Chapter 33: Strip

Chapter 33

The silence that followed the explosion was worse than the sound. Lucian’s weight was a crushing anchor against Isabella.

She could feel the hitch in his breathing, the way his body shuddered as the silver shards buried in his back burned through his supernatural hide.

Silver was poison to his kind, and he had just taken a thousand stabs for her. “Lucian,” she gasped, her voice sounding like it was coming from underwater.

She tried to push against his chest to see the damage, but his arms remained locked around her, his fingers digging into the small of her back.

“Don’t move,” he rasped. His voice was a ragged shadow of itself. “The glass… it’s still settling.”

Lucian finally pulled back, and Isabella flinched at the sight of him. His face was a map of shallow cuts, but his back was a ruin of silver-glittering wounds.

His eyes, usually a sharp, regal crimson, were blown wide, the pupils swallowing the iris. He didn’t look at the witch. He looked straight at Isabella cheek were a glass shard was lounged.

He wasn’t just looking at the wound on her cheek; he was wearing it. Lucian’s breath hitched, a low hiss of agony escaping his teeth.

Through the raw, exposed nerves of their half-severed bond, the pain was magnifying. He felt the stinging slice on her shoulder as if his own skin were parting.

He felt the jagged glass in her cheek like a hot needle pressed into his jaw. The ritual hadn’t just failed, it had backfired.

The threads of their souls that was supposed to be unpicked was now knotted even tighter.

Isabella felt pain in her shoulder, back cheek, her hand rising to touch her face, only to hiss when her fingers met the sharp edge of the glass.

Lucian flinched in perfect synchronization with her, his hand twitching as if he’d been the one to touch the wound.

“Don’t,” he commanded, his voice rasped. “Every time you move, I feel you tearing.” Isabella looked past his shoulder at the dark water.

It was no longer still. It was bubbling, turning a murky, bruised crimson where Lucian’s blood was leaking into the pool.

A few feet away, Clara’s green gown was floating on the surface, but the witch remained face-down.

“Clara’s drowning!” Isabella cried, her panic finally breaking through She tried to lunge forward, her feet splashing into the dark pool, but Lucian’s hand shot out, catching her by the waist.

“Stop!” he roared, though the effort sent a fresh wave of blood down his back. ” What the fuck! She isn’t moving. She’s face down!” Isabella struggled, her bare feet scuffing against the bottom of the pool.

“The floor is covered in silver-glass, you idiot!” This was the first time Lucian snarled an insult, his eyes flashing with a desperate, pained light.

“If you slice your feet open, the pain will floor us both. I can’t… I can’t breathe when you’re hurting like this.”

Before she could protest again, Lucian moved. Ignoring the silver shards grinding into his own spine and the poison leaching into his system, he reached down.

With a heavy, pained groan that vibrated through her chest, he scooped her up in a bridal carry.

Isabella yelped, her hands instinctively flying to his neck for balance but still careful with the wounds on his back.

“What the fuck are you doing? Put me down! You’re the one who looks like a pincushion!”

“Shut up,” Lucian breathed, his jaw tight enough to snap. He stood tall in the thigh-high water, his muscles trembling under the strain. He was a mess yet he held her as if she were the fragile one.

“I am the one feeling the glass in your skin. I am the one feeling the cold in your bones. If I have to carry you to keep you from adding another scratch to that body, then I will carry you.”

He began to wade through the dark, turbulent water toward the silver door, his steps heavy.

His eyes landed on Clara but his entire world had narrowed down to the weight in his arms and the agonizing, shared symphony of their mutual injuries.

Lucian reached the silver door and kicked it open. As he stepped through the threshold, Isabella watched, fascinated and horrified, as the dark water stayed pinned behind an invisible barrier.

Despite being knee-high and turbulent, not a single drop spilled into the hallway. It was as if the room were a separate dimension holding its breath.

He carried her down the narrow corridor, his breath coming in hitches that she felt against her own chest.

When they reached the living room, Lucain carefully, as if Isabella were made of the very glass that had just shattered— lowered her onto the velvet couch.

Isabella immediately tried to sit up, her hand reaching out. “Clara…”

“Don’t move,” Lucian commanded, his voice brooked no argument. He stood over her for a second, swaying slightly on his feet.

The silver shards in his back glinted like cruel stars against the dark blood on his back. Without another word, Lucian turned and waded back into the hallway.

Isabella watched his retreating back, her throat tight. She saw the way he braced himself against the wall before disappearing back into the silver room.

Minutes felt like hours. She sat on the edge of the plush cushions, her hands curled into fists, fighting the urge to ignore his warning and run after him.

And the urge to pull out the shards on her. The mark on her neck throbbed hard as finally, Lucain reappeared. He was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, dragging Clara’s limp, dripping form over his shoulder.

He reached the center of the living room and lowered the witch onto the rug before the fireplace.

Clara remained unmoving, her skin a terrifyingly pale shade of blue, her green silk gown heavy with the dark water.

Lucian didn’t collapse, though Isabella could see his knees trembling. He turned his gaze to Isabella, his eyes redder than she had ever seen them, fueled by a primal necessity to survive.

“Strip” The word hung in the air, blunt and jarring, slicing through the haze of Isabella’s pain.

“What?” she rasped, her eyes widening. She stared at him, certain she had misheard through the ringing in her ears.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep