<h4>Chapter 363: Lucian’s Unspoken Feelings- I</h4>
<strong>Lucian’s POV</strong>
He sank to his knees, his body giving way as though the strength had simply drained out of him. His head bowed low, shoulders hunched in defeat.
Helpless.
"If you have ever thought of me as something," he said hoarsely, "let me have this. Don’t take my only dream away from me. I can’t hold on any longer without that drug."
My resolve wavered.
My vision blurred as my own eyes grew moist. He was not the kind of man who broke. Not even at the brink of death. Not even when the world had stripped him of everything.
And yet here he was, shattered before me.
I swore to myself I never wanted to see him like this again.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing my lungs to expand, forcing my mind to steady itself against the turmoil he had stirred within me. My hand, which had been poised to crush the box without hesitation, gradually loosened its grip.
Instead, I walked toward him.
"I will let you have it just this once," I said atst.
He lifted his head. Hope, fragile yet unmistakable, shed across his eyes.
"But," I continued firmly, "I will inject it. And only a little. I will not allow you the entire syringe."
"Fine," he agreed at once, too quickly. "As long as it helps mest a few more months."
The desperation in his voice did not escape me.
I slipped the box into my back pocket and kept the syringe in my hand as I knelt before him.
"Hand," I ordered quietly.
He extended his arm.
I unsealed the syringe with steady fingers and pressed the needle carefully into his skin. My eyes remained fixed on the barrel as I began to depress the plunger, releasing only a measured amount.
But in the next instant, his hand closed over mine.
Before I could react, he forced the plunger down, emptying the syringe entirely.
"Rafe," I snarled, attempting to pull back.
It was toote. Most of the drug had already entered his bloodstream.
I yanked the syringe away and red at him, fury zing through me.
"The fuck did you just do, bastard?"
He remainedposed. Calm. Almost content. Slowly, he rose to his feet as though nothing had happened.
"That little wouldn’t have worked," he said lightly, looking down at me, even managing a faint smile. "Thanks."
That sad exterior of his now returned to his usual smug one.
I hated him in that moment.
I shot to my feet and shoved him back against the tree, my hand closing around his throat. My teeth ground together as I tightened my grip just enough to make my warning clear.
"Don’t ever take advantage of my trust and kindness. I hate it the most."
He did not struggle.
Instead, he smirked.
"Calm down and go back to your mate," he said evenly, his voice only slightly strained. "I am sure she holds more interest to you than the anger you are feeling at me."
My furious gaze roamed over his infuriatingly smug face, which only deepened my rage. I had never known what to do with him. He was impossible to control, impossible to predict. And I hated it.
"Are you done with her after only one night?" he continued, deliberately provoking. "Are you that weak?"
"Weak?" I spat, my grip tightening.
"Are you not? Then go back to her."
"Are you trying to provoke me into something else?" I asked, leaning closer, my breath warm against his skin.
"Am I? Why would I?" His feigned innocence only fanned the mes within me. "What would I even provoke you into... Ugh..."
Before he could finish that infuriating sentence, I crushed my mouth against his.
One second I had him pinned against the tree, my hand tight around his throat, fury burning through me, and the next my mouth was on his.
It was not gentle. It was not nned.
It was fury. Frustration. Fear. Everything I had refused to acknowledge.
I did not care if he called me out for itter. I did not care what this meant, or what itplicated between us.
In that moment, silencing him felt just right.
To be precise, kissing him felt just right.
My fingers were still twisted in his shirt, gripping the fabric as though I could not decide whether to pull him closer or shove him away. My lips continued against his, teeth grazing, breath colliding. I tasted salt from the water and the faint metallic hint of blood where his lip must have split earlier.
For a heartbeat, he froze. Then he kissed me back.
His hands came up and gripped my wrists. Not to push me away. Not to fight.
To hold.
That only made it worse.
I kissed him harder, as if I could force all my rage into him. As if I could make him feel what he had just done to me. The fear. The helplessness. The fucking terror of watching him choose death in slow motion.
He answered with equal intensity.
His back pressed more firmly against the rough bark of the tree as he tilted his head, allowing the kiss to deepen. His grip tightened, pulling me a fraction closer instead of retreating. There was defiance in it. There was always defiance in him.
My breath turned ragged. So did his.
The world around us seemed to vanish. There was no cliff. No drug. No ticking clock looming over his life.
There was only heat.
Only him.
I did not intend for it to change, but it did.
The violence in the kiss began to thin. My jaw loosened. My grip shifted from punishing to the want and need I felt. My mouth still moved against his, but something else had taken root beneath the anger.
<i>Stay.</i>
<i>Do not leave me.</i>
<i>Do not make me watch you die.</i>
I did not speak the words. I poured them into the kiss instead.
His fingers slowly slid down my arms, no longer gripping in challenge. His breath trembled faintly against my mouth.
When the kiss finally broke, it was not because I wanted it to.
It happened gradually. Our lips parted inch by inch, reluctant to let go. My forehead almost brushed his. I could feel his breath against my skin, warm despite the cold water that still clung to us.
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