Sincerely, Marlena

52

Sincerely, Marlena.

I couldn't stop the pounding in my chest. Every step I took away from him felt like walking through fire. Lucien—his voice, his touch—it was all too much. I could still feel the ghost of his fingers brushing against my skin, the heat in his eyes. It was like he was everywhere, consuming my thoughts and driving me insane.

The moment outside, when he touched my face, had nearly undone me. I'd felt the pull between us—dangerous and undeniable. But I'd fought it off, pushing him away like I always did. He didn't need to see more of me. No one did. Not after everything I'd been through.

I was halfway to the barracks when I heard footsteps behind me. Fast, purposeful. I knew who it was before I even turned around.

"What now, Lucien?" I asked without facing him, my voice sharp and defensive. I didn't need another confrontation. Not after the one we'd just had. Not with everything bubbling under the surface between us.

"Why the hell do you keep walking away?" he growled, his voice rough and raw.

I spun around to face him, my anger rising to match his. "Because you don't get it!" I snapped, my hands balling into fists. "You don't know what I've been through, what I've had to do to survive."

"And whose fault is that?" he shot back, stepping closer, his eyes locked on mine. "You never tell me anything. You act like you're carrying the weight of the world, but you won't let anyone help you."

I clenched my jaw, my heart racing. "I don't need your help. I never asked for it."

Lucien moved even closer, his voice lowering into something more dangerous, more intimate. "Maybe not, but I'm offering it anyway."

His words hit me hard, the intensity between us building again. I could feel the heat of his body, the tension crackling in the air around us. He was too close, too overwhelming. I couldn't think straight with him standing this close to me.

"I'm not some damsel in distress, Lucien," I said, my voice softer now, but still laced with anger. "I don't need you to save me."

He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "You think this is about saving you?" His hand shot out, grabbing my arm, pulling me just a breath away from him. "This is about you pushing yourself too damn hard, taking risks that could get you killed."

"And why do you care?" I fired back, my voice rising as I fought the urge to lean into him, to close the distance between us. "Because if I die, you lose another soldier? Is that it?"

Lucien's grip tightened, his jaw clenching. "No, Marlena. That's not it. I care because I can't stop thinking about you. Even when I know I shouldn't. Even when I know it's dangerous."

His words took the breath out of me, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through my defenses like a blade. For a second, I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

But I had to keep control. I couldn't let him get any closer. Not when everything between us was so volatile.

I wrenched my arm free from his grip, stepping back. "You don't know anything about me," I said, my voice trembling with the effort to keep him at bay. "You don't even know why I hate East Ridge. Why I can't stop thinking about them."

His eyes darkened, the intensity in them deepening. "Then tell me, Marlena. Tell me why."

I stared at him, my mind racing. I couldn't tell him. Not the whole truth. But part of me—the part that was tired of carrying this burden alone—wanted to. Needed to.

"My group," I began slowly, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "My brothers and I... we've fought East Ridge before."

Lucien's expression changed, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Your brothers?"

I nodded, my chest tightening as I thought of them. The memories, the fights, the scars we'd all earned together. "We've had run-ins with East Ridge in the past. It's personal. That's why I can't just let this go."

Lucien was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching mine for something, anything that could explain why I hadn't told him this sooner. But I didn't owe him an explanation. Not yet.

"And where are they now?" he asked, his voice softening slightly.

"I don't know," I whispered, the admission burning in my throat. "We got separated months ago. I've been trying to survive ever since."

Lucien exhaled sharply, the tension between us shifting slightly. "And you think you're going to find them by killing yourself in the process?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him. "I'm doing what I have to. Just like you."

There was a heavy silence between us, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us. I could feel the heat of his gaze on me, the way his eyes roamed over my face, my body, as if trying to piece together the puzzle of who I was.

"You're impossible," Lucien muttered, stepping back slightly, his frustration clear.

"And you're infuriating," I shot back, my pulse still racing from the intensity of our argument.

He stared at me for a long moment, the tension between us hanging in the air like a live wire. Then, with a suddenness that took me off guard, he stepped forward, closing the distance between us again. His hands grabbed my arms, rough but not painful, and before I could stop him, his mouth was on mine.

The kiss was fierce, heated, angry. Everything between us—the frustration, the desire, the tension—boiled over in that moment. I kissed him back, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer, needing to feel something, anything, that wasn't the constant weight of survival.

It was a kiss of desperation, of release. And when we finally pulled apart, both of us breathing hard, the fire between us still burned just as hot as before.

"This doesn't change anything," I said, my voice hoarse.

Lucien's lips curled into a dangerous smirk. "No, it doesn't. But it sure as hell complicates things."

I shoved him away, my heart still pounding in my chest. "You have no idea."

As I turned and walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just crossed a line I could never come back from. But part of me didn't care.

Part of me wanted more.