Page 24 of Sins of Winter
All at once, puzzle pieces from the past few months snapped into place with blinding clarity.
From the very beginning, she’d been awfully accepting—almost encouraging—of Thorne and Lucian, which wasn’t typically like her.
Them knowing our plans.
The 911 call.
Insisting we leave Regina behind.
Everything pointed to her being an accomplice in this shitshow. My gradual understanding left me feeling exposed and foolish. A tidal wave of hurt, anger, and confusion threatened to overwhelm me.
This was the woman I had laughed with, cried with, shared all my secrets with—and this entire time, she was assisting the architect of my undoing. How much of my life had been a lie carefully woven by those I trusted most? The answer was clear, as sharp, and cold as the winter night outside.
“Winter…” Mara's voice trembled with the start of an apology and pierced the heavy silence. As she struggled to string together the words that I wasn't sure I could bear to hear, Lucian stepped in front of me like a shield.
“Shut the fuck up,” he spat, the venom in his voice a harsh contrast to the calm demeanor he had maintained until now. Then, almost as if flipping a switch, his tone softened to an eerie calm, his gaze shifting to Thorne. “Get her out of here,” he instructed, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument.
Thorne rose without a word, his movements swift and sure as he led Mara away. Her tear-filled eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, a silent plea for understanding that I couldn't begin to process. I found myself grappling with the magnitude of all the deception.
Leaning against the wall for support, I felt the room spin as betrayal settled like a stone in my gut. Lucian moved closer, his presence enveloping me, his hands framing my face, his grip gentle yet commanding.
“Why? Why do this to me?” The question hung between us; my voice as heavy as I felt.
His thumbs brushed across my cheeks as he tilted my head back, compelling my attention to him and him alone. He was silent for a moment, his gaze studying me from behind the impassive mask. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and resolute. “I did this for you. For us.”
“Why couldn't you just talk to me like a normal—” I began, the plea breaking as he cut me off.
“What the fuck is normal?” A bitter laugh tinged his words. “Normal has never applied to me, and deep down, you've always known that.”
His eyes, even through the slits of the mask, held mine with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “And you're not normal either, Winter. If you were, you wouldn't have stood by me the way you always did.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to defend the normalcy of our past friendship, but he continued a relentless tide.
“You never batted an eye, no matter what I did. The fights, the rage, the darkness I reveled in—you never turned away. A normal girl would have seen the monster in me. You chose to see me as human.”
His words were a mirror reflecting what I knew to be true. There was a reason our friend group consisted solely of me and him. I’d tried to bring in others, but after a day or so, they stayed away from me—Lucian too. He was an enigma that I had never shied away from. His darkest moments were met with my unwavering denial that anything was different between him and other boys.
Our past bound us in ways I was only now beginning to fully understand.
Memories of his fondness for R. L. Stine and Dragon Ball surfaced in my mind, fragments of a simpler time when I used those interests to paint a picture of normalcy around him. They were the crutches I clung to, to humanize the boy who was now a man shrouded in darkness.
“You’re even pretty when you cry,” Lucian’s voice pulled me abruptly from my thoughts, his tone deceptively softer now. I was suddenly aware of the wetness on my cheeks, tears silently making their way down my face. “I know you want answers, and you’ll have them, I promise. But only when we’re home.”
Home. The word echoed in my mind, a reminder of the agreement I had unwittingly made. There seemed to be no escape from the path he had set us on, no alternative ending to the narrative he was writing.
“What about my parents? My life?” I managed to ask, grasping at straws.
“I never said you wouldn’t see them again,” he offered, but the words were empty, devoid of tangible reassurance. His next statement was final, a declaration etched in stone. “And your life is now the same as mine.”
His claim settled around me. I realized then that to Lucian, I was the ultimate prize in a game, only he fully understood the rules to. It was something that had been long in the making.
“Okay,” I murmured, a note of resignation threading through the word. I knew I had to continue playing—for now.
His hands tightened on my face. “I swear to you, you're going to be happy. I'll make sure of it. You'll have everything you could ever want.”
“Are you happy? Is this what you enjoy doing?”
His reply was chilling in its nonchalance. “Initiations are always a refreshing diversion from the norm, but yes, I love my life. And it's about to get even better with you in it.”