Page 127 of Decimation

“Fuck, fuccck.” I gasp.

“That’s it,” He groans back, “Let me in. Let me in.”

I can’t, I can’t… but I have to. It’s no longer about right or wrong. It’s about need, about sating this awful desperate thing clawing inside me, needing to get out.

‘You’re so fucking incredible, do you know that?” He says. His colours swirl around him, those vivid blues and purples that I know so well.

I press the dagger further into his throat and I can see the trickle of blood, I can feel it dripping down between my fingers. Can he feel it? Does he even care that I could drag this blade across his neck and watch him bleed out?

His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding as he explores my body.

I can feel him inside me, filling me, and I cling to him, my nails digging into his back. He’s rough, but so am I. We’re equals in this moment, two broken people finally finding solace in each other.

He reaches between us, his fingers finding my clit and I cry out, my body trembling as pleasure washes over me. He follows me over the edge, his body shuddering as he spills inside me.

We collapse together, our bodies tangled, our breaths ragged.

For a moment, there’s silence.

And then he kisses me again, softly this time, his lips brushing against mine.

“No one has ever shown you what love is, how it should feel. That’s what I will do, what I will spend the rest of my life doing.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t even know how to process those words.

“You’re mine, Leandra” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “Now let me love you.”

Documents sprawl across the desk; trade agreements, alliance proposals, reports on Esau’s movements. Each demands my attention, my focus, but my mind drifts to Leandra. She’s been… fragile. Broken in ways I can’t fully grasp. I’ve been careful, patient, giving her the space she needs. I know her history, the horrors she’s endured, both at the hands of my brother and the men who tried to mould her into Ines. I’ve suppressed my darker instincts, the parts of me that crave control, possession. I want her to love me willingly, not because I’ve forced her hand, but patience has never been my strength.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. One of my men enters, handing over the report I’ve been waiting for; the casualties from Konstantine’s attack on the mansion. Over a dozen men lost in total, but then he mentions Devin. Against all odds, Devin is alive. Miraculously, impossibly alive. I dismiss the man with a nod, my mind already turning. Devin’s survival is a complication I hadn’t anticipated. It would in many ways be far easier if he had died. He’s a threat, a big one if I do as my brother planned and quietly dispose of his wife and child, but there is another option. Perhaps a better one, and having Devin on my side is far more useful than having him in a cold grave.

The door creaks open and Zayn enters, his wheelchair rolling smoothly across the floor. He places a stack of papers on the desk with deliberate precision. “We need to finalize these agreements with the Eastern Coalition,” he says, his tone clipped.

I nod, leaning back in my chair. “Let’s get to it.”

We work in silence, the scratch of pens on paper the only sound. My mind, however, lingers elsewhere; on Leandra, on the way she looked at me after she killed Isaac. Fear was there, yes, but also something raw, vulnerable. I want to protect her, to shield her from the world, but she doesn’t trust me. Not yet.

“What do you plan to do about Ezra?” Zayn asks abruptly, his gaze sharp, probing. “Will you kill him off and replace him with your own blood?”

I freeze, my pen hovering above the paper. The question slices through the room like a blade. My heart stutters, a flicker of panic rising in my chest. He knows. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Zayn knows what I’ve done, knows which brother is dead and which sits before him. My jaw tightens, and I force myself to remain calm, to keep my expression neutral.

“Ezra is my blood,” I say evenly, though my voice feels too measured, too controlled. “He’s the heir.”

Zayn gives me a look that says it all, a look that pierces through my carefully constructed facade. His eyes are knowing, calculating. I wonder if this was why he was so insistent on speaking during the Guardian Meeting. Was this his way of testing me? Of forcing my hand?

“There’s been enough death,” I add, my tone firm, though my mind races. “It’s time for rebuilding.”

I study his face, searching for clues, for his next move. This is a test, and I’m acutely aware of the stakes. Zayn knows my secret, and that makes him a liability. My instincts scream at me to eliminate the threat, to silence him before he can expose me, but killing a Guardian? That would be catastrophic. It would sow chaos, undermine everything I’ve worked for. The Brethren need stability now more than ever. And yet, the thought lingers, what if he betrays me?

Zayn nods, his expression thoughtful. “I agree,” he says. “The Brethren need to heal, to grow. Killing Ezra would only sow more discord.”

I lean forward, twisting the knife now. “And what about you?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous. “Can I trust you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. I watch him closely, gauging his reaction. His eyes meet mine, steady, unflinching. “You can,” he says. “I’ve sworn my loyalty to the Brethren, and to you as their leader. As long as you continue to act in their best interests, you’ll have my support.”

In their best interests. The unspoken threat is clear. He’s reminding me of my duty, of the line I cannot cross. I suppress a grimace. Zayn is clever, too clever. He knows how to play this game, and he’s forcing me to play it his way.

“And the woman?” he continues, his tone casual, though his gaze sharpens.