Chapter 132 132
Theron’s POV
Blood dries slower than pride.
I sit on the edge of my bed while the healer finishes binding the gash along my ribs. The room smells of crushed herbs and iron. My chambers are dim, lit only by the low silver glow filtering through the high windows.
Daevir did more damage than I expected.
But it was not enough. Never enough.
“It will close before the next moon,” the healer mutters.
I grunt in response. Of course it will. My body has never been the problem.
It is my patience that frays.
When she leaves, the silence thickens. I roll my shoulder slowly, testing the pull of the torn muscle. Pain flares, sharp, then dull.
Good.
Pain reminds me I am still standing.
Daevir fought like a beast tonight.
Scoffs.
But he was not fighting for territory.
He was fighting for her.
The thought sours in my mouth.
I rise and cross toward the window. Outside, the moon hangs swollen and bright, nearly full. Power hums faintly in my veins just looking at it.
One more cycle.
One more full rise.
If I seal the bond with Amarien before then…
Everything changes.
With her beside me, bound by the powers of her eternal lineage vow and moonlight, I would not merely rival Daevir.
I would crush him.
I flex my fingers, imagining it, the surge of power when the moon crowns the sky and the covenant seals. Our strengths, braided. Our territories, unified. My enemies, reduced to dust beneath our combined wrath.
It is the cleanest path.
The fastest path.
But Amarien…
I exhale sharply.
Convincing her has not been simple.
She is stubborn. Proud. Still clinging to that fractured sense of morality. She thinks the gods will decide.
The gods favor the decisive.
I begin pacing slowly across the room.
What does she need?
Security? I have offered it.
Power? I have placed it in her hands.
Revenge? I promised her Daevir’s head.
But promises are not what bind her.
Emotion does.
My jaw tightens as the memory surfaces.
The way she looked at him.
Under the full moon, blades flashing, blood staining the earth…
I had hoped her gaze would find Daevir, with the ice she pretends to wield.
But I was wrong. It came with something else.
Something that made my breath lurch in my chest like I had taken a blade between the ribs.
She still loves him.
After everything!
After betrayal. After loss. After almost losing her mind!
She still looks at him as though some invisible thread tethers them.
It infuriates me.
I stop pacing and brace my palms against the stone wall.
Love is weakness.
I learned that the hard way.
She dares to hesitate because her heart still beats in Daevir’s shadow?
My nails scrape faintly against the stone.
A low growl vibrates in my chest before I can suppress it.
No.
If she will not choose wisely on her own, she will be made to understand.
She needs to be reminded of who stands stronger.
If she believes her love will save him…
She is mistaken.
If she believes I will court her gently while she weighs my worth against his
She is mistaken.
I straighten slowly.
I had intended to approach her carefully. Offer alliance. Speak of futures and strength and shared dominion.
No.
Not anymore.
Softness did not win her loyalty.
Restraint did not sever her from Daevir.
This time, I will not go soft with her.
She will see the cost of indecision.
She will understand that power waits for no grieving heart.
And when the next full moon rises…
She will stand beside me.
Willingly or not.
The door opens and closes with quiet certainty.
I do not turn.
I did not need to; I knew who stood before me.
“I was wondering how long it would take you,” I say calmly.
The air shifts when she enters. The faint scent of night-blooming flowers and smoke coils through the room like a signature.
“Impatient as ever, Theron,” she replies lightly.
I turn then.
The Scarlet Witch stands before me, draped in dark crimson, her presence as composed as if she were stepping into a garden rather than a war chamber.
I study her coldly.
“Did you convince Amarien,” I ask evenly, “to be my second chance mate?”
She tilts her head slightly, as though disappointed I skipped pleasantries.
“She is… adamant,” she says.
My jaw tightens.
“Adamant?” I repeat.
“She refused.”
Of course she did.
I turn away, pacing once toward the window before facing her again.
“But,” the witch continues smoothly, “I will not stop.”
Her eyes gleam faintly.
“I know her,” she adds. “She wants revenge. It lives inside her like a second heartbeat.”
I say nothing.
“She just does not want to give in to it yet.”
That sounds like Amarien.
“What did you offer her?” I ask.
“Absolution,” she replies. “A way to have blood spilled without staining her hands.”
I almost smile.
“She refused that too.”
“Yes.”
Silence lingers between us.
The moonlight shifts across her face, illuminating the faint curve of satisfaction at the corner of her lips.
“She will bend,” she says quietly. “Grief always bends the strongest eventually.”
I grunted a response, my head buried in distant thoughts.
She studied me for a while before stepping forward. Slowly, she raised her fingers to her face, gripped the edge of her mask, and peeled away the crimson surface in one fluid motion.
“Catherine,” I muttered, a proud smile tugging my lips.
She matched my smile with a grin. “I thought you'd never say my name.”