birds. It was peaceful, and I needed that as much as Lucien did. I breathed in the scent of pine and earth. Then, when I felt ready, I stopped walking and looked at him.
“You are a part of someone I love very much,” I finally said. “Someone who has been good and true even when mired in ugliness. Every part of me screams to help you.” I paused as I recalled Raphael's words. “But this isn't my fight.” I took both of his hands in mine. “I can support you in it. I can guide you through it if you let me. But, in the end, you must conquer your darkness alone.”
Lucien's jaw clenched.
“Yeah, that's rough,” I said softly. “I've been there. It's painful. You have to face truths about yourself that would break most people—shatter their minds. You have to see who you really are and then decide who you want to be. Because even though it seems as if you can never be anything other than this, you are wrong, Lucien. You have a choice. Everyone can change, even you. You are not just his emotions. You have a mind and a heart—use them.”
“At night,” Lucien whispered, “I hold you and I watch you while you dream. I think about the things I've done to you and to the people you love, and I...” He swallowed roughly but held my gaze. “I regret them, Elaria. I look at your face, and I want to be the man you would—” he broke off, his eyes misting and his voice cracking.
“The man I would shield from a whip with my own body?” I finished softly. “The man I would beg and debase myself for? The man I would tell to take pleasure from another woman rather than suffer for me?”
Lucien took a steadying breath and blinked his tears away. “Yes. But I will never be that man. I need you to accept me as I am, as you offered to do in the beginning. Could you do that, Elaria? Could you still love me if I falter every day? If I hurt you as much as I pleasure you? Could you take the pain for me?”
“I want to say yes,” I whispered. “I want to be the woman who could love you even as you scorn me.”
Lucien hung his head. “But you can't.”
“No.” I stroked a hand over his cheek. “And I don't think you'd want me if I could.”
He looked up at me. “You're wrong. You're so wrong about me.” He made an enraged sound and drew back. “I want so much from you. I want you as you are, strong and defiant. But I also want you on your knees, bleeding and crying. I want you to submit and to defy me. I want your love and your hatred.” His hands clenched into fists. “I want everything, but all I get is nothing! No matter what you give me, it's not enough. I feel empty or angry or hopeless. I never feel satisfied!”
“And you think that if I accepted you and became all of that for you—weak and strong, queen and slave, lover and enemy—that you would finally feel satisfaction?”
“I don't know.” Lucien's shoulders drooped as his fury left him in a rush. “I don't even know if it's possible to satisfy me. I am endless hunger, Elaria. A void that cannot be filled.”
“Because you're looking outside of yourself for something to fill it, Lucien,” I said gently. “That will never work. You must fill the void yourself. You already have what you need.”
“You're talking about my brother,” he whispered.
“You weren't always like this,” I reminded him. “You were whole once. Do you remember it?”
Lucien frowned. “It's like a song whose lyrics elude me.”
A song. Lucien may have forgotten the words, but maybe I could help him remember. I lifted my hands to his face and started to sing. My magic didn't rise this time, but I sang on anyway. I sang about breaking through to him, about silencing his screaming demons and taking everything he could throw at me. Lucien's hands covered mine and brought them down between us. But he didn't let go; he held me tightly and as he did, the music of Valerie Broussard's “Deeper” joined my singing. Not from Kyanite, but from him. Lucien gave me the music so I could sing to him.
The forest hummed with the gentle sounds that suddenly pounded up into a powerful chorus. I slid my arms up