A heart of the vampire

Chapter 28

Lucian stepped into the chamber, and his breath caught in his chest. There she was, lying on the cold stone floor, surrounded by silence. He had found her at last, but the sight of her nearly undid him. Serena's body was littered with makeshift bandages, each one soaked through with dark patches of blood. Bruises and cuts covered her skin, a raw testament to the torment she had endured. The smell of blood and damp stone filled the air, stirring a mixture of rage and sorrow within him.

He dropped to his knees beside her, gently placing his trembling hand on her cheek. Her skin felt too cold, even with the heat from her wounds, and her face was pale and drawn. Despite the bandages, it was clear she was losing blood faster than she could heal. Each breath she took was shallow and uneven, but it told him that she was still with him, still alive.

"Serena..." he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his voice thick with emotion. He could hardly believe he'd found her, but the joy was dulled by the anger that seethed beneath the surface. How could they have done this to her? He looked at the blood-stained bandages, knowing that someone had patched her up just enough to prolong her suffering, to keep her trapped in this cycle of pain.

He scanned the room, every nerve on edge, straining to hear any sounds beyond the door. They needed to get out before anyone else came, but he wasn't sure how far she could be moved still bleeding. Yet leaving her was unthinkable.

"Serena, can you hear me?" he murmured softly, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment. He willed her to wake up, to give him some sign, any sign, that she would be alright. He gently touched one of the bandages on her arm, noticing the fresh blood seeping through. Each wound seemed too recent, as if inflicted only to prevent her from escaping.

"You're safe now. I won't let them hurt you again," he whispered, his voice a low promise. He had fought his way here for her, and he would fight his way back out if he had to.

Just as he was beginning to fear she might not wake, her eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes, her gaze unfocused but seeking.

"Lucian..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet each syllable pierced through him like a blade. Her lips trembled, and he could see the struggle in her eyes as she fought to focus, to find him through the haze of pain.

"I'm here, Serena," he replied, his voice gentle but fierce, as if his words alone could shield her from everything she had endured. He brushed his fingers over her cheek, trying to steady her, his heart aching at the sight of her so fragile. The tremor in her limbs, the wince that crossed her face with every breath—it was all too clear how much she had suffered.

"You... came," she managed, her voice a thin thread, each word dragging a painful breath. Despite everything, there was a glimmer in her eyes, a small spark that hadn't been extinguished.

"Of course I came," he murmured, swallowing back the anger and anguish threatening to rise. "I would tear down these walls brick by brick for you."

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered, her voice fragile, each word pulled from a place of despair. "It's... too late, Lucian. They took the threads of fate from me. They ripped them out... and with them, they broke the curse. I'm no longer bound to anything. Amara is gone." Her face twisted in grief as she struggled to hold his gaze, her strength draining. "It's over."

A dark anger rose in him, but he kept his touch gentle as he cradled her face, drawing her back to him. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice fierce, each word laced with a desperate tenderness. "Whatever they tore away, none of it matters. All I need is you."

Lucian knelt beside Serena, his hands trembling as he gently brushed a lock of hair from her face, watching her fragile form as if it would shatter at his touch. Each shallow breath she took sounded like it might be her last, and he felt his heart splintering with every labored rise and fall of her chest. She wasn't supposed to be like this—not broken, not dying. He'd come all this way, fought through darkness and blood, and now, kneeling beside her, he could feel her slipping away, like sand falling through his fingers.