Chapter 9 Chapter Nine
Injuries might heal, but their scars never fade. Mentally, physically and emotionally~ Lillyan Elyort.
Lillyan
I am running, my legs unable to bear my weight. Pants escape my throat, and I stumble once or twice. They’re chasing after me, they’re going to catch up with me soon, and they’re going to fucking kill me. A thorn catches my dress—a gift which my late father gave to me on my eighteenth birthday. I almost stop running.
Late?
Why is my mind addressing him in the past tense?
“Stop running, you bitch!” A voice calls out from behind me. He’s one of those people chasing me. I know that voice. Carlos.
“Stop running,” he calls out again, his voice harsh and biting. “A murderer. That’s all you’ll ever be.” He accuses.
I stop running and face him. I am not a murderer. I am the Moon goddess, owner of all werewolves. How can I kill?
“I am not a murderer!” I spit furiously in the dark. The sky is getting bright now, and his face is visible. I look around. We are back surrounded by maple trees.
He laughs—a cold sound that’s filled with disdain, with hatred, with accusations packed in one—and I flinch.
“A cold-hearted murderer who killed her own father, Lillyan Elyort. You killed your father.” He scoffs. His face morphs, and I gasp. He’s wearing a white robe, three daggers strapped to his waist, eyes piercing as they always do, lips pursed.
“Father,” my face lifts in a smile, and I sigh in relief. He’s not dead. Why was Carlos accusing me? In fact, why was Carlos looking at me with such hatred? He loves me–
My father sneers, and I take an involuntary step back. “Father? What’s wrong?” I question, heart racing fast.
“I am disappointed in you, Lillyan.” He says, his voice forbidding. I swallow.
“Father–”
He’s suddenly in front of me, hand pulling me towards him, towards an unsheathed dagger which he’d whipped out in flash. I try to get away, to pull away from his strong grip. His face is alternating now, between Carlos’ and his. It’s frightening.
——
I wake up with a gasp. My body is drenched in sweat. A nightmare. I haven’t had one since I was born. Divinity does not have nightmares, we make them. We create dreams, and manipulate them. I rub on my face, shame washing over me all over again. I am no longer a divinity. I am now human, not even a werewolf.
I look around the dark room, glance at the full moon which has gone back to its usual pale light hanging proudly on the sky. My mouth feels dry and bitter. I push off the bed. My heart is still thumping, and I take three calming breaths. One. Two. Three. With a sigh, I stretch my limbs, take an indifferent look at the soaked sheets, and by extension, my drenched body, then I head out of the room. It is three am, and everywhere is still and dark. The triplets said my residence is still under construction—a claim which I do not believe one bit. I know they are watching me, observing, waiting for me to fall into their trap, then take out their anger of rejection on me. The male ego—a delicate affair. One which has never bothered me.
My father–
I pause. I’m standing in an almost-dark hallway, the only source of light coming from a modern lantern hanging on the wall. One of the triplets is obviously into Asian decorations. I allow two seconds pass before my thoughts begin to spiral round. It’s hard to think of my father—to think of my planet and all I had—without feeling a gut-wrenching pain, without my eyes burning, and my hands getting shaky. I know this will be the start of the nightmares, my harsh awakening at the cruel fact that I’m human.
Human…
“Take this sword, Lillyan. Tell me how this man should be punished,” my father said, his eyes boring into me, and making my legs get wobbly. It was one of my training to becoming a goddess. I stared at the man whose face was visible through the portal used to monitor the werewolves—my subjects-to-be. The man was bound by the ropes my father cast around him. He couldn’t even see us. I took a deep breath, avoiding my father’s gaze and replying in the way I knew would please him.
“I’ll judge him. What did he do?” I asked. My father gave a nod of approval, and I was inwardly proud.
“He raped his brother’s mate and killed her.” He said indifferently, his tone sounding neutral. It was a different case for me. I was instantly enraged, seeing the man in a new light. I accepted the sword from my father, and invoked the man’s inner wolf.
“I hereby condemn you to death.” I said. A rapist didn’t deserve to live.
“Is your punishment fair?” My father asked. I stared at him in disbelief. He was doing his job as my trainer, ensuring I was making and passing on the right judgment. But couldn’t he see? The man was a fucking rapist.
“He deserves to die…”
My leg hit a lone vase on the ground, startling me from my thoughts. I stare at a half-opened door. I haven’t seen this room around. Curiosity wins and I walk in to find a huge library.
“Wow,” I breathe.
The source of light is from the window—the moon light.
I’m barely in, when a hand grabs me and I’m suddenly pushed against a bookshelf. Eyes widening, I find myself staring at a handsome face and steely cold eyes. Xavier.
My lips curve into a sneer. His hands are coarse against my shoulders, and my body—unfortunately—starts to react to him, to the way our bodies are in close proximity, the way his eyes are dropping to my lips. Do I want him to kiss me?
“Snooping around. Lost something?” His voice, biting and unamused, fills the silent library. I raise my chest defiantly. I wouldn’t be intimated. I shiver as his lips tease my neck. Fuck. When did he even get this close? My legs threaten to buckle, and my effort to steer him away comes out in a stuttered wheeze instead.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I warn him, digging my hands firmly by my sides. Through the moonlight, I see him smirk, and my treacherous heart flutters at the simple action.
“I love it when you cuss,” he says and I judge his tone somewhere between mocking and…intense.
“Fuck you,” I snap, pushing him and making a mental note to hurry out of the library as fast as I can.
“Join the queue,” he says, effortlessly pulling me back and trapping me between his arms and the bookshelf. His lips hovers close to mine.
“Can I kiss you?” He questions, eyes flaming in a way that scares even me. Gosh, the guys have a thing with asking for permission. I open my mouth to decline.
“No–”
“I wasn’t seeking your permission, Daffodil,” he slams his lips on mine, steaming my breath into his mouth.