Chapter 6: The Price of Betrayal

The aftermath of the attack left Lucian Blackthorne's estate in a state of quiet ruin. The marble floors were stained with blood, the scent of gunpowder still lingering in the air. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he made his way down to the lower levels of the manor—his personal dungeon.

He had always known there were traitors lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And tonight, they had dared to challenge him.

A fatal mistake.

Liora sat on the edge of a chair in the dimly lit study, still rattled from the assault. She had witnessed Lucian's men slaughter the intruders, seen the calculated way he had directed the fight. He was no ordinary man—he was something else entirely. And now, as he prepared to deal with those responsible, a part of her knew she should not follow. She should not see this.

But she was too stubborn to turn away.

Lucian descended the stone steps into the underground chamber, his long coat billowing behind him like the wings of a raven. The dim torches cast jagged shadows on the walls, illuminating the iron restraints that hung from the ceiling, the blood-streaked instruments resting on the nearby table. The room was cold, damp, filled with the echoes of past agony.

In the center of it all knelt the traitor—a man who had served in Lucian's ranks for years. His face was bloodied, his lip split from the beating he had already received. His wrists were bound, arms stretched above his head by thick chains that rattled when he trembled.

Lucian stood before him, silent, calculating.

"You were loyal once," he mused, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. "Or at least I believed you were."

The man, barely able to keep his head up, wheezed out a breath. "Please... I didn't—"

Lucian tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he grabbed the dagger from the table and drove it through the man's hand, pinning it to the wooden floor. A sharp scream ripped through the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls.

Liora flinched, her hands curling into fists.

Lucian crouched in front of his captive, twisting the blade ever so slightly, watching as pain overtook the man's features. "Do not insult me with lies," he said, voice calm, almost soothing. "You let them in. You guided them through my home. You put her in danger."

The man gasped, veins bulging in his neck. "I... I had no choice! They threatened my family—"

Lucian withdrew the dagger in one swift motion, blood spilling onto the floor. "And did you think I would not find out? Did you truly believe I would allow such a betrayal to go unpunished?"

He stood, wiping the blade clean with a cloth before setting it down. Then, with methodical precision, he selected a rusted pair of pliers from the table.

Liora's breath caught in her throat. She had expected punishment, had known Lucian was not a merciful man. But this... this was something else entirely.

Lucian grasped the man's hand, forcing his fingers apart. He examined them as though considering which one he would take first. And then, without hesitation, he clamped the pliers around the traitor's fingernail and began to pull.

The scream that followed was unlike anything Liora had ever heard. Raw. Animalistic. The kind that burrowed into the bones and settled in the marrow.

She swallowed hard, refusing to look away.

Lucian worked with an eerie patience, removing each fingernail with an excruciating slowness, his movements precise, practiced. Blood dripped onto the cold stone floor, mixing with the sweat and tears of the condemned man.

"You should be grateful," Lucian murmured, his voice as smooth as silk. "There are far worse fates than this."

The traitor sobbed, his body convulsing with pain. "Please..."

Lucian exhaled, as though bored, before setting the pliers aside. "What did you tell them?"

"Everything," the man whimpered, barely able to form words. "They—they know about the shipments, the accounts, the names—"

Lucian hummed in thought. "And where are the survivors? The ones who fled?"

"I don't—"

Lucian grabbed a branding iron from the nearby furnace, its tip glowing red-hot. The heat shimmered in the air as he brought it close to the man's exposed forearm.

"Try again," he whispered, before pressing the iron against flesh.

The agonized howl that followed was deafening.

Liora inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palms. Every part of her screamed to stop this, to end the suffering, but she knew that if she intervened now, she would only be drawing Lucian's attention back to herself.

And something told her she didn't want to be the one in that chair.

The scent of burning flesh curled in the air, acrid and sickening. The man slumped forward, barely conscious, his body shuddering from the trauma.

Lucian lifted his chin with a single gloved finger. "I'll ask you one more time."

The traitor gasped for breath. "They—they're hiding in the old warehouse—Pier Twelve—please, I swear—"

Lucian's lips curled into a ghost of a smile. "Good boy."

And then he slit his legs, while haring the man screaming for his life.

