Chapter 28: Love hate relationship

Chapter 28

No. That was the only thought in Isabella’s head as she watched the woman approach. No, not another threat. Not now.

Lucian didn’t stay down. Despite the sickening pop of his joints and the fact that he had been a corpse some minutes ago, he forced his body to obey.

With a guttural growl of effort, he surged to his feet, his spine straightening with a regal rigidity.

He looked like a fallen god reclaiming his throne, even with her blood still staining his lips.

The white-eyed lady stepped further into the cave, her forest-green gown sweeping over the stone.

Her gaze finally drifted away from Isabella, sliding over to Lucian with ease. The two of them locked eyes, and the silence became a battlefield.

It was a silent war of wills, a violent clashing of invisible power that made the very shadows in the corners of the cave tremble.

Finally, the woman’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her pale, haunting eyes. “Prince

Lucian,” Her voice was like velvet dragged over broken glass.

Beautiful, but sharp enough to draw blood.

The title hit the air and Isabella blinked. Prince? She knew he was a King, or at least he acted like one, but the way this lady said it made it sound like a brand.

Lucian didn’t flinch, his jaw tightened, his eyes glowing with that fierce, crimson intensity. “Clara.”

He spat her name like a holy word he had learned to curse. After that, silence reclaimed the cave.

It was a thick, suffocating thing. Isabella struggled to her feet, her muscles screaming and her head swimming from the blood loss.

She felt invisible, a ghost in the room while these two titans stared each other down.

As she leaned against the cold stone for support, Isabella couldn’t take her eyes off Clara.

The woman was breathtaking—a wild, ethereal beauty that seemed to belong to the earth and the stars all at once.

Even in the gloom, her skin seemed to glow, and her hair flowed around her like ink in water.

A cold pang of insecurity twisted in Isabella’s chest.

She looked down at her own shredded clothes, her blood-stained hands, and felt like a gutter rat standing before a queen.

She hated the feeling, and she hated Clara for inspiring it, so she shoved it deep down, masking it with the only thing she had left: her temper.

The tension between Lucian and Clara was like a love-hate energy that suggested they had either tried to kill each other many times, or had spent many nights trying not to.

“You look terrible, Lucian,” Clara remarked, her eyes tracing the line of his throat where Isabella’s scent still lingered.

“Death doesn’t suit you. But then again, neither does the company you keep.”

Lucian took a single step forward, shielding Isabella from Clara’s sight, though his voice remained a low, dangerous hiss as he ignored her banter.

“Why did you send your child when you knew I was here?”

Child? Isabella’s mind skidded to a halt. Her eyes darted toward the cave entrance where the twelve-foot, bone-protruding, rotting Sentinel stood guard.

That thing was her child? What the actual fuck, Isabella muttered under her breath, her voice barely a rasp. What kind of DNA test does that family tree need?

Clara didn’t even glance back at her. Her focus remained entirely on Lucian, her white eyes shimmering with a light that felt both ancient and mocking.

“And why shouldn’t I send him when you’re here?” Clara shot back, her voice sharpening into a blade. “You stumbled onto my domain smelling of holy rot and desperation, Lucian. My boy was merely checking to see if you were worth the effort of digging a grave, or if the forest should just reclaim what’s left of you.”

Isabella watched from behind Lucian’s broad, scarred shoulders as Clara moved closer, closing the distance until she was stopping inches from Lucian.

The air between them seemed to heat up, the dark mist swirling around Lucian’s feet tangling with the hem of Clara’s green gown.

Isabella saw it. The hard, regal mask on Clara’s face melted, her features softening, her eyelids fluttering slightly as she tilted her head back to look up at him.

The lethal witch who had just been petting a demon-dog was gone, replaced by something much more dangerous: a woman who knew exactly how Lucian tasted.

Clara leaned in, her lips almost brushing the pulse point of his jaw, and her voice dropped into a low, seductive purr.

“I mean… we do hate each other, don’t we, my Prince?” The word hate came out like a caress.

Isabella felt a spike of irritation that had nothing to do with her injuries. The undertone in Clara’s voice wasn’t just history, it was a challenge.

It was the sound of someone reclaiming a territory they had once owned. The bond in Isabella’s chest gave a violent, jealous throb.

She didn’t know if it was her own anger or a residual echo of Lucian’s chaotic emotions, but she was really starting to hate Clara.

“Get a room,” Isabella snapped, her voice cracking but the venom clear. “Or, you know, maybe focus on the fact that he’s still covered in black blood. Is this how you treat guests, or do you only save the hospitality for people you’ve slept with?”

Isabella didn’t know why those came out of her mouth when she could clearly see this lady held power but she didn’t give a fuck.

Lucian stiffened, his hand twitching at his side, but he didn’t pull away from Clara. He looked down at the witch, his crimson eyes clashing with her milky white ones.

Clara’s hand finally rose, her fingers ghosting over his exposed chest before settling over his heart.

“She’s loud,” Clara whispered, never breaking eye contact with Lucian. “And she smells of you. It’s… irritating.”

“It’s irritating?” Isabella echoed, her voice rising despite the dizzying lightheadedness. She side stepped Lucain, forcing herself into their space.

“You know what’s irritating? Being used as a human blood-bag, dragged into a witch’s lair, and then ignored like I’m a piece of furniture while you two revisit your Exes of the Century highlights.”

Clara’s hand remained over Lucian’s heart, the sight of it making Isabella burn with rage. Clara head tilted just enough for one white eye to fix on Isabella.

A cold, mocking smile played on her lips. “The little wolf has teeth. Too bad she doesn’t have a pack to sharpen them on.”

Lucian finally reacted, he reach up and wrap his fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand an inch away from his skin.

Clara’s eyes flickered with something sharp as she wrenched her wrist out of his grip and stepped back, her green gown fluttering like forest leaves in a storm.

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