She screamed, a bestial sound that made Marie's blood run cold.
Matthew's ears began bleeding as well, joining the crimson flowing from his eyes.
Then his nose.
Then his mouth.
Blood poured from every orifice as Lorenzo forced more and more into his mind, more than any human consciousness could bear.
Matthew's scream finally cut off as his voice gave out entirely.
He went limp in Lorenzo's grip, blood pouring down his face like a grotesque mask.
Lorenzo released his head with one hand and grabbed his throat instead with the other.
She bared her fangs—long and wickedly sharp.
Then she lunged forward and bit down, hard, on Matthew's throat.
Her teeth tore through flesh and muscle like they were paper.
She ripped out a massive chunk of his throat, blood spraying across her face and chest in a hot fountain.
Matthew collapsed to his knees as Lorenzo released him, clutching his ruined throat with both hands.
Blood pumped between his fingers in rhythmic spurts, each pulse weaker than the last.
He tried to scream but could only make wet, gurgling sounds.
Lorenzo spat out the flesh she had torn away and cracked her neck casually, rolling her shoulders as though she had just finished a light workout.
Then she turned.
And saw Marie standing there, eyes wide open, watching everything.
Seeing the monster she had become.
Panic flooded Lorenzo's expression.
The predatory confidence evaporated instantly, replaced by desperate, human fear.
The red began to fade from her eyes, the veins receding, her fangs slowly retracting.
"Marie..." Lorenzo started
Marie's eyes were unfocused, staring through Lorenzo rather than at her.
Her face had gone deathly pale.
"Don't tell me you saw all this" Lorenzo said desperately, reaching for her.
Marie's eyes rolled back in her head.
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed.
Lorenzo caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her in bloody arms, leaving red handprints on her clothes.
"Marie!"Lorenzo said, her voice high with panic, the red completely gone from her eyes now, leaving them their normal color but filled with terror. "Marie, wake up! Please!"
She shook her gently, then more urgently.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered, the words breaking apart in her mouth. "I'm so sorry…"
She pressed her forehead to Marie's temple, eyes squeezing shut.
"I didn't want you to see that… not like that… not ever…"
But Marie was completely limp, her face pale as death, her breathing shallow and rapid—the breath of someone in severe shock.
She had fainted from the shock and the sheer horror of what she had witnessed.
From seeing the person she loved transform into a blood-soaked monster who tore out a man's throat with her teeth.
From experiencing, even second-hand, the visions of decades of violence.
The last thing Marie had heard before darkness claimed her was Lorenzo's voice—desperate and broken and so very human despite everything—calling her name over and over again.
Begging her to wake up.
Promising everything would be alright.
An hour later, Lorenzo still sat in the gore-soaked grove, Marie's unconscious form cradled in her arms.
She had not moved. Had not spoken.
She just held Marie, rocking slightly, staring at nothing.
Behind Matthew's corpse, still on his knees with his throat torn open, the blood had stopped flowing. Flies were already beginning to gather.
The afternoon sun slanted through the trees, casting long shadows across the carnage.
Then Lorenzo heard them—the sound of horses approaching at speed, men calling out to each other.
Her soldiers burst into the grove, weapons drawn, ready for battle.
They stopped dead when they saw the scene before them.
Bodies everywhere. Blood soaking into the earth. Limbs scattered. Entrails hanging from tree branches.
And in the center of it all, Lorenzo, covered head to toe in blood and gore, holding Marie's limp body.
"Madonna santa," (Holy Mary,) Pierro whispered, crossing himself.
The men approached slowly, cautiously, as though approaching a wild animal that might bolt or attack.
"Your Highness," Roberto said carefully, his weathered face pale. "We need to take Lady Marie. We need to get her to the physicians."
Lorenzo did not respond. Did not even look up.
She just held Marie tighter, Marie's body seeming so small and fragile in her arms, smaller than Lorenzo remembered, weaker, as though she might break.
"Your Highness,"Roberto tried again, his voice gentle but firm. "Please. Let us help."
Two soldiers moved forward carefully and knelt beside Lorenzo.
"We need to take her now," Pierro said softly. "She needs care."
They reached out and gently began to pry Marie from Lorenzo's grip.
Lorenzo's arms tightened reflexively, a low sound escaping her throat—not quite a growl, but close.
"Enzo," Roberto said, using her name rather than her title. "Let us help You, my lord. Let us take care of her."
Something in his tone broke through.
Lorenzo's arms loosened.
The soldiers carefully lifted Marie from her lap, cradling her gently as they carried her toward the horses.
Lorenzo remained sitting in the blood-soaked grass, staring at her empty hands.
Her men looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time.
She was completely uninjured.
Not a scratch on her despite the obvious signs of battle. Despite the sword cuts in her clothing where blades had clearly pierced her body.
The blood covering her was not her own.
They turned to look at the carnage surrounding them.