Liora jolted in her seat as the man sreamed.

Lucian Blackthorne stood over the bloodied man, his face void of emotion as he watched the traitor struggle to breathe. The dungeon was damp, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Chains rattled as the man whimpered, his body barely able to withstand the torment Lucian had inflicted.

Lucian wiped the crimson from his hands with a pristine white cloth, his gaze cold. "You thought you could betray me," he murmured, voice dangerously soft. "But there are consequences for treachery."

The traitor's breath hitched as Lucian reached for a rusted blade, its serrated edge gleaming under the dim torchlight. "Do you know what happens to those who cross me?" he asked, tilting his head. "They become examples."

Lucian wiped the blade clean, his movements unhurried, almost elegant. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned and met Liora's wide-eyed gaze.

He tilted his head, studying her reaction. "Scared, little rabbit?"

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She didn't know what to say. Didn't know if she was more horrified by what she had witnessed—or by the way part of her had been unable to look away.

Lucian approached, stopping just inches from her, his fingers tracing the edge of her jaw. "I warned you before, didn't I?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warm against her skin. "This is what happens to those who betray me."

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "And what happens to those who refuse to submit?"

His smile was slow, dangerous. "Oh, Liora," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I suppose you'll have to find out."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the cold chamber—with only the dead for company.

Hours passed as screams echoed through the chamber. Lucian was methodical in his punishment—precise cuts that would not kill but would make death seem a mercy. Hot irons, water torture, and slow, deliberate incisions ensured the man felt every ounce of regret for his betrayal.

By the time Lucian was finished, the man was nothing more than a broken, sobbing mess. He turned to his guards. "Dispose of him. Let his remains serve as a warning."

He exhaled deeply, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through him. Turning his gaze toward Liora, who had been forced to witness the brutal display, he smirked. "Now you understand," he said, stepping toward her. "This is the world you belong to now."

Liora's face was pale, her breaths uneven. Lucian reached forward, tilting her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. "Come," he commanded. "I have something else to show you." And with that, he turned and walked away.

He led her out of the dungeon, through the winding corridors of his estate, and into the open night. The cold air was a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the torture chamber. Liora shivered but refused to show weakness.

Ahead, a small, fortified building loomed. The moment they stepped inside, a deep, guttural growl filled the space. Liora's eyes widened as she took in the sight of massive, muscular hounds, their eyes glowing with an almost supernatural intensity.

Lucian smirked. "These are not ordinary dogs, Liora. They are bred for one purpose—loyalty and obedience. At a single command, they will rip apart anything I tell them to."

One of the beasts stepped forward, its teeth bared in a snarl. Liora stiffened, and Lucian chuckled darkly. "You're afraid. Good. You should be. Because if you ever think of escaping again, remember… they never miss their prey."

Satisfied that his point had been made, he grabbed her wrist and led her back toward the estate. The night was still, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. Once inside, he guided her to her room. "Shower," he ordered. "Wash away the blood. Then sleep."

Liora hesitated, her body tense. Lucian arched a brow. "Unless you want me to stay and assist?" he taunted. She glared at him before stepping inside the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

He smirked before turning on his heel and leaving her to her thoughts.

Later that night, a soft knock on Lucian's door interrupted his thoughts. One of his guards stood there, looking uncertain. "Sir… I hear her crying. In her sleep."

Lucian's expression darkened. Without a word, he grabbed a silk robe and strode down the hallway, his steps silent. He pushed open the door to Liora's room and found her curled up in bed, tears slipping down her cheeks as she whimpered in her sleep.

A pang of something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. He approached the bed, lowering himself beside her. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, her body fitting against his as if she belonged there.

He whispered softly into her ear, words meant to soothe. "Shh, little rabbit. You're safe. No one will hurt you while I'm here."

She stirred slightly, her breathing evening out as she melted into his warmth. Lucian tightened his hold around her, running a hand through her hair as he continued murmuring sweet nothings. Eventually, her trembling ceased, and a small sigh left her lips as she drifted back into deep sleep.

He lay there, watching her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breaths. He had meant to leave, but instead, he stayed.

Because even monsters needed warmth sometimes.

And she was his.

Always.