl, my voice rough, raw with the anger that’s always there, simmering beneath my skin.
She doesn’t flinch, just moves closer, her hand sliding up to my face, her thumb brushing my jaw. The gentleness is a shock, a crack in my armor, and I hate how much I need it, how much I need her.
“Then let me make it quiet,” she says, her voice low, a challenge hidden in the comfort.
Before I can respond, she leans in, her lips brushing mine, soft at first, almost tender. But there’s an edge to it, a spark that ignites the fire in my blood. My cock stirs, the beast waking, and I grab her shoulders, my grip hard, possessive. I want to take control, to bury the nightmare in her body, to make her mine until the shadows fade.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue claiming hers, rough and demanding, but she pushes back, her teeth nipping my lip, drawing a sting that makes me growl.
“Vera,” I snarl, my hands tightening, ready to flip her onto her back, to fuck her until she’s screaming my name.
But she’s faster, stronger than I expect, shoving me back against the bedroll, her hands on my chest, pinning me down. The move catches me off guard, my breath hitching, and I try to sit up, to take back control, my cock already hard, aching to be inside her.
“Stay,” she says, her voice sharp, and I freeze, my eyes narrowing as she pulls her knife from its sheath at her hip. The blade glints in the moonlight, cold and deadly, and she holds it to my throat, not pressing, just hovering, a warning that sends a thrill through me. “Don’t move,” she says, her eyes locked on mine, fierce, defiant, and I’m torn between rage and arousal, my cock throbbing painfully against my pants.
“Vera,” I growl, my voice a warning, but she doesn’t listen.
She leans down, her lips finding my neck, kissing, sucking, her teeth grazing my pulse. I groan, my hands clenching at my sides, fighting the urge to grab her, to flip her, and fuck her senseless. She moves lower, unbuttoning my shirt, her lips trailing down my chest, her tongue flicking over my skin. She reaches my waistband, her fingers deft as she unbuckles my belt, freeing my cock. It’s thick, heavy, the head slick with precum, and she doesn’t hesitate, her lips brushing the tip, teasing, torturing.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my hands fisting in the bedroll, and she takes me into her mouth, her tongue swirling, sucking passionately.
The heat of her mouth is overwhelming, wet and tight, and I thrust, shallow at first, testing her. She takes it, her hands gripping my thighs, nails digging into my skin, and I fuck her mouth, harder, deeper, my cock hitting the back of her throat. She gags, but doesn’t pull away, her eyes watering, locked on mine, daring me to lose myself.
I’m close, so fucking close, my cock throbbing, ready to spill, but she pulls back, her hand squeezing the base, holding my orgasm back. I snarl, my hips bucking, but before I can grab her, she moves, swift and sure, straddling my face, her pants gone, her cunt glistening above me. The scent of her, musky, sweet, hits me like a drug, and I groan, my hands grabbing her hips, pulling her down. My tongue finds her clit, licking, sucking, and she moans, loud and reckless, her hips rocking, riding my face.
We’re locked together now, her mouth back on my cock, sucking with a ferocity that makes my vision blur. It’s raw and primal, her cunt grinding against my tongue, my cock buried in her throat. The tension is electric, the heat unbearable, and I feel her getting close, her moans vibrating against me. My tongue works her clit, relentless, and she’s trembling, her nails digging into my thighs.
I feel the cold bite of her knife again, this time against my leg, and she slashes, two light cuts, just enough to draw blood. The pain is sharp, perfect, and I growl, the sensation pushing me to the edge as she comes, her cunt pulsing against my mouth, her scream muffled around my cock.