This was not the work of a sword, no matter how skilfully wielded.
Bodies had been torn apart. Throats ripped out. Chests opened by bare hands. A man's head severed and tossed aside like garbage.
This looked like the work of a wild beast.
A monster.
These men had fought beside Lorenzo for years. Had seen her in battle countless times. Had witnessed her speed, her strength, her skill.
But this...
This was beyond anything they had thought possible.
Fear and respect warred in their expressions as they looked at their prince...this blood-soaked figure sitting motionless in a field of carnage.
One of the younger soldiers backed away, his face white, his hand trembling on his sword hilt.
"Montate," he said sharply. (Mount up.)"Torniamo al campo. Subito."(We return to camp. Now.)
They obeyed quickly, grateful for the excuse to leave this place of horror.
Pierro and Roberto approached Lorenzo cautiously.
"Your Highness," Pierro said. "We need to go. Can you stand?"
Lorenzo did not respond.
They exchanged glances, then carefully reached down and helped her to her feet.
She moved mechanically, allowing herself to be led to her horse like a puppet.
They had to lift her into the saddle.
She sat there, hands loose on the reins, staring at nothing.
The ride back to camp was silent except for the sound of hoofbeats and the occasional jingle of tack.
Marie was carried carefully by two riders, her unconscious body held securely.
Lorenzo rode behind them, still covered in blood, still silent, still staring at nothing.
THE CAMP
By the time they arrived at the camp, word had already spread.
Soldiers lined up to see the returning party, their faces grave.
Marcello stood at the center of camp, his expression tight with worry.
The moment he saw Marie's unconscious form, he rushed forward.
"What happened?" he demanded. "Is she injured?"
"We do not know, sir," Roberto said. "We found her like this. His Highness was holding her. There was... there was a lot of blood."
Marcello's eyes found Lorenzo, and his expression shifted from worry to shock.
Lorenzo was dismounting—or rather, being helped down from her horse by two soldiers who had to steady her.
She was covered head to toe in blood and gore. Her hair was matted with it. Her face was streaked with it. Her clothes were soaked through, dripping.
But Marcello could see immediately—none of it was hers.
She was completely uninjured.
Portatela subito alla tenda medica! Chiamate i medici....subito!" Marcello barked. (Take her to the medical tent immediately! Call the physicians—now!)
Soldiers rushed to obey, carrying Marie away gently.
Marcello turned his attention to Lorenzo.
He had seen her in various states after battle over the years. Had seen her disgusted, exhausted, covered in the blood of her enemies.
But this...
Lorenzo stood there, swaying slightly, her eyes unfocused.
Her lips were moving.
Marcello stepped closer and realized she was speaking—barely above a whisper, the same words over and over.
"Mi dispiace… mi dispiace… non volevo… ha visto tutto… Dio… ha visto tutto…"(I am sorry… I am sorry… I did not mean to… she saw everything… God… she saw everything…)
A constant litany of apology and horror, rambling and disconnected.
She was non-verbal in any meaningful sense, lost somewhere inside herself, trapped in whatever had happened.
The soldiers were watching, their faces pale, fear evident in their expressions.
Even the most loyal among them looked shaken.
They could see Lorenzo was physically fine—not a scratch on her.
But she looked like death itself.
Like something that had crawled out of hell and could not find its way back.
And they had not seen the bodies. The carnage. But by her state, they could guess the savagery uncommon to any man they had ever known.
Whatever Lorenzo had done out there, it had been beyond human.
Marcello made a quick decision.
"Basta così. Tornate ai vostri posti. E non una parola fuori da questo campo. È chiaro?"he said sharply to the gathered soldiers. (That is enough. Return to your posts. Not a word leaves this camp. Is that understood?)
"Sì, signore," (Yes, sir,) they chorused, grateful to be released.
They dispersed quickly, casting nervous glances back at Lorenzo as they went.
Marcello grabbed Lorenzo's arm gently but firmly.
"Come with me,"he said quietly.
Lorenzo did not resist as he led her away from the center of camp, through the trees, toward the sound of running water.
They reached a small river—clear and cold, flowing over smooth stones.
Marcello positioned Lorenzo at the water's edge and knelt beside her.
He pulled out a cloth from his pack and soaked it in the river.
Then, with infinite gentleness, he began to wipe the blood from her hands.
Lorenzo was still whispering, still rambling.
"Mi dispiace… ho perso il controllo… non doveva vederlo… non così…"(I am sorry… I lost control… she was not supposed to see it… not like that…)
"Shh," Marcello said softly, working the cloth over her fingers, between them, cleaning away the gore. " Sei qui ( You are here). Sei al sicuro (You are safe now.)"
He moved to her face, wiping her cheeks, her forehead, her chin with careful strokes.
Lorenzo's eyes finally focused on him—really seeing him for the first time since they had arrived.
"Marcello," she whispered, her voice breaking. "She saw."
