Moonlit Vows Of Vengeance
Chapter 107: The Aftermath

Chapter 107: The Aftermath

I didn’t hear him stir, but I felt it.

The way the bed shifted slightly. The way his arm moved behind me, hesitating before it draped across my waist again, looser this time. Not possessive. Careful.

I kept my eyes closed.

Pretended to still be asleep.

But my breathing gave me away.

I wasn’t steady. I wasn’t calm.

And I knew the moment he noticed.

"Are you okay?" His voice was a whisper, low and cautious, as if he were afraid to disturb something fragile.

I stayed silent.

Not because I didn’t want to speak, but because I didn’t trust myself to say anything that wouldn’t shatter whatever this was.

He shifted closer. His chest pressed lightly against my back. "Athena," he said again, a little firmer this time.

I sighed and opened my eyes. Still facing away from him.

"I’m awake," I murmured.

There was a pause.

Then, "Did I hurt you?"

The question wasn’t physical. I heard the truth in his tone. He meant something deeper. Rawer.

I turned onto my back, staring at the cracked ceiling again, letting the silence press between us before answering.

"No," I said quietly. "You didn’t hurt me."

Another pause.

"But something’s wrong," he said slowly, like he was piecing it together in real time. "You feel... far away."

I clenched the sheet between my fingers, twisting it in my fist. "Because I am."

He flinched at that. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. He sat up slowly, brushing a hand through his dark hair, his bare chest rising and falling with a sigh.

"You regret it."

"I didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to."

I finally turned to face him, propping myself up on one elbow. "I’m not made for softness, Kieran. I thought I was, once. But look where it got me."

He looked at me then. Really looked. His storm-gray eyes sharp and searching. "This isn’t about softness. Or regret. This is about him, isn’t it?"

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

"You still love him." It wasn’t an accusation. Just a truth dropped like a stone in water.

I sat up slowly, drawing the sheet around my chest. "It’s not that simple."

"Then make it simple," he snapped, the restraint in his voice finally cracking. "Tell me what this was to you. What I was last night. Because gods help me, Athena, if I was just a way to forget him—"

"You weren’t," I said quickly, cutting him off. My throat tightened. "You weren’t a replacement. I don’t know what you are to me yet. I just... I don’t know what I am to me yet."

That quieted him.

The fire between us, so consuming last night, had cooled into something complicated and painful. The kind of heat that left burn marks long after the flames had gone out.

He stood from the bed, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. I watched his muscles tense as he turned away, his back rigid.

"I wasn’t trying to make you choose," he said softly.

I looked down at my hands. "But I still chose, didn’t I?"

He turned to face me again, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then it softened. "Maybe. Or maybe we both just let go of something last night we were never supposed to hold onto in the first place."

I stood too, crossing the room to him. "Kieran—"

"I’ll always fight beside you," he said, cutting me off gently. "But I won’t fight for you. Not like that. Not against your past."

My heart thudded. He stepped back toward the door, and something in me wanted to stop him. But I didn’t.

And maybe that silence was its own answer.

"I’ll be outside," he said, his voice quieter now. "When you’re ready."

Then he left.

And I stood alone in the room, bare beneath the morning light, heart knotted in too many directions to untangle.

Whatever had burned between us last night had burned too bright. And now that it was gone, I was left with the ashes.

The room was too quiet.

Even with the sun beginning to rise outside the palace walls, even with the distant clatter of rebuilding echoing through cracked corridors... in here, everything was still.

Too still.

My fingers brushed over the carved edge of the window frame, splintered and ash-scarred. I closed my eyes and let the silence in. Let it swallow me.

And that’s when I felt it.

That tug.

A pulse deep inside my chest, like my soul had been plucked by unseen hands. My knees buckled. My breath caught.

Then the world fell away.

I didn’t hit the floor.

I fell through it.

It was not a dream.

The air was thick and silvered, like I had stepped into a pool of magic made liquid. And before me... stood him.

