Chapter 70 Chapter Seventeen
When the final initiation arrived, the priests, leaders, and robe men gathered, tension thick in the air. They had expected the seven deadly princes of hell to descend, to claim the boys’ bodies, to complete the ultimate transformation. But nothing happened. No possession. No flicker of infernal power. Silence answered them.
Confusion rippled through the crowd, quickly turning to disbelief, then to fury. The priests and leaders, certain the ritual would succeed, could hardly comprehend the failure. And then the truth struck like a blade: the ancient tome they had followed so blindly had one critical stipulation—they should have waited until the boys turned twenty. Seventeen was far too early.
Frustration ignited. Frustration gave way to rage.
Lucian and the others became living targets. The priests and robe men lashed out with relentless cruelty, punishing them again and again, testing their limits. But these were no longer ordinary boys. Beneath their youthful flesh, they had been learning, calculating, enduring. Every humiliation, every blow had only sharpened them. They moved with measured precision, following orders flawlessly, rarely faltering, rarely giving their captors a reason to strike.
By their twentieth birthdays, most had risen through the ranks—hardened, ruthless. Their hearts had grown cold, brutal reflections of the merciless world that had forged them.
And then, on that night, the impossible occurred. The seven deadly sins—the very essence of darkness the priests had sought to contain—manifested within them.
Power surged through them, immense, overwhelming, beyond anything a human body should bear. Lucian and the others snapped.
In a frenzy of wrath, they turned on their captors. Priests, robe men—every man who had towered over them in cruelty—none were spared. They moved like shadows, black as sin, their laughter twisted and wild, echoing through the compound like a chorus of madness.
Blood ran freely.
That night came to be remembered forever as the Blood Bath Night.
Everything about them changed. Lucian, who had once recoiled from touch, now moved with predatory grace, hyper-aware and dominant in every interaction. Human limits no longer constrained him. He could bend connections between people—link strangers, manipulate groups, sow desire and temptation, orchestrate chaos at will. Yet despite his control, he could still vanish into anyone, at any moment, slipping unnoticed into lives and hearts.
Same with Gluttony or Ruben, he no longer restrained himself. His appetite turned feral; flesh—human flesh—no longer repelled him. Hunger and power became inseparable.
And he was not alone. All of them, sharpened by years of cruelty, manifested abilities beyond the natural: strength that defied reason, speed that blurred vision, senses that pierced darkness and deceit. They had become more than men—they were something entirely new, terrifying, unstoppable.
When the early founders died, the seven did not dismantle the cult. Instead, they seized it, reshaped it, made it theirs. Under their rule, it became a machine of terror, spreading fear and chaos across the world. That was their legacy.
That was until Lucian left at age 27.
I stared at the plate of spaghetti I’d made minutes ago, twirling my fork into the strands before taking a heavy bite. My lips pressed into a tight line the moment I chewed. Cold. Tasteless. Unbearable. I set the fork down with a faint clatter, frustration curling in my chest.
I had cooked more than enough, even set aside a portion for Lucian if he decided to come home tonight. Now it just sat there, waiting for him—just like me. I told myself I’d reheat it later.
Glancing at my phone, the screen glowed: 9:46 PM. Almost ten, and still no sign of him. A sigh slipped out as I carried the plate back into the cavernous kitchen, the house's silence echoing around me. I tipped the spaghetti back into the pot and slid it into the microwave.
My fingers tapped impatiently at the buttons, trying to will the damn machine to hum to life, when heat seared against my back. Hard muscle slammed into my back, a wall of strength pressing me into the counter as tattooed arms banded around my waist. My breath caught, body going molten.
Lucian.
Every cell in me knew him. The way his chest crushed against my spine, the way his inked hands gripped me, the way his mouth grazed my neck like he could bite me in half.
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. His nose dragged along the slope of my collarbone before he inhaled, deep and greedy, like he’d been starving all night and I was the only thing left to feed him.
“You waited,” he rasped, voice low and dangerous, vibrating through me. “Good girl.”
The words detonated inside me, filthy sparks shooting lower, making my thighs press together.
His hand flattened against my stomach, dragging me tighter against his hard frame. “Cold dinner,” he muttered, lips brushing my ear, “but a warm little mouth. I know which one I’m hungry for.”
My pulse stuttered. The microwave dinged, but neither of us moved. His grip only tightened.
My pulse stuttered. The microwave dinged, but neither of us moved. His grip only tightened.
I reached out quickly to turn it off—charcoal spaghetti wasn’t on tonight’s menu. His low chuckle slid over my skin as if he’d plucked the thought straight from my head. And then, before I could even process what was happening, my clothes simply… vanished. Melted off me. Gone, as though they had never existed.
My heart slammed against my ribs. That was when I saw it—his eyes. Once a stormy grey, now glowing an unholy red. Any normal girl would’ve screamed, maybe bolted for the door. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
He turned me easily, forcing me to face him. Those veined, brutal fingers lifted me as if I weighed nothing and set me down on the counter. My legs were spread open before I realized what he was doing, his hard body wedged between my thighs, caging me in.
