Chapter 56: Forbidden lineages

Chapter 56

Lucian didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t offer a comforting touch or a lingering look. He turned on his heel and strode toward the double doors.

Marco stepped aside instantly, falling into rank behind his King. The click of the lock as they exited was a sharp, final sound that seemed to suck the air out of the room.

Isabella collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving. The heat of the blood was still roaring through her, making her skin feel too tight for her body.

She could feel every thread of the silk sheets, hear every crackle of the dying fire—it was as if someone had turned the volume of the world up to a deafening level.

“He’s angry,” Clara whispered, stepping closer to the bed. She still held the cup.

“He hates that you see his gift as a pollution. Most would give their lives for a single drop of the King’s essence, Isabella. To have him force it upon you… it wounds his pride more than he lets on.”

“I don’t care about his pride,” Isabella snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She was staring at her hands, watching the faint glow beneath her skin slowly fade as the blood settled.

“He called me an abomination, Clara. He thinks I’m pathetic.”

“Well, you are pathetic,” Clara said, her voice dropping the facade of concern as she settled the cup on the bedside table with a sharp clink.

“Isabella, do you even realize how many people would kill to be in your position? To have his attention on them?”

Isabella’s head snapped up. The “high” from the blood made her reflexes quick, her eyes tracking Clara’s movement with a speed that wasn’t entirely human.

“My position? You mean being poisoned, hunted by a coven, and forced to drink blood like an animal?”

Clara let out a hollow scoff, her gown rustling as she paced the foot of the bed. Without her magic, she looked smaller, her movements jerky and frustrated.

She looked like a bird with clipped wings, and she clearly hated Isabella for still having a flight left in her.

“I mean having the King of the Unholy kneel in the dirt for you,” Clara spat, her eyes flashing with a sudden, ugly spark of resentment.

“I spent centuries at his side. I betrayed my own mother, my own blood, just to be a shadow in his court. I gave up everything to be useful to him. And yet, I am the one standing here without a spark of power to my name, while you—a wolfless, useless girl—get his mark branded on your skin like a banner and his blood in a silver cup.”

Isabella flinched at the venom in the other woman’s voice. She could feel Clara’s jealousy rolling off her in waves, amplified by her new, raw senses.

“I didn’t ask for this, Clara. If you want him so badly, you can have the mark. You can have the blight. Take it all.” She thought they had moved past all these when trying to survive Clara’s mom but clearly she was damn wrong.

“If only it were that simple,” Clara hissed, leaning over the footboard. Her face was pale, her lips pulled back in a sneer that looked a lot like her mother Elena’s.

Clara let out a low groan of pure frustration, the sound vibrating with the weight of centuries of unrequited devotion.

She couldn’t stand it anymore—the smell of Lucian’s blood on Isabella’s breath, the sight of the mark that glowed like a mocking neon sign, and the sheer, infuriating innocence of the girl who had no idea what she had stolen.

With a sharp, jerky movement, Clara snatched the silver cup off the bedside table. The metal screeched against the wood, a jarring sound that set Isabella’s hyper-sensitive nerves on edge.

Clara didn’t look back; she simply turned on her heel, the train of her gown snapping behind her like a whip as she marched toward the heavy oak door of the inner chamber.

“Where are you going?” Isabella called out, her voice raspy and strained. She pushed herself up on one elbow, the movement making the room tilt dangerously.

Clara paused at the threshold, her hand gripping the iron latch so hard her knuckles turned white.

She didn’t turn around. Her shoulders were hunched, her entire posture radiating a cold bitterness.

“Anywhere but close to you,” Clara threw over her shoulder, her voice dripping with a final dose of venom.

She stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a resounding thud. The click of the secondary latch echoed through the silent room, leaving Isabella alone with nothing but the overwhelming pulse of the King’s blood in her veins.

Isabella let out a long, exhausted groan and fell back against the charcoal silk pillows, the back of her head hitting the mattress with a soft throb.

She stared up at the dark carvings of the ceiling, her chest heaving as she tried to process the absolute chaos her life had become.

“When do I finally get a freaking break?” she whispered to the empty, shadowed room.

Her mind felt like a battlefield where she was the only casualty.

If it wasn’t a centuries-old dark witch trying to carve the light out of her face, it was a brooding, grumpy King who treated her like a prized possession one minute and a “wolfless abomination” the next.

And now, to top it all off, she was being babysat by a crazy, jealous witch who looked like she’d rather poison the water pitcher than help her survive the night.

She closed her eyes, but the darkness offered no peace. Instead, the heat in her stomach flared again, and the distant, muffled sounds of the mansion began to sharpen.

Downstairs, Lucain walked into an office with Marco silent at his back, hands filled with dusty books.

The office air was thick as Lucian his temper was frayed. He sank into the chair as if the weight of the last hour had finally found its purchase on his shoulders.

Marco moved with practiced efficiency, crossing the room and began stacking the heavy volumed book on the edge of the desk.

These weren’t the elegant, gold-leafed histories found in the public library. These were thick, weathered tomes, their spines cracked and their covers bound in rough hide—some with fur still clinging to the edges.

“The archives on the Lunar Pacts, Sire,” Marco murmured, his voice low as he smoothed a hand over the top book.

“And the Forbidden Lineages. I took everything the high vault had on werewolf blood fated bonds.”

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