Duke Charming | Craig

Thirty-Five

'Isn't this lovely?' Lucine's voice came from every corner of my head like the scraping of cutlery against a plate. 'All the trauma and self-loathing you hide so deep, way at the back of your mind. My, you really had it rough, didn't you?'

'Get out of my head,' I warned her. Other than that, I didn't know what to do while she was part of me.

I could ram myself into a wall and hope that in impact would be enough to knock me out. If spirits couldn't possess dead vessels, then I'd like to see her achieve anything while I'm unconscious.

But when I tried moving my legs, I found they were being held in place by an invisible force, limiting my movements to only turning my head.

'I can't move,' I realized and hissed. 'What did you do?'

'Same as I did to your old mate,' she replied darkly as something sharp pierced my brain from the inside. I would've crumpled in pain had she not seized control of my legs and kept me standing. 'Oh, that's interesting. I always wondered what the inside of a werecat's mind look like. What happens if I do this?'

Flashes of agonizing pain rippled through me. Lucine's invisible claws were curving into my brain and sifting through every memory I had thought I forgot. I saw them play out before me, from the day my father stole me from my mother, the absolute panic in his eyes when he discovered later what he had done, and how days later, he was preparing to give me back.

I never realized I had those memories, seeing as I was just a baby back then – never knew my father felt guilt for what he did.

The scene changed to him bursting into the house, face streaked with dirt, clothes stained with something dark, and hair dishevelled like he's raked his hands through it in grief. I flinched when, out of nowhere, he flipped the dresser that stood beside the door. It tumbled through the air and hit the opposite wall, the deafening sound reverberating through me.

He trashed the bedroom, levelling everything except the crib from where I was watching, witnessing the disturbing scene from baby Nel's point of view. Only when there was nothing left to destroy, did he drop to his knees with trembling shoulders, and I realized he was crying. The streaks on his face were tears that mixed with dirt, and the stains on his clothes...were blood.

My heart dropped when I saw the signs – he was grieving. And I should know. That was me after Dario's rejection. And this was him after he had just witnessed my mother, his mate, kill herself in front of his eyes.

Never in my life would I have thought I'd see him show weakness, even less weep at the foot of my crib. The air was heavy with his melancholy and somehow affected me even at such a young age.

His crying was soon joined my mine, which prompted him to look up right into my eyes. For a split second, he remembered I was there. He might have wreaked havoc on the room, but my crib was the only thing he didn't touch, and I was the only one who understood his pain.

As my crying grew shriller, he slowly climbed to his feet and hovered over the crib, hands braced on the rails. I couldn't wrap my head around how awful he looked, what the death of his mate did to him. he hardly looked anything like the man I grew up knowing as my father, the man who seldom smiled, and who wore a scowl like he invented it.

This man was frail, broken, and weak.

At last, his hands reached into the crib, and I was taken out. Baby Nel was gently held against his chest, little head resting just underneath his chin, and he was rocking slowly to calm her down.

"It's okay," he cooed, voice still thick with grief. "It's okay, little one. I'm sorry for scaring you. I...I did something terrible, and I'm so, so sorry for it. If I could go back in time..." He had to stop for a moment to sniffle, and I caught the faint sobs that shook his shoulders. "...but it doesn't matter now, I guess. She's gone and it's all my fault. But you'll be okay, though. I'll take care of you, little Chanel."