Chapter 46 Delusions

Chapter 46 Delusions
Lucienne's Point of View

Clio stirred. At first, it was faint—a mere flicker of warmth beneath my skin, like the distant glow of a candle struggling against the darkness. It wasn't the full return of her vibrantly strong presence, but it was enough to send a wave of relief coursing through me. For the first time since I'd been dragged into this grim, lightless cell, I felt a sliver of hope.

Her energy was weak and groggy, like waking from a deep, drugged sleep, and I could sense her struggling against the lingering effects of the wolfsbane. She couldn't speak, couldn't send me her thoughts, but I felt her there—a fragile yet unmistakable connection humming faintly within me. It was proof that the activated charcoal Michaela had smuggled to me was starting to work, pushing back against the poison that had muted her.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, drawing strength from that tenuous bond. Clio's presence reminded me of who I was, of the power locked away inside me. Even if she couldn't speak yet, she was fighting to wake up, just as I was fighting to survive.

"Come back to me," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the oppressive silence. The warmth beneath my skin flickered again, and though it was faint, it was enough to bolster my resolve. Clio was still there, and as long as she was, there was hope.

Still, I had no concept of time. The cell's darkness was suffocating, a vast, unyielding expanse that seemed to stretch forever in all directions. There was no hint of daylight, no change in the air, no subtle shift that would indicate the passage of hours or even days.

It was as though the world outside had ceased to exist, leaving me in this stagnant, oppressive prison of silence and shadow. I tried to focus on the faint pulse of Clio's presence, but even that was fleeting, and the endless, crushing weight of time seemed to press in from every side.

The absence of time had a maddening effect, warping my perception and stealing away my sanity bit by bit. How long had I been here? A few hours? A few days? There was no way to know. My mind kept trying to piece together the fragments of my last memories—the struggle with the rogue's ambush, the moment I had fallen into unconsciousness. But it all felt distant now like a dream slipping further out of reach.

Maybe when Michaela came back—if she came back—I could ask her how long it had been since my capture. She was the only link to any answer, to any sense of the world outside these suffocating walls. I clung to the thought of her, knowing that her next visit could be my only chance to make sense of the passing time and, maybe, to gather some hope.

But even that was uncertain. I couldn't be entirely sure that Michaela was being honest and would even return. My mind struggled to hold onto the faintest glimmer of her presence, but even that was slipping away. I gripped onto the idea of her return as though it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

The creak of the door upstairs shattered the silence. My senses sharpened, and for the first time since being chained, I could catch the faint scent of who was descending. It wasn't Michaela. A sour mix of perfume and arrogance filled my nose, making me wrinkle it in distaste.

Beatrice.

Her footsteps were slow and deliberate as she descended the stairs. She emerged from the shadows, her smirk as sharp as the heels of her shoes.

Her eyes gleamed with a crazed version of triumph as they swept over my battered form.

"Well, well," she drawled, crossing her arms and tilting her head as if appraising me. "How the mighty have fallen. Look at you now-chained like a dog. It's poetic, really."

I didn't respond immediately. I watched Beatrice as she paced in front of the bars, her footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls of the cell. Her movements were sharp and deliberate, as though she thrived on the tension in the air, feeding off the silence between us.

She was trying to provoke me, to break me, but I refused to give her the satisfaction. I remained still, my gaze unwavering as I studied her, trying to understand the twisted satisfaction she seemed to get from this power play.

Beatrice seemed to feed off the silence, her smirk widening with each passing second. It was as though she could feel the weight of her words settling in the space between us, each syllable calculated to wound. "This is exactly what you deserve," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "My mother was locked up, powerless, humiliated. You're going to face the same."

Yeah, right! Was her mother abducted, locked in a cold, damp underground cell and whipped? I allowed myself a moment of anger before shoring up and fortifying my emotions.

Her words were venomous, sharp and cruel, designed to pierce through my defences. I could see the satisfaction flicker in her eyes as she said it as if she believed she had finally struck the blow that would bring me to my knees.

But the truth was, her words didn't cut as deeply as she hoped. They might have worked on someone else but not on me. I had already faced too much, lost too much, to be broken by her empty threats.

I could see her frustration building as she waited for a reaction, her eyes narrowing when I remained silent. She expected me to flinch, beg, and show the weakness she had grown accustomed to seeing in others. But all I could feel was a slow, simmering rage—a quiet, stubborn resolve not to let her win.

Her attempts were hollow, a reflection of her insecurities, and though she wanted to tear me down, she wasn't as powerful as she thought. She couldn't touch the part of me that mattered—the part that remained unbroken.

"The difference," I said hoarsely, forcing my voice to remain steady, "is that I was fated to Marc and Cole. They are my true mates. I didn't have to kill anyone to get the position of Luna. Obviously, the Moon Goddess chose me for the position by making Marc and Cole my true mates. Your mother's downfall was her own doing, so will yours be, Beatrice."

Her smirk faltered, replaced by a sharp glare. "That's Luna Beatrice to you! You're not Luna; I am!"

I raised an eyebrow at her comment.

Her face darkened, and she stepped closer to the bars, gripping them tightly. "I will be. Once my mother is reinstated, I'll take what's mine, Marc, Cole, and Eric. Danielle will be gone, and I'll make sure your name is forgotten." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her voice dripping with disdain. "You'll be nothing but a bad memory."

Her words revealed more than she intended. "Marc and Cole would never choose you. They're my mates. And Eric? He's Danielle's mate. Marked and Mated."

Beatrice's eyes narrowed. "Mates can be replaced." She leaned closer, her tone turning conspiratorial. "My aunt will see to it. That's right! My aunt is a Blood Witch, and she said she'd help Mother. What Mother wants, she always gets, and I'll have everything I deserve."

It was clear to me now. Beatrice's delusions ran deep, and they mirrored Elizabeth's twisted ambitions. I studied her closely, noting the erratic gleam in her eyes and the tension in her movements. It wasn't just arrogance—it was instability.

"You don't see it, do you?" I said softly. "Your wolf is rebelling against you.

Wolves are created by the Moon Goddess. They're inherently good. When their humans stray too far, they fight back. That's why you're weak, Beatrice. That's why you're unhinged. One day, your wolf will abandon you entirely."

"Shut up!" she snapped, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Her hands trembled as they gripped the bars tighter. "You don't know anything!"

I didn't flinch. "I know more than you think. And I know you're not fit to be a Luna of any pack."

Her fury boiled over. She spun on her heel and stormed upstairs. I exhaled slowly, preparing myself for whatever tantrum she was about to throw. Sure enough, she returned moments later, whip in hand.

Beatrice unlocked the cell and stepped inside, her heels clicking against the stone floor. She walked behind me, and I felt the air shift as she raised the whip.

The first strike landed across my back, sending a searing pain through my already pained body. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a scream.

The blows came faster, harder, each one tearing into already raw flesh.

My vision blurred, and my breaths came in ragged gasps. Just as I reached the point where I couldn't bear another strike, the door slammed open.

"Enough!" Rodney's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.