Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped as her senses returned slowly, reality crashing over her like a wave. She must have slid into unconsciousness again she realized dully.


    Her mind had been moving between the past and present with some frequency lately and though that gave her some reprieve from her physical pain, she still preferred her current circumstance to the nightmares of the past.


    Isabell’s world had shrunk to the narrow stone walls of the dungeon, every breath a struggle against the pain coursing through her body. Chains dug into her wrists, the metal cuffs biting into her skin until it felt like they’d become a part of her. Her arms were stretched taut above her head, forcing her onto her toes, leaving her muscles trembling with exhaustion. The cold damp air stung her raw skin, mingling with the sweat and blood that trickled down her sides.


    Each breath was a shallow gasp, the air searing her lungs as she fought to stay conscious. She had lost track of how long she had been down here. Days, maybe weeks. Lucian’s voice echoed in her mind, taunting her with the promise of release, but only if she would ask for it—only if she would surrender to him. But she hadn’t. Not yet.


    Her body jerked as a fresh wave of pain lanced through her, radiating from the deep gash along her side. Malric had made sure the wound would sting, not enough to kill her, but enough to keep her balanced on the edge of agony. He had been meticulous about that. The memory of his smirk, of his casual cruelty, made her stomach twist, bile rising in her throat. But even Malric had eventually left her alone in the darkness.


    Isabell’s head lolled forward, her vision swimming as she fought against the pull of unconsciousness. Her legs trembled, barely holding her weight. Each shift of the chains sent a fresh jolt of agony through her arms, her shoulders burning from the strain. She tried to focus, to cling to some semblance of strength, but it was slipping away from her, slipping through her like the blood that dripped onto the cold stone floor.


    She was so tired. So, so tired. Body and soul.


    And then, in the silence, she heard it—the soft, deliberate click of footsteps. They reverberated off the walls, slow and unhurried, like a predator approaching its prey. Isabell forced her head up, squinting against the darkness as the figure came into view.


    Lucian stepped into the dim light, his face half in shadow, half illuminated by the flickering torchlight. His expression was a mask of mock concern, his lips curled in a smile that might have been gentle if she didn’t know better. He moved closer, his eyes trailing over her battered form, lingering on the bloodied wounds and burns that marred her skin.


    “My poor, stubborn Isabell,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, like the purr of a satisfied cat. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself.”


    Isabell’s lips parted, a ragged breath escaping her, but she didn’t speak. She refused to give him the satisfaction, refused to let him see how deeply his presence rattled her. But her body betrayed her, a tremor running through her as he reached out and brushed a lock of sweat-dampened hair from her face.


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    “You know, all of this pain... it could end,” Lucian continued, his voice a gentle caress. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, just below the dark bruise that had blossomed there. “All you have to do is ask me. All you have to do is surrender and I will take the pain from you my dove.”


    Isabell tried to respond, to summon the strength to say the one word that still held meaning—never—but all that escaped her was a broken sob. A single tear slid down her cheek, and Lucian’s cool fingers brushed it away, his touch unsettlingly gentle - tender. For a fleeting moment, it felt good—the warmth, the illusion of affection. Her shattered soul yearned for it, clinging to the tenderness even as her mind told her that it was all honeyed lies. The raw burn on her skin eased beneath his caress, and in that terrible instant, she leaned into his touch, craving the comfort, the soft promise of care she knew was false yet could resist no longer.


    And then the dam broke.


    Isabell wept, not only from the pain but from the crushing realization that this was her life now—her eternity. There would be no love, no freedom, no solace beyond the twisted versions Lucian offered. Even the love of her husband, and her children, was gone—a distant, fading memory, more dream than reality now. There was nothing left to fight for, nothing for her hate to cling to.


    Lucian stood there, patient and unmoving, watching her weep in silence, like a vulture waiting for its prey to surrender. Three hundred years of torment, defiance, and hate poured out of her in ragged sobs that filled the room, echoing off the cold stone walls. She wept until there was nothing left, until every shred of resistance was drained, her body utterly spent.


    When her sobs finally quieted, when her body stilled and her tears ran dry, Lucian stepped closer. His body radiated with an intensity she hardly ever saw in him.


    “Are you finally ready for peace, my love?” he whispered, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. “Are you ready for the pain to stop?”


    Isabell tried to fight the word that was bubbling up inside her, but she couldn’t stop it. The defiance that had kept her alive was gone, washed away by years of torment. She was empty, hollow, and weak.


    “Yes,” she breathed.


    Lucian smiled, a victorious gleam in his eyes. His hands found her waist, pulling her close as he reached up to unshackle her from the chains that had held her captive. She slumped into him, too weak to stand on her own, her body collapsing against him for support.


    He held her tight as one hand slid to her chin, tilting her face up so her tear-streaked eyes met his. His lips hovered over hers, a dark promise in his gaze.


    “You are mine now, Isabell,” he whispered, running a hand through her hair. “I won’t hurt you anymore… not unless you force me to.”


    And then, he kissed her. It was a kiss far too gentle for the monster that he was. He pulled back slightly as if savoring the moment and then he captured her lips once more, deepening the kiss and turning it possessive—claiming her in a way that felt final. It was a victory he had long waited for she knew. Isabell could feel his hunger for her and she let herself melt into it - into him, too broken to resist. The last remnants of her will slipped away as his lips moved against hers.


    When he finally pulled away, he brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his voice sickly sweet. “Rest now, my sweet. You’ll need to gain back your strength before you complete some tasks for me.”


    He stepped back, watching her crumple to the ground, spent and broken. She was his now, in every way that mattered, and there was no escaping that truth.