Chapter 145 The Destroyer and The Orphan

Chapter 145 The Destroyer and The Orphan
[Cedric]

"You should have seen Lana when we were kids," Raven said, leaning against the wall with a mischievous grin. "Total bookworm. Always had her nose in some ancient grimoire while I was out making friends and causing trouble."

I laughed as he dramatically reenacted how teenage Lana would glare at him over her books. "She'd never admit it, but she was totally jealous of my popularity. Once, she tried a spell to make herself more likable and ended up with purple hair for a week!"

I was still chuckling at the image of a purple-haired teenage Lana when it hit me—a wave of emotion so intense it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. Not my emotion, but hers. Through our mate bond, I felt a crushing sadness, a sensation so foreign and unexpected that for a moment I couldn't process it.

"You okay there, firefighter?" Raven asked, his playful smile fading as he noticed my expression.

"I..." I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I was feeling. In the short time since Lana and I bonded, I'd felt her anger, her desire, even brief flashes of contentment—but never this. Never such raw, overwhelming grief. "Something's wrong with Lana."

I scanned the hallway, following the invisible thread of our connection. That's when I saw her, standing motionless at the far end of the corridor. Tears were sliding down her pale cheeks, silent and terrible. My heart nearly stopped. The Dark Queen—the woman who incinerated bodies without blinking, who destroyed entire cities in her rage—was crying.

"I need to go," I told Raven, already moving toward her.

I approached carefully, afraid she might vanish if I moved too quickly. When I reached her, I took her hand in mine, shocked by how cold her fingers felt. They were trembling slightly, another first.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly.

She didn't answer, her eyes staring through me rather than at me. More tears spilled over, but she didn't seem aware of them. I'd never seen her like this—vulnerable, almost fragile. It terrified me more than her rage ever did.

Movement at the other end of the hall caught my attention. Gabriel stood there, his expression a complicated mix of regret and resignation. I shot him a questioning look, my eyes demanding: What did you do to her?

He merely shrugged, but there was something in his gaze—a message I couldn't quite decipher. Knowledge of something I didn't understand. He turned and walked away, leaving us alone in the corridor.

"Come on," I said, gently tugging Lana's hand. "Let's get out of here."

She followed without resistance, another alarming sign. The Lana I knew would question me, challenge me, or at least make some sarcastic comment. This silent compliance felt wrong, like watching a wildfire suddenly extinguish itself.

I made hasty goodbyes to her family, muttering something about needing space. Emerson gave me a piercing look but didn't interfere. The drive back to our apartment was silent. Lana stared out the window the entire time, her reflection in the glass showing eyes that saw nothing of the passing landscape.

When we arrived at the apartment, I was reminded of the chaos we'd left behind—bloodstains on the floor, furniture overturned from our struggle with the hunter who'd broken in. Lana stood in the doorway, surveying the damage with empty eyes.

I set to work immediately, removing the body first, then scrubbing away blood and righting furniture. To my surprise, Lana helped, her movements mechanical and efficient. She cleaned methodically, her face expressionless, but through our bond, I felt her pain pulsing like an open wound.

When we finished, the apartment looked almost normal again. I turned to her, determined to get answers.

"What happened back there? What did Gabriel tell you?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice flat. "Nothing important."

The lie vibrated through our bond like a false note in music. I stepped closer, holding her gaze.

"You're lying. I can feel it." I tapped my chest. "The bond, remember? It goes both ways."

Something flickered in her eyes—fear, maybe? Before I could identify it, she closed the distance between us, pressing her lips to mine. The kiss started tentative, almost questioning, but quickly became desperate, hungry. I felt her hands clutching at my shirt, pulling me closer.

I knew what she was doing—using physical connection to avoid emotional honesty—but I couldn't help responding. My arms circled her waist, drawing her against me. The kiss deepened, and I felt myself getting lost in her, in the scent and taste of her.

We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as we went. My shirt hit the floor, followed by hers, revealing the pale expanse of her skin under the dim light. Her fingers worked at my belt with urgency, and soon my jeans were gone too. I pushed her gently onto the bed, my hands roaming over her body, feeling the softness of her breasts, the curve of her hips. She arched beneath me, her breath hitching as I kissed down her neck, my lips lingering over the pulse point where her blood thrummed.

"Cedric," she murmured, her voice a mix of need and something deeper, something broken. Her hands guided me lower, and I obliged, trailing kisses down her stomach until I reached the heat between her thighs. I parted her with my fingers, feeling how wet she already was, and she gasped as my tongue found her clit, circling slowly at first, then faster as her hips bucked against me.

"You're amazing," I whispered against her, my voice rough with desire. "So obedient, so wet, so fucking wild." Her moans grew louder, her fingers tangling in my hair as I worked her closer to the edge. I could feel her trembling, her pussy clenching around nothing, desperate for more.

I moved back up her body, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss as I positioned myself between her legs. My cock was hard, aching as I pressed against her entrance, feeling the slick heat of her. "God, you're so tight," I groaned as I pushed inside, inch by inch, stretching her until I was fully seated. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me deeper, her nails digging into my back.

"Harder," she gasped, and I obliged, thrusting with a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of my heart. Each movement was raw, desperate, as if we could drown out whatever pain she was carrying. Her walls clenched around me, so tight and warm, and I couldn't hold back the words. "You're so fucking amazing, Lana. So good."

Her eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths, and for a moment, I thought she might break down again. But instead, she pulled me closer, her body urging me on until we were both lost in the heat of it, chasing release. When she came, it was with a cry that echoed through the room, her body shuddering beneath me. I followed soon after, spilling inside her with a groan, the intensity of it leaving me breathless.

Later, as we lay tangled together in the sheets, I stroked her hair and tried again. "Talk to me, Lana. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

She was quiet for so long I thought she might have fallen asleep. Then, without warning, she pulled away, sitting up. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated her face, highlighting the tears that had returned to her eyes.

"I need to tell you something," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something terrible."

I sat up too, my stomach knotting with dread. "What is it?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Fifteen years ago, there was a wolf pack in Northridge." Her voice wavered. "I... I killed them. Almost all of them."

The words hung in the air between us. I didn't understand why she was telling me this particular story. She'd mentioned her destructive past before.

"There were two survivors," she continued, her eyes now fixed on mine. "Twin infants that Gabriel and Emerson found and left at a human welfare agency."

Something cold and heavy settled in my chest as pieces began clicking into place.

"Their last name was Blackwood," she whispered.

My brain rebelled against the implication, but memories flooded back unbidden—flashes of fire, screaming, the smell of burning fur and flesh. The nightmare that had haunted me since childhood.

"No," I heard myself say, but it came out strangled.

"I'm the reason you grew up an orphan, Cedric. I'm the monster who destroyed your family."

I stared at her, my mind unable to process what I was hearing. The room seemed to tilt around me, and through our bond, I felt her bracing for my rage, my hatred.

But all I felt was shock—cold, paralyzing shock as my past and present collided in the most horrific way imaginable.