Chapter 126 A blood and an oat

Chapter 126 A blood and an oat


Celeste

The moment the darkness swallowed her vision, I smiled—not the soft, polite smile I wore when pretending to be loyal, not the careful servant’s smile meant to earn trust—but something older, deeper, carved from years of waiting and swallowing humiliation. It spread slowly across my lips, deliberate and unhurried, the kind of smile that only comes when something long desired finally begins to unfold exactly as planned. I watched her carefully, savoring the delay between the magic taking hold and her mind catching up to what had just happened. That tiny pause… that fragile second before panic… it was exquisite.

Her scream followed a heartbeat later, sharp and ragged, tearing violently through the air like glass shattering against stone. “I can’t see!” she cried, her voice breaking under the weight of raw terror as she twisted against the ropes binding her wrists. “Celeste—what did you do?! I can’t see anything!” The words spilled from her mouth in broken bursts, each syllable soaked in disbelief, and I found myself listening the way one listens to music—carefully, appreciatively, absorbing every tremor of fear threaded into her voice.

Music to my ears. Pure, trembling music.

I tilted my head slightly, studying her with slow, deliberate patience as she blinked frantically into nothingness. Her pupils moved wildly, unfocused and desperate, searching for shapes that no longer existed. Her breathing grew faster with every passing second, shallow and uneven, her chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked movements as reality sank deeper into her bones. Gods… the helplessness suited her beautifully. The proud Luna who once held her head high, who spoke sharply and moved with careless confidence, now reduced to frantic confusion, stripped of sight and certainty. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing strength crumble into fear.

“So loud,” I murmured calmly, shifting Lauren slightly in my arms as the little girl stirred against my shoulder. My voice remained smooth, almost gentle, as if I were scolding a child for making too much noise. “You’ll wake the baby, Maureen.” I adjusted my grip on Lauren, rocking her slowly, methodically, the soft rhythm of movement meant to soothe the child while her mother spiraled into panic before my eyes.

Maureen’s head snapped toward my voice immediately, her body reacting to sound alone now, blind and desperate, grasping at direction like a drowning woman reaching for air. “Celeste…” she whispered hoarsely, her voice stripped of authority, stripped of pride, reduced to something raw and fragile. “Please… I can’t see… I can’t see…” The repetition of those words carried a weight I had waited years to hear. Not anger. Not command. Not arrogance.

Fear.

Real fear.

Motherly fear.

And that was the most powerful kind—the kind that unraveled even the strongest minds, the kind that made people bend, break, and surrender without needing chains. I had seen it before in others, glimpsed it in fragments, but never had I held it so completely in my hands as I did now.

I shifted my weight slowly, pacing a single step to the side while continuing to rock Lauren gently. The child made a soft, confused sound, her tiny fingers curling against my sleeve as if searching for comfort. “Shhh…” I whispered softly, lowering my voice into a soothing murmur meant only for her. “Mama’s learning a lesson.” My fingers brushed lightly along Lauren’s back, slow and rhythmic, the gesture almost tender—but beneath that tenderness lay calculation. Control. Absolute control.

Then my attention returned fully to Maureen.

She remained blind, shaking violently against the ropes that held her in place, her breaths coming too quickly now, too shallow to calm her rising panic. Sweat beaded faintly along her temple, catching the dim light, and her lips trembled as she struggled to steady herself. The more she fought the darkness, the more it consumed her.

Perfect.

Because panic clouds reason.

Fear weakens strategy.

And a blind enemy becomes predictable.

I allowed the silence to stretch between us, thick and heavy, letting her imagination do half the work for me. Every second she remained trapped in darkness, her mind would race, painting horrors worse than anything I could create. That was the beauty of illusion—not the damage itself, but the chaos it planted inside the victim’s thoughts.

I took another slow step closer to her, watching carefully as her body tensed at the faint sound of movement. She couldn’t see me, but she could feel me now—sense the shift in air, the presence of something standing just beyond her reach. That tension in her shoulders, that trembling in her hands… it fed something inside me, something long buried beneath obedience and silence.

“You see,” I said quietly, my tone soft but edged with cold amusement, “this is what helplessness feels like. This is what it feels like when the world disappears and leaves you alone inside your own mind.” My gaze lingered on her face, memorizing every flicker of terror crossing her features. “You relied so heavily on sight… on certainty… on believing you understood everything around you. But now look at you.”

I leaned slightly closer, lowering my voice until it carried a whisper-like chill.

“Now you understand what darkness truly is.”

Lauren shifted again in my arms, letting out a faint sound that pulled my attention briefly away. I adjusted her carefully, patting her back in slow, measured movements while keeping my eyes locked on Maureen’s trembling form. The child’s warmth against my shoulder contrasted sharply with the cold tension filling the room, and for a fleeting moment, the quiet sound of her breathing created a strange stillness in the chaos unfolding around us.

But Maureen’s shaking broke that stillness quickly.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly as panic tightened around her mind like a vice. I could practically hear her thoughts racing, stumbling over themselves in desperate confusion, trying to piece together what had just happened.

The begging began slowly at first, like something fragile breaking open inside her chest. Her voice trembled, uneven and raw, each word scraping painfully out of her throat as if speaking itself hurt her more than the blindness.

