Chapter 100: hand in hand

Vincent pov

The room was dimly lit, with only a blue night light casting a soft glow. I stood by the bedside and reached out, gently lifting a strand of black hair from the pillow.

Lucca didn't react; she frowned, appearing to be in great pain even in her unconscious state. I realized that she was too fragile.

Could it be that she only displayed strength and vitality in my presence?

The salon, the Lycans at the gathering – they could all easily break her. Only I couldn't. Why? Why was it that only I couldn't?

I felt a strange and twisted force compelling me. I followed the long hair until I touched Lucca's delicate, vulnerable neck. It was completely defenseless.

I could. I should be able to. Easily snuff out her life, torment her, make her completely powerless to resist.

I was superior to all the others, and therefore, I must be capable of it. As long as I exerted a little more pressure, I would control her life and determine her fate.

I would rightfully be her master.

Under the moonlight, Lucca's eyelids fluttered briefly. I quickly withdrew my hand, my heart racing. Was she waking up?

No, she was still asleep, but it was far from peaceful.

I extended my hand once more, hesitated in midair, then withdrew it. Slowly, I brought it back, gently grazing her neck. This time, she didn't react.

I gently caressed her, from her neck to her jawline and then her cheek.

Why couldn't I?

I didn't understand, or maybe I was too afraid to admit the answer. I kept my gaze fixed on Lucca as I lay down beside her, surrounded by a comforting silence. After a while, I felt her ice-cold hand covering mine.

"Did I wake you up?" I asked in a hushed tone.

Lucca didn't reply. I shifted closer, holding her in my arms. She felt heavy, like lead, and her eyelids seemed glued shut. Her hands couldn't lift, no matter how hard she tried. She struggled to draw warmth from my body but still felt terribly cold.

Maybe it was just the winter cold getting to her. I sensed her trembling, and I gently squeezed her hand. My other hand reached around to pat her back. I had used this comforting gesture on her after the salon incident, but it didn't seem to be working now.

It couldn't work anymore. She was still haunted by nightmares, trembling in fear and sinking into despair. She was like a flickering campfire in the dark, having burned for so long.

I always believed that I could reach her before she reached the brink, that I could ignite her again when she was at her weakest, becoming her savior, the one she'd adore.

But I never expected the rain to come down so hard, ruthlessly extinguishing it all.

"Although there's always a dawn after the darkness, we must realize that not everyone can make it to that time," a male voice spoke abruptly.

I turned to see Lucca's phone glowing on the bedside table. Her personal items had been brought over from the hillside villa by the security detail, as she might be staying at the medical station for some time. On the nightstand were her textbooks, notes, a small toy train, a jigsaw puzzle, and her phone.

I silenced the alarm, realizing it was her study alarm going off.

The ringtone seemed oddly familiar. After a moment's thought, I remembered it was from the student council president's campaign speech. I wondered what kind of relationship he had with Lucca for her to set his speech as her ringtone.

I picked up Lucca's phone and opened her contacts, checking through the frequently used ones:

Ethan Shelter

Raffle

Dr. Frank

Gloria

"Mayday"

Under "Mayday" was my number. Of course, she wouldn't list "Vincent" in her contacts.

But this, labeled as "Mayday," was an internationally recognized radio call signal for distress and urgent help. It was only used in severe danger and situations where self-rescue was impossible.

A sharp pang pierced my heart. Tremors raced through my chest, and everything that had happened throughout the night flashed before my mind like a series of slides.

The flashing lights, the rock music, the soaked pajamas, Rino's stammering, the swimming pool stained with blood, and the man on the swing cage, pressing down on her.

I remembered that moment when she held onto the vines tightly. Even when darkness threatened to consume her entirely, she hadn't thought of leaping off the swing cage.

She had to survive. She had secretly stored a distress signal on her phone. She quietly called me "Mayday."

I put the phone down and held the trembling girl tightly.

"Lucca?" My voice quivered now. "I'm sorry."

I was sorry for fearing for her. She still didn't respond, but she clung to my shirt tightly.

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

I buried my face in her hair, and that faint scent of alcohol seemed to linger, forever haunting.

"They're all dead," I whispered.

Salon and everyone else.

I was sorry for her being stained with their blood.

"We're in a safe place," I reassured her, patting her back, hoping for any response. It could be an "It's okay," or a "Go away," just anything.

"Can you hear me, Lucca?" I almost pleaded.

She only made a soft, almost inaudible "Hmm," perhaps because I was holding her too tight.

She felt dampness on her shoulders.

I was sorry for crying for her.

She was my icebreaker, trapped in the beautiful halo of the polar region, sending out a distress signal that no one heard.

I wanted to possess her, but I also wanted to save her.

I feared there might not be a compassionate balance between the two.

I held her tightly, feeling her presence. Even though she didn't speak, her presence itself was a response, a gradual beginning of recovery. In this moment, I vowed to protect her, to help her find herself again, away from the haunting memories of that nightmare. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I also knew that we would face it together, hand in hand.