Page 174 of Problematic

Chapter 25

Lux

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I was doing this. Apparently.

I stared down at my hands.

For one insane second, my brain tried to treat it as a tactical failure. A breach. A compromised asset. A piece of equipment removed too early in hostile territory.

Pathetic.

This wasn’t a mission. There was no exit strategy. No line between enemy and objective. Nobody on the floor, no blood on my hands.

Only Liv.

Only her on my bed, wrapped in my clothes, tears drying on her face. Blood darkened the lines of my palms and clung beneath my nails. Circeville had sent a team into New Abaddon before dawn, slipping through an old freight route while I had been naked, compromised, and busy losing the only war that mattered.

I’d killed them. That part was simple.

There were still too many unanswered questions. Too many open doors. Too many people who needed to learn what happened when they came into my city and thought I wouldn’t notice.

All of it stopped mattering when I felt Liv watching me.

My grip tightened on the mask. Blood slicked the edge beneath my thumb, and the metal let out a soft, ugly creak. Every trained part of me knew what came next. I had studied mate bonds from a distance my entire life with the same detached disgust I reserved for politics, poison, and men who paid for loyalty. I knew that once her eyes met mine with no mask between us and she saw my face fully, the bond would finish waking.

My throat went dry. The mark at my neck burned hard enough to make my vision pulse white at the edges. Anticipation crawled under my skin. Fear followed right behind it, colder and meaner.

I was Lux Draven. Demon lord. Killer. King of every dark thing this city feared . . . and I was afraid to lift my eyes. Because she might hate me. Because she should hate me. And because some sick, starving part of me still wanted her to see my face and choose me anyway.

My fingers flexed around the mask. The urge to put it back on hit so hard my wrist twitched.

No. I had stolen enough seconds from her.

Slowly, I raised my head.

Her eyes caught mine, and the bond snapped in place.

It slammed into my ribs with the force of an emergency brake. Old magic tore through the room, through my blood, through every lie I had built with careful hands. My knees gave. I caught myself with one hand on the mattress, breath punching out of me as heat seared across my throat and dragged down my spine.

Mine.

Hers.

Ours.

Nightmares burst across the floor, reaching for her before I could strangle them back. The lights flickered. My mark flared so bright against my bloodstained skin that the room filled with the scent of smoke, roses, and coffee. Fuck. The completed bond was so much stronger than the half-cocked one I’d been fighting this entire time. Every urge, every instinct to protect her went into overdrive.

Liv made a small, broken sound.

My body answered before thought could arrive. Every muscle pulled toward her. My hands opened, empty and shaking. I wanted to cross the room, to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. But I stayed where I was, ashamed.

Her hand flew to her neck. Her breath came ragged. Her eyes widened, pupils blown dark, and for one reckless heartbeat, her face opened with wonder . . . then closed with understanding.

The bond settled between us, alive and complete, humming through my bones as if it had done something beautiful.

And it had, but . . . I had made it ugly.