“Please…” Maureen whispered hoarsely, her head moving weakly from side to side as she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists. “Please… Celeste… just leave her alone… you can take mine… take whatever you want… just don’t hurt her… please…”

There it was.

Submission.

Not anger.

Not pride.

Not that sharp-tongued defiance she always wore like armor.

No.

This was the sound of a mother begging for her child.

And Gods… it was intoxicating.

I watched her carefully, savoring every second of her collapse. Her shoulders shook violently now, her breaths breaking into helpless sobs that echoed faintly through the cold stone room. Tears streamed down her cheeks endlessly, soaking into her skin as she twisted uselessly against her restraints, her blind gaze darting wildly into the darkness that trapped her.

“Such devotion,” I murmured softly, pacing slowly around her, my boots echoing faintly against the floor. “Such sacrifice… it’s almost touching.” I tilted my head slightly, studying her trembling form with quiet fascination. “Look at you… begging for mercy like a broken thing. You would give your sight… your world… your future… just to keep hers intact.”

Lauren shifted gently in my arms, letting out a small sound that caused Maureen to jerk violently at the noise.

“My baby…” she whispered weakly, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “Please… just let her live…”

I let the silence stretch between us for several seconds before responding, letting her desperation swell into unbearable tension.

“Oh, she’ll live,” I said finally, my voice calm and deliberate.

Maureen froze.

Completely still.

Her breath caught sharply in her throat as the words sank in.

“She… she will?” she whispered faintly, her voice fragile and hopeful in a way that made something cold twist inside my chest.

I smiled slowly.

“Yes,” I replied, adjusting Lauren slightly against my shoulder. “Your child will live.”

Relief crashed through her body instantly. Her shoulders slumped forward, her entire form sagging under the weight of fragile hope.

But I wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

Because this moment… this fragile breath of relief… was only the beginning.

I stepped backward slowly, lifting my gaze toward the heavy doors across the room, listening carefully to the faint tremor building beyond the walls.

Footsteps.

Fast.

Violent.

Raging.

My lips curved slowly into a satisfied smile.

“I’ve been waiting,” I murmured quietly.

Maureen’s head jerked weakly toward my voice. “Waiting…? Waiting for what…?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead—

The doors exploded inward.

Not opened.

Not pushed.

Exploded.

Wood splintered violently as the heavy panels slammed against the stone walls with a thunderous crack that shook the entire room.

And then—

He stepped inside.

Vuk.

Not as the calm Alpha.

Not as the controlled leader.

No.

This was something else entirely.

His form burned with raw fury, half-devil power radiating violently from his body like wildfire breaking through dry land. His eyes glowed with something monstrous, something ancient and terrifying, veins of dark energy flickering faintly along his skin as he stared directly at me.

Pure rage.

Unfiltered.

Uncontrolled.

And before I could even react—

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Pain exploded across my body as his fist slammed violently into my ribs, sending me crashing hard against the stone wall. The impact knocked the air violently from my lungs, stars bursting behind my eyes as my body hit the surface with brutal force.

Lauren slipped from my arms.

But I caught her midair with magic instinctively before she could fall.

He lunged forward again, grabbing me by the throat with brutal strength and slamming my body against the wall once more. The force rattled my bones violently, pain ripping through my chest as his claws tightened around my neck.

“You filthy monster,” he snarled, his voice low and deadly. “You dare touch my mate… my child…”

Nyxara moved behind him then, her presence sharp and dangerous, her expression cold and furious as her gaze locked onto Lauren hovering in the air.

I coughed weakly, blood rising bitterly into my mouth as pain radiated through my ribs.

Lauren’s body rose higher into the air instantly.

Helpless.

Suspended.

Vulnerable.

Vuk froze.

Instantly.

Completely.

His grip loosened just enough for me to breathe again.

“One more step,” I rasped hoarsely, blood dripping faintly from the corner of my mouth, “and she falls.”

Silence crashed into the room like a heavy weight.

Vuk’s body trembled violently with rage, but he didn’t move.

Nyxara stiffened beside him, her sharp eyes flickering between me and the floating child with deadly focus.

Good.

Now they understood.

Now they listened.

“I told you,” I said slowly, forcing strength back into my voice despite the pain burning through my body. “Your child lives… if you obey.”

Maureen sobbed weakly behind me, still blind, still shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to understand what was happening around her.

“What do you want?” Vuk growled through clenched teeth.

There it was.

The question.

The moment of surrender.

I smiled faintly, wiping the blood from my lips with slow satisfaction.

“Your Blood,” I answered calmly.

His expression darkened instantly.

“And an oath.”

Nyxara stepped forward slightly, fury flashing in her eyes. “You think we’ll just—”

Lauren dropped an inch.

Not falling.

Just
enough movement to trigger fear.

Nyxara stopped immediately.

Smart girl.

“I swear it,” I continued quietly, my voice steady despite the pain throbbing through my ribs. “You will give me your blood… and swear an

oath before the altar. Swear that you will not hunt me… not chase me… not seek revenge… until fate itself forces our paths to cross again.”

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Deadly.

Vuk’s jaw tightened violently as his fists curled at his sides.