PRINCE OF SIN

Chapter 5

Penolope pov

The silence that followed his confession was heavier than the basalt walls of the castle. I stared at Julian, my breath coming in shallow, broken hitches. The man before me was a contradiction, a monster who had hunted me through the streets of Florence, a predator who had cornered me in my own bed, and now, a man offering me the weapon of his own destruction.

I looked back at the Alabaster Blade. It looked less like a weapon and more like a shard of frozen moonlight.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, though the way my blood sang in my veins told me otherwise. There was a dormant heat waking up inside me, a sudden, violent awareness of the air, the shadows, and the man gripping my waist. “My father… he loved me. He wouldn’t have kept this from me.”

Julian let out a soft, humorless laugh that vibrated through my spine. “He loved you enough to turn you into a ghost, Penelope. He loved you enough to erase your history so you could live in a blissful, ignorant lie. But a Thorne cannot be erased. You can hide the name, but you cannot hide the blood.”

He released me abruptly, stepping back to give me room. He spread his arms wide, exposing his chest, his black shirt straining against the lean muscle of his frame. He looked like a sacrifice waiting for the altar.

“Go on,” he dared, his eyes obsidian and shimmering with a sick sort of anticipation. “The case is unlocked. Take the blade. Feel the weight of it. See how it recognizes you.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I felt as though I were standing on the edge of a cliff, the same jagged cliff the castle sat upon, and Julian was the wind trying to push me over.

“Why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why would you bring your own executioner into your home? Why not just kill me and be done with it?”

Julian’s expression shifted. The cruelty remained, but it was layered with something far more disturbing, a profound, aching obsession. He moved toward me again, not with the speed of a predator this time, but with a slow, deliberate grace.

“Because I am bored, Penelope,” he murmured, stopping so close that I could feel the heat of his skin. “I have spent my entire life surrounded by people who fear me, people who worship me, or people who want to steal my crown. I have never known the feeling of being truly powerless.”

He reached out, his gloved hand cupping my jaw, forcing me to look up into the void of his eyes.

“The thought of your hand around my throat… the idea that you are the only creature in existence who could actually end me… it is the only thing that has made me feel alive in a century.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine, not a kiss, but a ghost of one, a teasing promise of the violence to come.

“I want you to hate me,” he whispered. “I want you to loathe the very air I breathe. Because the moment you decide to kill me, you will finally be as dark as I am. And in that moment, we will be equals.”

The memory of the confessional flashed through my mind, the smell of old cedar, the feeling of being trapped in a wooden box while the devil whispered in my ear. He had told me then that I would look at hell and call it home. I realized now that he wasn’t talking about a place.

He was talking about him.

A sudden, irrational surge of anger flared in my chest, overriding the fear. I lunged forward, my hands slamming into his chest, shoving him back.

“I am not a murderer!” I screamed.

Julian didn’t stumble. He absorbed the blow, a dark, satisfied smile curling his lips. He loved it. He loved the fire. He loved that I was finally fighting back.

“Not yet,” he purred.

In one swift motion, he grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head against the cold stone wall. He pressed his body flush against mine, trapping me in a vice of leather and muscle. His eyes dropped to my lips, and the hunger there was so raw it felt like a physical wound.

“But we have plenty of time, little bird,” he groaned, his voice dropping to a guttural rasp. “I will teach you how to bleed. I will teach you how to crave the knife. And when you finally plunge that blade into my heart, I promise you… it will be the most exquisite moment of your life.”

He kissed me then, and this time, I didn’t just surrender. I fought him back, my teeth grazing his lip, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. It was a battle, a war waged in the space of a few inches, a dark dance of power and submission where the line between love and hate had completely vanished.