The Blood Contract
Chapter 81: Feel very sleepy now

Chapter 81: Feel very sleepy now

"Nothing," Serena lied.

What else was she supposed to say? That she liked him better when he was strong, immovable, terrifying? That she found something unsettlingly attractive about the way he’d handled her like a ragdoll that night, as if she were weightless and he was made of stone?

She would rather be buried alive—no, a hundred times over—than allow him to hear those thoughts slip from her lips.

Lucian turned his head on the pillow, his pale skin luminous under the soft lighting. "They say when someone is about to die, they can feel it. Do you think it’s true?" he murmured. His voice was so quiet it was almost like it had been stolen from a dream.

And just like that, the wicked knot in Serena’s stomach twisted again, meaner this time, curling like a snake tightening around her ribs.

"I’ve never died before," she said dryly, struggling to suppress the emotions welling in her throat. "So I wouldn’t know. And you should really stop talking about dying like it’s just another mundane topic. It’s annoying."

Lucian turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze with such sudden stillness that it made her chest tighten. She’d expected some teasing retort, maybe a smirk—but his eyes were serious. Dark and deep like they held secrets with barbed edges.

"I’m serious. Stop it," she snapped, her voice cutting through the quiet like a shard of glass.

Lucian sighed, the sound low and almost inaudible, then turned his face away again. The silence that followed sat between them like a heavy fog. It pressed on her chest until she couldn’t take it anymore.

"Why do you have a mirror above your bed?" she asked, needing to yank the conversation somewhere else.

He tilted his chin just enough to glance at the mirror, as though he were considering how to phrase his answer.

"Because I need to see and talk to my demons every night," he replied, his voice like gravel. "If I don’t, they won’t let me sleep."

Serena blinked and frowned, her brows creasing as she turned to look at him again. "What are you talking about?"

Lucian’s chuckle was low and humorless. "You think I’m joking?"

Her lips parted, but she didn’t respond.

"There was a time they were so many," he continued. "I’d stay awake till dawn, talking to each one. Explaining. Arguing. Begging. By the time I was done, there would be no time left to sleep."

He turned his gaze to the mirror again, and this time, he didn’t look away. The light reflected his face back at him—older than his age, weighed down by stories she hadn’t yet heard.

"Don’t you have demons you talk to?" he asked suddenly.

Serena opened her mouth, but he shook his head gently and answered for her.

"No, you don’t. You’re an angel."

"I’m not an angel," she shot back instantly, a wave of emotion flooding through her at his words. She turned her head to the mirror too, but the reflection didn’t feel like her anymore. It was a girl lost in someone else’s war.

Lucian let out a soft, amused breath. "Saying you’re not doesn’t change what you are."

He turned his eyes back to her, the weight of them anchoring her breath. "Tell me, have you ever taken a life?"

She flinched, the question landing with the force of a slap.

"No," she said.

Lucian nodded slowly. "That’s right."

He didn’t stop.

"Have you ever destroyed someone—completely—and felt absolutely no remorse about it?"

Serena looked away, the question gnawing at her. Her hands clenched the fabric of the blanket beneath her. No, she hadn’t. She had trained herself for self-defense. She’d been a lone girl in a male-dominated course, had learned how to guard her body, her space, her spirit. Her father had taught her a few self-defense moves—but those were used only a few times when absolutely needed.

Still, she couldn’t imagine destroying someone. Not the way Lucian described it.

And when she said nothing, he nodded again, as if her silence confirmed everything.

"No need for words," he whispered. "The answer is written in your eyes."

He turned back to the mirror, his face gradually losing all expression, becoming a mask.

"I took my first life when I was eleven," he said, the words falling like pebbles into a dark well. "And the first time I destroyed someone completely? I was sixteen."

Serena’s mouth dropped open. Shock rippled through her in a slow, icy wave.

Lucian didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. He knew what she was thinking. He kept speaking, his voice now devoid of all color.

"After those two, I lost count. So you were right—when you said I was a terrible person. I am." The words landed heavily in the room, thick and unmoving. "But I was right, too," he said. "You’re an angel." The air grew still. His voice dropped again, almost to a whisper. "I’ve made peace with my demons. Most of them. But they aren’t bothering me tonight. Not with you here."

Serena didn’t know what to say. She felt like her brain had short-circuited, overloaded by too many pieces of a puzzle she was only now starting to understand.

Demons. Death. Destruction.

And now, silence again.

She bit her lip, clinging to whatever scraps of stability remained. She wanted to take him somewhere else in his mind—somewhere without pain or ghosts or death.

So she asked the only question that had been itching at her for a long while."Why did you move all your family portraits from the house?"

The effect was immediate. Lucian’s jaw clenched, and for a fleeting moment, something dark flickered behind his eyes. Then his voice returned—tired, guarded.

"I think Marlowe’s medicine is starting to kick in." His tone was dry. Dismissive. "I feel very sleepy now."

Serena watched him closely. He was shutting down again, retreating behind invisible walls.

"Good night, Serena," he said, eyes fluttering shut.

She stared at him for a long moment, hoping he would open them again. Hoping he would say something more. Anything.

But he didn’t move. His breath was slow and even, his body still. The Lucian who had just confessed to murder, demons, and sleepless nights had vanished into the silence.

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and turned her gaze back to the ceiling. The mirror caught her reflection and his beside her—so different, yet lying there as though nothing separated them.

Her questions about the portraits remained unanswered, lodged tightly in her throat. The thoughts in her head screamed for attention, but she ignored them.

Eventually, she let her eyes slip closed too.