Unholy bond

Chapter two

Lucien POV

“Hold him steady,” I said. My voice was low. Cold.

The man on the chair whimpered as the guards pulled his arms back. His head lolled to the side. Blood dripped from his lip to the floor. I did not flinch. I never did.

“I told you already,” he stammered. “I do not know anything.”

“You lie,” I said. Simple. Flat.

One of my men raised the knife. I looked at him. He froze. I nodded once. The knife slid through skin. The man screamed. Pain is loud. Fear is louder.

I crouched slowly. My fingers touched his shoulder lightly. He flinched.

“Who sent you?” I asked.

“Please,” he begged. “I swear I do not know,his face was masked…I was just following orders..”

I pressed a finger to his temple. “One more lie,” I said. “And it will cost you everything.”

He gasped. Trembled. I straightened, stepping back. I watched the guards finish their work. The scream ended. Blood pooled around him.

I walked to the table and poured a drink. My hands shook slightly. Only slightly. Years of this, and still, the smell of blood clung to me.

“Boss,Marco said quietly. “It is done.”

“Good,” I said. I did not look at him. “Dispose of him.”

Later, I sat in my office. The city lights spread below like a living thing. Everything I had built, everything I had taken, everything I had destroyed, lay under my control. But the quiet of the city never erased the faces. Faces of those who were gone because of me. Innocents. People who had nothing to do with my war.

I closed my eyes.

I had killed for power. I had killed for revenge. I had killed because it was easy. And every night, when the doors closed, the screams returned.

I pour money into the convent. Donations. Food. Buildings. Quiet prayers. I never enter. I never see the nuns who pray. I give to quiet the voices in my head, to give them peace while I wrestle with the memories.

And still, the guilt sits in my chest like a stone.

The next morning, I decided it was time. I would go.

I walked into the convent. The gates were heavy, old, and cold. My footsteps echoed against the stone floors. I wore my usual dark suit, clean, sharp. My wolf stirred under my skin, restless. But the place smelled of incense and calm.

I paused at the courtyard. The sun fell through the windows and touched the stone floor. Everything was silent. Clean. I thought I would feel nothing. But my chest tightened.

A figure moved in the shadow of the chapel. Slow. Careful. Graceful.

She came forward. A woman in the plain white and black of a nun. Her hands were folded, her head slightly bowed. She walked with quiet confidence, unaware of me at first.

When she looked up, our eyes met.

She did not flinch. She did not stare with greed. She did not shrink in fear.

She looked at me with calm curiosity.

Her hair was hidden beneath the habit, but the soft shape of her face was clear. Her eyes were steady. Gentle. Open. Nothing like anyone I had ever seen.

I could not look away.

She stopped a few steps away. I stayed where I was. Neither of us moved.

“Who are you?” she asked softly.

“I am…” I paused. The words felt strange. Not a threat. Not a claim. Not a lie. “Someone who has done wrong.”

She tilted her head. “Then you must carry a heavy burden.”

I clenched my fists. My wolf growled inside me, restless at the intrusion of kindness.

“I do,” I said. My voice was low. “I have taken more than I should have.”

Her gaze softened slightly, but it was not pity. Not judgment. Just quiet understanding.

“I do not forgive,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “And neither should anyone else.”

“Then why come here?” she asked.

I did not answer at first. I wanted to. I wanted to say a hundred things. But I simply stared at her, feeling the weight of every life I had ended. Every innocent who died because I could not walk away.

“I… I wanted to see what peace looks like,” I said finally.

She nodded once. No more questions. Just stillness.

I studied her. Her presence was not soft like a whisper. It was firm. Solid. And somehow, it unsettled me. Not fear. Not desire. Something else. Something unfamiliar.

“Do you pray?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Every day.”

“Do you pray for others?”

“Yes. Even those who hurt us.”

I looked down at my hands. They were clean now. Still red in memory. Still heavy with the past.

“Even them,” I repeated.

“Even them,” she said.

I nodded slowly. The guilt in my chest tightened. The lives I had taken, the screams, the blood, the fear I spread—it was all mine. And no amount of giving, no amount of donations, no amount of hiding could erase it.

She tilted her head and smiled faintly. Not sweet. Not seductive. Just soft. Honest.

“You cannot carry it alone,” she said.

I did not answer. I could not.

For the first time in years, I stayed. Just watching her. Watching someone so calm, so unshakable, so alive in a way I had long forgotten.

She took a step closer, and I froze. Not from fear. Not from surprise. From something deeper. Something I did not understand.

Our eyes held.

The courtyard was silent. The sun fell across the stones. The wind carried the scent of flowers from the garden.

I could feel the weight of my life pressing down. The weight of every wrong I had done. And for the first time, it felt like someone else could see it too.

She did not flinch. She did not shrink. She just… looked.

And in that look, I saw something impossible.

Hope.