I froze.

Not because I didn’t recognize him.

But because I did.

Lucas.

His golden hair. That sharp jaw. Those sea-glass eyes that always saw more than they admitted. He stood at the edge of the mist, hands folded behind his back, wearing that same half-smile I’d come to hate and crave in equal measure.

"Lucas?" I croaked, my voice a brittle whisper.

But no.

No.

Something was wrong.

The way he looked at me... there was no warmth. No pain. No guilt.

Only amusement.

Then he spoke.

And the voice—that voice—was not Lucas’s.

"Oh, how I’ve missed this," he said, stepping forward, shadows licking at his heels like obedient dogs. "You always had such a tragic face when you were powerless."

My blood went cold.

"Caelum."

He bowed, mockingly, as if we were on a stage instead of a battlefield carved from my mind. "The one and only."

My fists clenched. My power didn’t stir. My divine gifts remained dead quiet.

"I will kill you," I hissed, stepping toward him.

He raised a brow. "With what? Your broken heart? Or perhaps your pathetic mortal hands?"

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I summoned a blade of moonlight—only... nothing came. No glow. No spark. Just emptiness. Like the part of me that was divine had been torn away again.

I screamed in fury and lunged anyway, nails like claws, raw emotion fueling every step. I aimed for his throat.

He caught me by the wrists easily. Effortlessly.

Like I was nothing.

Like I had always been nothing to him.

"I thought by now," he murmured, pulling me closer, "you would’ve learned. You were born to fall, Athena."

I screamed again and again, trying to wrench myself free. "You used me! You stabbed me in the back. You made them turn on me!"

"You mean the gods?" he mused, tilting his head like a curious wolf. "They never needed much convincing. You threatened balance. You threatened power. You threatened me."

"You destroyed everything—"

"I cleansed it," he interrupted coldly. "I broke you so that you could remember what it meant to be feared. And still, look at you. Crying like a child."

My knees hit the mist-soaked floor. I couldn’t stand anymore.

Not because I didn’t want to.

But because I had nothing left.

"I trusted you," I whispered, voice shaking. "I would’ve followed you to war, and you—"

"I was the war," he snapped, crouching beside me now, face still wearing Lucas’s skin, his hands still holding Lucas’s shape. "You were a storm I needed to silence before it swallowed the skies. And I was right."

He leaned in close. "You let a werewolf boy into your bed last night. How pure the Moon Goddess has become."

Tears slipped down my cheeks. Hot. Humiliating. I hated him. I hated myself for still hearing Lucas’s voice in his.

"Why this face?" I rasped. "Why his?"

He smiled, something cruel and knowing behind it. "Because this is the face that unravels you."

"I hate you."

"I know," he said, almost gently. "But the part of you that once loved me... that part still listens."

My body shook. Not in fear. In grief. In rage.

I threw a fist at him, weak and useless. He caught it midair, studying it with clinical detachment.

Then the world began to collapse around me.

Like my mind itself was being folded shut.

And his face—Lucas’s face—was the last thing I saw before darkness took me.

I woke to the scent of blood and pine.

Not my blood, I realized, as my eyes fluttered open. But the scent was there—clinging to the air, bitter and sharp like regret.

The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. Stone arches curved overhead, etched with old runes I barely remembered. The walls were lit with soft golden sconces, casting gentle shadows. My bed... was not mine. It was narrow, carved from oak, with thick blankets tucked tightly around me.

A hand gripped mine.

I blinked and turned my head—and found Kieran seated at my bedside, his silver eyes rimmed with dark bruises of exhaustion, staring at me like he’d been doing it for hours.

"Athena," he breathed.

I tried to sit up.

Pain slammed into my skull like a hammer.

He was immediately on his feet, pushing me gently back down. "Don’t move. You passed out cold. You’ve been unconscious for almost a full day."

My lips were dry. My throat, sandpaper. "Where is Lucas?"