He roared, the sound raw enough to shake dust from the walls.
But I didn’t let go.
Because somewhere beneath the pain, beneath the madness, beneath the hollow ache in my chest…
A seed had been planted.
And it was growing into something monstrous.
Salvatore wrenched free, stumbling back. Blood streamed in thick ribbons down his forearm, my teeth still imprinted in his flesh like a curse carved into skin. He staggered upright, chest heaving, crimson dripping to his wrist.
“You’re fucking insane,” he snarled, shaking his head as if to dislodge the sight of me.
I crawled up on my hands and knees, sweat slicking my spine, the stone biting cold into my palms. I lifted my head slowly, like something half-dead dragging itself from the earth.
“You can’t stand being alone,” I rasped, voice scraping the air. “That’s why you fucked your brother’s wife. Helena. My Amara. And my mother.”
The words hung heavy in the air, as thick as smoke from a funeral pyre.
Salvatore went still. His face didn’t twist or harden—he just froze.
He looked at me like I’d struck him with something heavier than stone.
“Lazarus,” he said at last, his voice strange now—quiet, almost human. “I never fucked your mother. Or Amara. I swear it.”
“Liar!” I hissed, venom catching in my throat. I spat at his feet—saliva flecked with blood.
Salvatore moved before I could blink. His fingers tangled in my hair, jerking my head back so hard my neck cracked. I grunted, fists curling, but I didn’t fight. I glared up at him, breathing like an animal cornered.
“Listen to yourself,” he growled, face inches from mine. “You think I’d ever do that to you? You think I’d touch Amara?” His voice trembled, not with anger, but with something that sounded almost like hurt. “You think I’d ever dishonor your mother like that? I had respect for her, Lazarus. For both of them. I would never fucking do that.”
His grip eased, but his eyes stayed locked on mine—furious, pleading.
“It’s Severen,” he said, voice rough. “He’s in your head. He’s twisting you. That’s what he does.”
But I couldn’t hear him. I didn’twantto hear him.
The words spilling from me weren’t mine anymore—they belonged to the rage that had taken root. “We took care of you,” I spat. “We were your friends, your family—and you betrayed us.”
Salvatore shook his head slowly, disbelief and exhaustion hollowing his face. “Gods, you’ve lost it,” he whispered. “I never hurt you. I never hurt her. Amara has your heart—I know that. She’s always been yours.”
His voice cracked at the edge, like something breaking behind his ribs.
I stared up at him, breathing hard, chest trembling. “You fucked her,” I said again, but quieter now—like I needed to hear it, even if it wasn’t true.
Salvatore’s jaw tightened. “You’re not hearing me,” he said softly. “This is Severen. This is what he wants—us tearing each other apart.”
He released me, shoving me back just enough to put space between us. Blood from the bite on his arm dripped down his wrist, shining dark in the flickering torchlight. He turned away, shaking his head like he could shake off what had just happened—like the madness in me had rubbed off on him.
He didn’t yell again. Didn’t storm off. Just walked to the far wall and sank his back against the stone.
His shoulders slumped. His breathing steadied. But his eyes—his eyes stayed on the ground, distant, locked on something I couldn’t see.
Then the iron door groaned open—slow, low, and long, like metal weeping.
The sound pulled both of us upright.
I turned toward it, pulse hammering, breath caught halfway.