"Tell me what happened," Marcello said gently, continuing to clean her face. "Start from the beginning."
Lorenzo took a shuddering breath.
"We were at the meeting point. I was telling her the truth. About... about everything. Who I am. What I am."
Marcello nodded, his expression neutral, encouraging her to continue.
"She ran," Lorenzo said, tears beginning to stream down her face, cutting clean paths through the blood Marcello had not yet wiped away. "She was overwhelmed. She ran into the forest. And Matthew was waiting. He had been tracking us. He had forty men."
Marcello's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"They ambushed us. Took Marie. Started attacking me. I was holding them off, but there were so many. They stabbed me—multiple times. Kept coming."
Her breathing was becoming ragged now.
"Matthew took Marie. Started riding away with her. I could not... I could not let him take her. I could not lose her."
She looked at Marcello with desperate, haunted eyes.
"So I unleashed it. The curse. I stopped holding back. I let it take over completely."
Marcello closed his eyes briefly, understanding flooding his face.
"I killed them all," Lorenzo continued, her voice flat now, emotionless. "Every single one. Tore them apart. I was not even thinking anymore. Just hunting. Just killing."
She swallowed hard.
"I caught up to Matthew. He had her in a grove. He had hurt her, Marcello. He had torn her shirt —"
Her voice broke completely.
"I used it," she whispered. "The power I only used once before. On that spy. The one we were interrogating. Do you remember?"
Marcello's eyes opened, and something like fear flickered across his face.
"The visions," he said quietly.
Lorenzo nodded, tears flowing freely now.
"I forced him to see everything. Every battlefield. Every kill. Every death across centuries of the Sforza curse. I broke his mind. Made his eyes bleed. And then I..."
She could not finish.
Marcello already knew.
"Marie's eyes were open," Lorenzo said, her voice barely audible. "How ...I do not know...!! Sh shouldn't have been able to after i commanded her to keep them closed ! She saw all of it. She saw what I did to him. She saw me tear out his throat with my teeth. She saw the monster I really am."
She started sobbing—deep, wrenching sobs that shook her entire body.
"She looked at me with such horror, Marcello. Such fear. And then she fainted. She could not even bear to be conscious near me."
Marcello dropped the cloth and pulled Lorenzo into his arms, holding her tightly as she cried.
"L'ho persa… Dio, l'ho persa… non tornerà… non dopo questo…"Lorenzo sobbed against his shoulder. (I lost her… God, I lost her… she will not come back… not after this…)
"Shh,"Marcello murmured, one hand stroking her blood-matted hair. "Breathe. Just breathe."
He was the closest thing to a father Lorenzo had ever known.
After her grandfather's death, after her real father's assassination, Marcello had been there. Had raised her, trained her, protected her secrets.
He had seen the curse unleashed before. Had been there the one other time Lorenzo had used that particular power—forcing a captured spy to experience decades of violence in seconds, breaking his mind completely to extract information.
Marcello had witnessed it all. Had lived through it with her. Had helped her bear the weight of what she was.
So the horror of what she had done did not shock him the way it would shock others.
But he knew—he understood better than anyone—what this would mean for Marie.
Someone like Marie, who was kind and gentle and good, who had never seen true violence before...
To witness that level of savagery, that level of inhuman power...
It would be devastating.
"She loves you," Marcello said quietly, still holding Lorenzo. "That will not change."
"You did not see her face,"Lorenzo whispered. "You did not see the way she looked at me. Like I was a monster. Like I was something evil."
"You are not evil," Marcello said firmly.
He pulled back slightly to look Lorenzo in the eyes.
"What you did, you did to save her. To protect her. Marie is intelligent. When she wakes, when the shock passes, she will understand that."
"Will she?" Lorenzo asked, her voice hollow. "Would you want to be with someone who could do what I did? Who could become what I became?"
Marcello was quiet for a long moment.
"I do not know," he admitted honestly. "But I know that Marie loves you. And love is stronger than fear. Give her time."
Lorenzo nodded numbly, though she did not look convinced.
Marcello returned to cleaning her, working methodically to remove every trace of blood and gore.
By the time he was finished, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red.
Lorenzo looked almost human again.
But her eyes remained haunted, distant, broken.
"Non posso… non posso guardarla "(I cannot… I cannot face her …)
"You will,"Marcello said firmly. "But not yet."
He gestured toward the river.
"Wash properly. Change. She will need to recognize you when she wakes. Not… this.
A pause.
"I will go ahead. I will see how she is."
Lorenzo hesitated.
"E se ha paura di me…?"(What if she is afraid of me?)
Marcello held her gaze.
"Then we will deal with that when it happens," Marcello said. "But you need to be there when she wakes. She will be frightened and confused. She will need answers."
Lorenzo took a shaky breath, then nodded.
Marcello gave her shoulder a brief, firm squeeze—
then turned and walked toward the medical tent alone.
Leaving her by the river.