Chapter 15 The Mark of Tyranny
15\. The Mark of Tyranny
The Dravenmoor library had become my personal playground-slash-death trap.
Every time Lucian left me unsupervised, I somehow ended up here, surrounded by enough chained tomes and cursed scrolls to make the Vatican’s archives look like a preschool reading nook.
So when I heard the heavy door creak open behind me, I nearly jumped out of my skin and dropped the book I was pretending I could actually read.
Of course, it was him. Who else had the keys to my anxiety?
Lucian Drevane, Alpha Tyrant, stalked into the library like it was his natural habitat—which, technically, it was. The torches guttered lower, shadows following him as if the room itself bent to his presence. His silver eyes cut straight to me, lounging at a desk that was probably older than my entire bloodline.
“Are you incapable,” he asked smoothly, “of obeying the simplest instruction?”
“Define ‘simple,’” I shot back. “Because your definition seems to include ‘don’t breathe unless supervised.’”
His jaw flexed. He stopped in front of the table, gaze flicking to the open tome. “That ledger is not for you.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, tracing the cracked leather cover, “nobody puts The Blood Moon Uprising in big scary letters on a book and then expects me not to peek. It’s called marketing.”
“Curiosity,” he murmured, “has killed more wolves than war.”
“Good thing I’m a human then,” I muttered, but my chest still tightened.
Lucian’s hand shot out, closing the book with a snap. Dust curled upward in the torchlight. He didn’t look furious. He looked… brittle. Like if I pushed one more joke, he might actually fracture.
And I don’t know why I did it, but instead of shutting up, I blurted:
“You know, you’re basically the wolf version of Batman. Broody, nocturnal, allergic to fun, tragic backstory. The whole package.”
The silence that followed was so thick it pressed on my ears.
Lucian’s silver eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. Not icy. Not furious. Just… ancient. As if I’d tugged at a thread nobody dared touch.
“Tragic backstory?” he repeated quietly.
“Uh.” I swallowed. “Hypothetically speaking?”
The corners of his mouth didn’t twitch. His hands didn’t move. He simply unfastened the clasp of his cloak and let it slide off his shoulders, landing heavy on the chair beside me. The sudden sight of him stripped down—black tunic pulled taut across his chest—was enough to short-circuit my sarcasm module for a full five seconds.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he tugged the fabric open.
And I forgot how to breathe.
The scar was a map of ruin carved into his skin. Dark ridges crawled over his left pectoral and shoulder, but laced through them were glowing threads of faint silver, like veins of moonlight seared into flesh. At the center was a sigil: a crescent moon split apart by claw marks.
“What the hell…” I whispered. “That’s not… That’s not from battle, is it?”
No wait! Why did I just see this today? Am I so obsessed with his redwood that I overlooked this?
“No.” His voice was low, edged in iron. “It is the mark of the Tyrant. My inheritance. My curse. It appears at a certain time in a month and disappears after.”
I tore my gaze from the scar to his face. He wasn’t boasting. He wasn’t even posturing. His expression was raw, stripped bare in a way that made my throat ache.
“My father bore it before me,” he said, fingers grazing the ridges. “And his father before him. A bloodline bound to domination. To control, or be consumed. This mark is no wound of war. It is the seal of madness.”
I gripped the desk, grounding myself. “Madness?”
“The hunger to rule. To bind all to my will. To crush, before I am crushed. My father surrendered to it—his power turned to ash, his mind devoured. He was the tyrant before me, and I…” His voice cracked. “I was not spared. The Moon saw fit to brand me its successor.”
The torches hissed. Shadows flared higher.
Wait! All this side of his point of view was not in the book. He will be crowned as the most misunderstood villain ever!
Lucian looked up, silver eyes molten, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something terrifying in its unfamiliarity. Not anger. Not control.
Fear.
“When I was young,” he confessed, “the mark whispered. To kill, to conquer, to never loosen my grip. I fed it. I believed it made me strong. Until it took everything. My pack. My blood. My brother.” His chest rose and fell, ragged. “Even now, even with you here—it waits. It waits for me to falter. And when I do…” His claws curled against the desk. “It will finish what it began.”
I had no idea what to say. My mind scrambled for something—anything—that wasn’t as devastating as his words.
So of course, I went with sarcasm.