I didn’t know if it was the charged air thick around us, or the way his burning gaze pinned me open—but sweet, unbearable pleasure rolled through me. My nipples tightened, aching. My cunt gushed shamelessly, dripping down onto the cool counter. I nearly came right then, just from his stare.
It took every scrap of control I had not to unravel. And he hadn’t even touched me yet.
Right before my eyes, his fingers lengthened, stretching unnaturally, until inhuman dark claws jutted from his hands. My breath hitched, caught between fear and desperate, filthy need.
My palm lifted to his face before I could stop myself, my fingers tracing the hard line of his cheek. “Lucian, are you okay?”
He caught my hand, pressing it tighter against his skin with both of his, eyes falling shut as he drew in a long, shuddering breath.
“It’s me. I’m here.” His voice was rough, strained, before he lifted his gaze to mine. “I’m sorry—I scared you.”
Relief flooded me. I exhaled as I shifted slightly, rubbing my aching folds together just to take the edge off. Then I leaned in, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him close.
“You’d talk about your past, but you never told me the details.” My voice dipped, sultry. My fingers slid down, brushing over the sharp curve of his dark claws, the tips grazing the sensitive skin of my thigh. I lifted my gaze to meet those glowing, sinful red eyes and let a slow smile curve my lips.
“I had no idea you could strip me bare in a heartbeat… and these—” I trailed one finger down the curve of his inhuman claws, shivering as I met those burning, blood-red eyes.
My lips curled into a shameless smile, voice dropping low and filthy.
“—fuck, Lucian… you should’ve told me sooner. Do you know how wet it makes me knowing you could tear me open and still fuck me until I’m begging for more?”
His expression shifted—something feral sparking in his gaze. And then it hit me.
Another wave of molten pleasure surged through my core—hot, wet, sharp enough to make me cry out. I jerked against him, clutching at his shoulders. And just like a few minutes ago, my cunt clenched around nothing, drenched, dripping down onto the counter, while his hands hadn’t even moved.
My back arched. A moan tore from my throat. My body writhed against him, trembling, straining closer, desperate for something that wasn’t even there—until, suddenly, it was.
It felt like phantom hands were everywhere at once. Invisible fingers pinched my nipples, tugged them taut, while another unseen touch circled my swollen clit, stroking, teasing, driving me insane. I gasped, eyes wide, staring at the monster towering over me—his claws curling at my thighs, his red eyes locked on mine, and yet he hadn’t touched me. Or maybe he did. Not physically.
The air crackled, thick with his power, and I couldn’t breathe. My body convulsed with phantom pleasure, cunt throbbing around nothing, nipples aching as if invisible teeth had bitten them. I gasped, clawing at his shoulders, desperate for him, for more, for anything real.
And then his power snapped away—leaving me trembling, drenched, and empty.
“Lucian—” I choked out, needy, desperate, but he silenced me with his sheer presence. His huge frame pressed in closer, towering, caging me on the counter. The red glow in his eyes darkened, his claws dragging lightly up my thigh, grazing skin without breaking it. The scrape sent a violent shiver up my spine, and then he tore a line through the marble counter beside my hip, reminding me just how easily he could shred me open if he wanted.
And yet, his clawed hand was gentle when he caught my chin, tilting my face up. He loomed above me, chest heaving, cock hard and straining against his pants, bigger than I remembered, bigger than what should’ve been possible. His power alone had swollen him, thickened him, until he was monstrous.
When he pushed his lower body between my thighs, I felt the blunt weight of him, hot and unforgiving, grinding against my soaked slit. I cried out, grabbing at his arms. My legs spread wider, hips arching forward, begging for him without shame.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
His claws gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him, and with one brutal thrust he buried himself inside me. My scream split the air—half pain, half raw ecstasy. He filled me to breaking, my walls stretched obscenely around him, every nerve sparking white-hot as his cock carved its place deep inside me.
The counter shook beneath us, as his pace tore through me—hard, relentless, merciless. My head fell back, mouth open in a cry that turned into a sobbing moan. My cunt clutched at him, sucking him deeper, clenching greedily around every ruthless stroke.
And still, it wasn’t just his cock.
His power wrapped around me again—phantom hands dragging over my skin, teasing my nipples, ghosting down my belly, circling my clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. I was being fucked from every angle, filled, stroked, devoured—until pleasure was everywhere at once.
I shattered, screaming, nails digging into his back. My body convulsed around him, gushing, soaking the counter. But he didn’t stop. He only drove harder, pounding through my orgasm, making it break again and again, until I was crying out, shaking, my mind splintering under the force of it.
When he finally growled—a guttural, monstrous sound—his eyes glowed brighter, his claws biting into the counter on either side of me. His thrusts turned brutal, punishing, until with a final savage drive he came inside me, hot and endless, flooding me so deep I swore I felt it in my chest.
The world blurred. My body was ruined, spent, trembling and dripping with his seed. My thighs shook around him, my arms clung weakly to his shoulders, and still his cock pulsed inside me, claiming, owning and marking me from the inside out.
And through the haze, I lifted my head just enough to meet those burning red eyes.
He hadn’t spoken a single word. But he didn’t have to.
I understood now.
This was Lust. And it was mine.