The afternoon sun cast long, warm shadows across the estate's manicured lawns, a stark contrast to the chilling darkness festering in its depths. In the grand kitchen, a place usually filled with the cheerful clatter of meal preparation, a different kind of tension simmered.
"Absolutely not, Alexa." Lucian's voice was low, a blade sheathed in velvet, but the steel beneath was unmistakable. He stood between her and the doorway, his broad frame blocking the light. In his hand, he held a simple wooden tray bearing a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a cup of water.
"It's just food, Lucian," Alexa countered, her hands planted on her hips. "He's chained, warded, and drained. That dungeon could hold a demigod. What exactly do you think he's going to do? Bore me to death with his eyes?"
"It's not about what he can do," Allison interjected, leaning against the marble countertop, her arms crossed. She'd been drawn by the raised voices. "It's about what he is. That thing down there is a predator. You don't walk into its cage just to drop off a meal. It's beneath you. Let a guard do it."
"A guard he's already tried to enchant twice," Alexa shot back. "His voice… it has an effect. I'm the least susceptible." She reached for the tray. "And it's not beneath me. It's basic decency. We are not savages. We feed our prisoners."
Lucian's hand tightened on the tray. "Decency? This is the same person who supported Elarian in turning innocent people to ghouls. The same one who fought beside Elarian. He doesn't deserve your decency, Alexa. He deserves a blade to the throat, and you know it."
"And we will get our answers, Lucian. But we will do it as who we are, not as who they are. Starving him, torturing him… that's their method. It breeds more hatred, more resistance. I'm not asking to free him. I'm asking to take him his dinner."
The air crackled between them. Lucian's silver eyes searched hers, he saw the same stubborn light he has, the light that now terrified him because it compelled her to walk toward danger instead of away from it.
"Every moment you spend near him is a risk," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "To you." His gaze flickered.
"And keeping him alive is a risk. Letting him fester in hatred is a risk. If there is even a sliver of a chance that we can learn something, understand their motives, perhaps even find a weakness in Elarian… isn't that a risk worth taking?"
She held his gaze, unblinking. Finally, with a frustrated growl that was more wolf than man, Lucian thrust the tray into her hands.
"Fine. But you take two guards to the door. You leave the cell door open. You are to go in and come out immediately. No conversation. You drop the tray and you leave. Do you understand?"
Alexa nodded, a small victory won. "I understand."
"And if he so much as looks at you wrong," Lucian added, pushing off the counter, his eyes glinting with stormy promise, "I'll personally turn that dungeon into an execution ground and scatter his atoms across the continent."
A faint smile touched Alexa's lips. "Noted."
---
The descent into the dungeons was always a journey into another world. The warm, sun-drenched air of the main house gave way to a pervasive, damp chill that seeped through clothes and into bones. The two guards Lucian had insisted on followed her to the heavy iron-banded door of Lysander's cell, taking up positions on either side, their hands resting on the triggers of their guns.
Alexa took a steadying breath, the tray feeling suddenly heavy in her hands. She could feel the dampening air even through the door, a silent hum that made the air feel thick, like wading through water. It was designed to suppress magical energy, to make a prisoner feel weak and utterly powerless.
She nodded to the guards, who unlocked the door with a loud, grating clang. It swung inward, revealing the small, stark cell.
Lysander was sitting on the stone floor, his back to her, his head bowed. His silver hair, usually a striking mantle, was lank and dull in the dim light. The manacles on his wrists and ankles were thick, dark metal, etched with the same runes as the walls, connected by short chains to iron rings bolted into the floor. He gave no indication that he had heard her enter. He was so still he could have been a statue carved from shadow and despair.
'Typical,' Alexa thought, a surge of defiant irritation rising in her chest. "The brooding prisoner act. You should be happy we consider giving you food, hmph."
She mumbled the thought under her breath, stepping fully into the cell. The door remained open behind her, a rectangle of warmer hallway.
"Your meal," she announced, her voice echoing slightly in the stone confines.
At the sound of her voice, he moved. It wasn't a sudden jerk, but a slow, deliberate uncoiling, as if he were a great cat rousing itself from a deep sleep. He turned his head, then rose to his feet in one fluid, unnervingly graceful motion, the chains clinking softly with the movement.
And then Alexa saw him fully.
The stories, the brief glimpses on the battlefield, had not prepared her. The dampening field might have suppressed his power, but it could do nothing to diminish the sheer, devastating beauty of the man. His face was a study in perfect, sharp angles, a blade-sharp jaw, high cheekbones that cast elegant shadows, a straight, patrician nose. His skin was pale, like alabaster, making the silver of his eyes all the more startling. They weren't just silver; they were like liquid mercury, sharp, intelligent, and depthless, holding a cold light that seemed to see right through her. His lips were finely shaped, a pale rose color, curved in a faint, unreadable line. Even in the grim setting, dressed in simple, clean clothes, his hair disheveled, he was breathtaking. It was a beauty that was rare and dangerous, like the intricate patterns on a venomous snake or the serene stillness of the eye of a hurricane.
Alexa, who was surrounded by striking men like Lucian's rugged, wild handsomeness, Ren's sharp, brooding intensity, felt her breath catch in her throat. For a moment, her mind went utterly, stupidly blank. The rehearsed, dismissive lines evaporated from her brain.
His sharp, metallic eyes swept over her, from the strands of hair that had escaped her braid to the tray in her hands, missing nothing. A faint, almost imperceptible glint sparked in their depths.
She swallowed, forcing her lungs to work. "I… I brought you… food."
'Smooth, Alexa. Very smooth.' She said inwardly.
A deep, melodic baritone broke the silence, seeming to vibrate in the very stone around them. "When will Lucian release me?"
The question was so direct, so audacious, that it snapped her out of her stupor. She blinked, frowning. "I don't know," she said, her voice firmer now. "That's not a decision for me to make." She gestured with the tray towards a small, crude wooden stool in the corner. "May I?"