Chapter 138 Return to Hometown

Chapter 138 Return to Hometown
[Lana]

Cedric handed me a steaming mug of coffee, his fingers brushing mine briefly before he stepped back. I accepted it without looking up from my sketchpad, where dark strokes formed the outline of a burning cityscape.

"Have you decided where we're going next?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe of my studio.

I shrugged, adding deeper shadows to the flames licking at a collapsing building. "Not really. We could just drive, see where the road takes us." I finally glanced up at him. "Why? Do you have somewhere in mind?"

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Actually... I was thinking maybe Mapleton," he suggested, his voice carefully neutral despite the tension in his shoulders.

"Mapleton?" I set down my charcoal pencil. "Never heard of it."

"It's a small town about five hours north," he explained. "I... I grew up there. After the fire, I was sent to juvenile detention, and my sister Maya was placed with a different foster family. I haven't seen or spoken to her since."

I studied him over the rim of my coffee mug. "Fifteen years without contact, and suddenly you're feeling nostalgic?"

"After you saw my memories last night..." he trailed off. "I've been searching for her for years but never found her. I thought maybe going back to Mapleton might give me some leads. She was the only one who didn't abandon me after what happened."

I smirked. "Perhaps because she didn't know what you really did."

"She knew," he said quietly. "She was there that night. She saw everything, but she still stood by me until they took me away."

Something uncomfortable stirred in my chest at his words. I turned back to my drawing, adding a few more strokes to hide my momentary discomfort.

"Fine," I decided abruptly, closing my sketchbook. "Mapleton it is."

The road stretched before us, a gray ribbon disappearing into the horizon. I glanced over at Cedric, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. His jaw was tight, eyes focused forward with an intensity that spoke volumes.

"You look like you're driving to your execution," I remarked, rolling down the window to let the warm summer air whip through my hair. After our... confrontation last night about his fiery past, I'd decided we needed a change of scenery. Staying in one place too long made me restless anyway.

"I haven't been back to Mapleton in fifteen years," he admitted, his voice strained. "Not since I was sent away after..." He trailed off, but I didn't need him to finish. I'd seen what happened in his memories—the deliberate fire, his foster father's screams, the calm satisfaction on young Cedric's face as he watched the house burn.

"Well, consider this a homecoming then," I said with a smirk, enjoying how he squirmed at the word. "I was getting bored of burning the same city anyway."

He shot me a worried glance. "Lana, please—"

"Relax, puppy. I'm just teasing." I wasn't, not entirely, but his anxiety was delicious enough that I decided to indulge him. For now.

Several hours later, we passed a weathered sign welcoming us to Mapleton. It was one of those picture-perfect small towns that I typically enjoyed reducing to ashes—tidy streets lined with maple trees, quaint storefronts with striped awnings, people who smiled at strangers without knowing what monsters walked among them.

Despite his earlier tension, Cedric's expression softened as we drove through the town center. A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he pointed to a red brick building.

"That was my elementary school," he said, his voice lighter than I'd ever heard it. "In spring, the cherry blossoms around the playground would bloom. It was always my favorite thing to look forward to."

We passed a small bakery, and Cedric's eyes lit up. "Their cinnamon rolls are the best in the world," he said with unexpected enthusiasm. "Just smelling them made all your troubles disappear."

I raised an eyebrow at this sentimental version of Cedric—so different from the man whose darkness I'd glimpsed in his memories. As we parked near the town square, his gaze lingered on a corner building with large windows.

"The library," he explained, warmth flooding his voice. "The librarian always recommended adventure stories. She was the best part of my childhood."

He turned to me, his eyes suddenly earnest. "This place is special to me..." His voice trailed off, and I could sense what he was asking without him saying it.

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Fine, I promise not to destroy your precious little town. Stop looking at me with those puppy dog eyes."

Relief washed over his face, and something about his genuine smile made my chest tighten uncomfortably. I looked away, annoyed at my own reaction.

