Chapter 124
Sebastian
After Marcus left, I turned my attention back to the cell. The blanket lay crumpled where I'd thrown it, and I picked it up again, spreading it across the cot. In the morning light, I could see the stains more clearly—blood, yes, but also other fluids that told a story I couldn't quite piece together from memory alone.
I leaned close and inhaled deeply, and the scent hit me like a physical blow. Her moon dew, mixed with sweat and blood and something else, something primal that made my pupils dilate and my breath come faster. The transformation had stolen most of my memories of that night, but my body remembered. The scent told me we'd been intimate in ways that went far beyond simple medical intervention.
I straightened, a sick sort of satisfaction curling through my gut. She'd saved me, yes. But she'd done it in the most intimate way possible, and that meant something. It had to mean something.
"She saved me," I murmured to the empty cell, running my fingers over the stains. "Used her own method."
My mind supplied images—her hands on my skin, her body pressed against mine, the taste of her moon dew on my tongue. Fragments of sensation that my conscious mind couldn't quite grasp but my body remembered with perfect clarity.
She'd left because she was ashamed. Afraid. Probably disgusted with herself for what she'd had to do. But underneath all that, she cared. She had to care, or she wouldn't have stayed. Wouldn't have destroyed herself to keep me alive.
"She cares about me deep down," I said, testing the words. "She just doesn't want to admit it."
The thought steadied me, gave me something to hold onto. She'd run because she was overwhelmed, not because she truly wanted to be free of me. And that meant I could bring her back. Could make her see that what we had—twisted and fucked up as it was—mattered.
"Marcus," I called out, knowing he'd be within earshot.
He appeared in the doorway immediately. "My lord?"
"I want all of this collected and analyzed." I gestured at the blanket, the sheets, everything. "Extract any biological samples, run a full workup. And I want comprehensive intelligence on Damian Gray and this Selene. Everything—their movements, their contacts, their resources. I want to know what they're planning and where they're taking her."
"Yes, my lord." If Marcus thought the request was disturbing, he was smart enough not to show it. "I'll have the forensics team here within the hour."
"Good." I stood, rolling my shoulders. "And find out everything you can about elven royal bloodlines. If Lirael is 'Her Highness,' I want to know what that means. What powers she might have, what responsibilities, who else might be looking for her."
Marcus made notes on his tablet. "Anything else, my lord?"
"Yes." I looked at him directly. "Make absolutely certain that Ava doesn't get anywhere near this cell or any of the evidence. If she tries, you have my permission to use whatever force is necessary to stop her."
His eyebrows rose slightly, but he just nodded. "Understood, my lord."
---
After Marcus left again, I made my way to the lighthouse's cramped bathroom. The mirror above the sink was cracked but still functional, and I stripped off my shirt to assess the damage.
The sight that greeted me made me stop dead.
Scratches. Dozens of them, crisscrossing my back and shoulders in a pattern that could only have been made by claws. Deep gouges that had already started healing but would definitely scar. I turned slowly, cataloging each mark, and felt something hot and possessive curl through my gut.
She'd marked me. In her pain and desperation, she'd dug her claws into my skin and held on, and the evidence was written across my body in lines of torn flesh.
On my chest, just above my heart, was a clear bite mark. Perfect crescents where her teeth had broken skin, probably trying to keep me conscious or grounded during the worst of the transformation. I pressed my fingers to the mark and felt the slight indentation, the tender skin that would heal but never quite forget.
I stood there for a full minute, maybe longer, just staring at the marks. Tracing them with my eyes, memorizing their placement, the depth, the pattern. These were hers. She'd left pieces of herself on my skin, whether she'd meant to or not, and I wanted to keep them. Wanted them to scar, to stay visible, to serve as a permanent reminder of what she'd given me.
"If these really are hers..." I murmured, watching my reflection's eyes go dark with something that was part desire, part obsession. "Then did my performance satisfy her? I should be better than that weak Elwin, right?"
The thought of her with the boy—with anyone else—made my vision go red at the edges. She was mine. The marks on my skin proved it.
I pulled out my phone and carefully photographed each mark. The scratches on my back, the bite on my chest, the bruises on my arms where she'd gripped me. I saved each image to an encrypted folder, set a biometric lock, and added a note: First time. She initiated it.
A knock at the door interrupted my inventory. "My lord?" One of the medical staff. "We've been asked to treat your injuries."
"No need," I called back.
"Sir, you have several deep lacerations that should be cleaned and dressed to prevent infection—"
"I said no need." I pulled my shirt back on, ignoring how the fabric abraded against the scratches. The pain was good. It kept me focused, reminded me of her.
The doctor tried again when I emerged. "My lord, at least let me apply something to speed the healing. Those marks on your shoulders—they're deep enough that they'll likely scar without proper treatment."
"Good," I said flatly. "Let them scar."
He blinked, clearly taken aback. "Sir, I don't think you understand. These are significant injuries that could—"
"Could what? Leave permanent marks?" I smiled, and it felt like baring teeth. "That's exactly what I want. Those marks stay. You can bandage the abrasions on my abdomen where the silver chains rubbed, but anything she left on me, you don't touch. Are we clear?"
"I... yes, my lord." He looked like he wanted to argue but was smart enough to recognize a losing battle. "As you wish."
The internal wounds would heal on their own—I could already feel my body knitting itself back together, the moon dew she'd given me working its magic through my system. But these marks, these physical reminders of what she'd done, what we'd shared—I wanted them to last as long as possible.
"Medicine would only speed up the healing," I said, more to myself than the doctor as he carefully bandaged my abdomen. "But I want these marks to stay for a few more days. This is the first time she's left marks on me that belong to her."
The doctor didn't respond, probably because he had no idea what to say to that. Smart man.