Beneath the Alpha's Moon

LUCIAN’S P.O.V.

I stood with Rylan outside the cell, listening—or trying to listen—to the trembling witch inside. He kept mumbling something, his voice hoarse and raspy, like someone gargling with gravel.

"...witch... blockage... broken... examine..."

My head tilted slightly as I tried to piece his words together. Ares growled impatiently in my mind."Does he think we’re playing charades?

I turned to Rylan, frustration bubbling up like an overboiled pot. "What in the bloody hell is wrong with this guy? Why is he talking like he’s got gravel lodged in his throat?"

Rylan looked at me, wide-eyed, then slowly shook his head, his lips twitching as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. "Lucian..." He dragged my name out, his tone dripping with disbelief. "You... burnt his throat, remember? With the iron brand? You know, the same one he used on Mai’s foot? Ringing any bells?"

Ah. Now that he mentioned it...

A bark of exaggerated laughter burst from me, reverberating off the cold stone walls. "Oh, that’s right! That was me!" I clapped a hand to my forehead, grinning. "How could I forget? What a satisfying scream he had back then." The witch flinched, visibly shrinking into himself.

"Glad to see you’re amused," Rylan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But maybe cut him some slack? You did sort of... make his throat useless."

"Which means," I said, straightening and cracking my knuckles, "he’s useless to me now."

The witch, still straining to form words, looked relieved, probably thinking my laughter was some sign of mercy. Rookie mistake.