We exited the car and began walking down the main street. The normality of it all grated on me—humans going about their insignificant lives, oblivious to what I could do to them with a mere thought. But I'd promised Cedric, so I forced myself to play nice.

We were passing a pharmacy when it happened. An older woman in her sixties exited the store, prescription bag in hand. Her eyes met Cedric's across the sidewalk, and the color drained from her face so quickly I thought she might faint.

"MURDERER!" she screamed, her finger pointing at Cedric like a weapon. "THE KILLER IS BACK!"

People on the street froze, heads turning toward the commotion. The woman dropped her bag and lunged at Cedric, her hands shoving at his chest, then forming fists that pounded against him. Cedric didn't defend himself; he just stood there, taking each blow, his eyes filled with shame and resignation.

A crowd formed around us, whispers spreading like wildfire. "It's him," I heard someone mutter. "The arsonist who came back."

"Margaret," Cedric whispered, his voice barely audible as he recognized the woman.

"You killed my Harold!" the woman wailed, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. "You set our house on fire when you were just twelve years old, and you watched my husband burn alive!"

She spat at Cedric's feet, her entire body trembling with rage. "They said you were too young to go to prison. Said you needed 'rehabilitation' instead of punishment. But I knew what you were—a monster! You should have been locked away forever!"

Cedric remained silent, his head bowed slightly, accepting her verbal assault as passively as he took her physical one. The crowd grew larger, more hostile, circling us like vultures.

"Say something!" I hissed at him, but he shook his head minutely.

Margaret continued her tirade, describing in vivid detail how her husband was trapped on the second floor, how the fire department couldn't reach him in time, how she heard his screams until they suddenly stopped.

Something hot and dark rose in me. Not for Cedric—he did commit this crime, after all—but at the self-righteous judgment of these humans, at their audacity to call anyone a monster when they had no idea what a real monster looked like.

I stepped forward, placing myself between Cedric and Margaret. "That's enough," I said, my voice deceptively soft.

Margaret looked at me with contempt. "And who are you? The whore who beds down with a murderer?"

The temperature around us dropped suddenly, frost forming on the sidewalk despite the summer heat. "What did you call me?" I asked, feeling my eyes begin to darken.

"You heard me," she spat. "Only a devil's whore would stand with him. You both deserve to burn in hell."


[Lana]

Black energy began to seep from my fingertips, swirling around my hands like smoke. With a flick of my wrist, I made a choking gesture, and Margaret rose several inches off the ground, her hands clawing at her throat where invisible fingers were squeezing.

The crowd screamed and scattered, running in all directions. Margaret's face began to turn blue, her eyes bulging as she struggled for air.

"No one speaks to me that way and lives," I told her calmly, tightening my grip. Two centuries of power flowed through me, the darkness singing in my veins. This was what I was—destruction, chaos, death.

Suddenly, strong fingers wrapped around my wrist. "Lana, don't." Cedric's voice cut through my rage. "She's not worth it."

I turned to him, redirecting some of my dark energy his way. "Take your hand off me," I warned. "No one stops me. No one."

Instead of backing away, Cedric stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me tightly. I felt his heartbeat against my chest, his warmth seeping into my cold skin.

"Please," he whispered against my ear. "My sister Maya most likely still lives in this town. She's probably the only family I have left."

His plea penetrated my fury. Through our mate bond, I felt his genuine fear—not for himself or even for Margaret, but for how this would affect his sister's peaceful life.

"I need to see her," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. "I don't want her life destroyed because of me. Please."

A reluctant understanding formed within me as I recognized the depth of his concern. With effort, I pulled back my power, the dark clouds overhead dispersing, the temperature returning to normal. Margaret fell to the ground, gasping and coughing, terror etched on her face.

I crouched down beside her trembling form, my voice a dangerous whisper. "You live today because he asked it. Next time, there won't be anyone to save you."

She scrambled backward, still coughing, her eyes never leaving mine. She'd seen what I was, or at least a glimpse of it. The fear in her eyes was satisfying enough—for now.