“So, what you’re saying is, you’re Batman. But with a cursed chest tattoo instead of a utility belt.”
For a heartbeat, silence. Then—barely audible, barely real—a sharp exhale. Almost a laugh. His shoulders eased half an inch, as if the weight of the room shifted.
“You are insufferable,” he said hoarsely.
“Yeah.” My voice softened. “But maybe you need insufferable.”
The space between us thinned. He leaned closer, scar catching the torchlight, eyes locked on mine. His hand rose slowly, hesitantly—hovering near my cheek, claws curled inward.
“When you wept for me,” he whispered, voice raw, “the whispers fell silent. For the first time in years, there was peace.”
My throat tightened. “Then maybe it’s not a curse. Maybe it’s… a reminder. That you survived it.”
His breath caught. For a moment, he looked like he might shatter. Then his forehead dipped closer, almost touching mine. The smell of smoke and pine wrapped around me, dizzying.
“You should fear me,” he said.
“I do.” My pulse thundered. “And I pity you. And… maybe something else.”
His eyes closed, as though those words were too much. “Do not break this chain, little wolf,” he murmured. “If you do… I will not survive it twice.”
His breath trembled against my lips — a man unraveling, not a tyrant. A man yearning to make some he cherished the most make it out alive to be with him forever.
And maybe that was why I wanted to worship him, to show him that power didn’t always have to mean pain and to show him I couldn't leave him either way.
In my mind an idea pops out. One way to make a man happy was to kneel down.
So I did.
Lucian's face was unsure of what am I doing but then when I held onto his trousers and unbuckled it, his eyes went wide.
“W-What are you trying to—”
“Shhh..” I seductively put my fingers on my lips—suggesting silence. “Let me worship you my lord.” And with that I was able to free his cage redwood. It slipped out and since my face was so near it hit my face.
“Uhh….” I could see how shocked he was right now but a smirk form on his lips with how things are going.
Without losing our eye contact I stroke it slowly up and down before my lips lick the tip of it.
“W-What are you trying—”
“My lord, would you mind if I make you feel better?” He laughed at my remark.
“So, this is what you mean by making someone feel better, Keira?” He smiled at me and faintly rubbed my hair. “You don’t need to do—” I stoke much faster this time. I know he does want me to kneel to no one but it's my decision to kneel over the man I wanted.
“Forgive for my behaviour my lord, but allow me to worship a great creation.” I whispered in pleasure. He was hesitant at first but when he saw me smirk he gave way.
“F-ck… then suck it now,” he commanded. Without hesitation I obliged.
“Ack.. slurp… ahh..” His redwood was huge. Only half can fit my mouth so I need to hold it with both of my hands for the other half.
Up and down. Up and down. The rhythm I adopt while his hand guiding my head holding my hair with desire driven. Lucian was trembling with needs.
“That's it my love.. uhh.. f-ck that mouth so hot…” But to my surprise he suddenly pulled my head towards him. That made me choke over yet my eyes rolled back not because I don't like it but pleasure of how alluring this was coursing through me.
F-ck! I like him rough.
Lucian was not content; he repeated it a few more times before he let me go. As he cum inside my mouth.
Out of breath I look up to him who seems more than satisfied. With that teasing look I swallowed it all and seductively leaked my lips.
I was a b-tch, whore created by my imagination reading too many smut books.
“You—” Lucian wasn't able to finish his words when the library doors slammed open.
Oh shit!
I stand quickly as soon as possible. Lucian was able to quickly hide his shaft on the table I was reading a moment earlier.
“Alpha!” A Darius voice shattered the moment, breathless with urgency. “The Silvermoon scouts—at the borders!”
Lucian froze. His hand dropped. His chest heaved once, twice, before he pulled back. The cloak snapped over his shoulders in one swift motion, sealing the scar, sealing everything.
“Ready the council,” he barked, voice iron again.
And just like that, the fragile, satisfied, smiling, sexy lord Lucian was gone. The Tyrant Alpha stood in his place.
I sat frozen at the desk, lips tingling from what had been sensual happened a moment ago—knowing I’d just seen the truth no one else had ever been allowed to.
Not the mark. Not the curse. Not only the sexy part of his redwood.
But him.
And I didn’t know if that made me lucky… or doomed. Since I know I start craving over the villain in this novel who destined to kill the female lead which is me.