Thorne hadn't slept in ten days.
Not because he wouldn't— he couldn't.
He sat slouched in the chair near the window, shadows under his eyes like bruises, a leather folder in his lap. The pages inside it had long stopped making sense. He flipped through them anyway.
Across the room was Caelum, watching him keenly, lips pressed into a thin line as though he were trying so hard not to state the obvious.
"It's been ten days, Thorne," he finally said, unable to keep quiet any longer.
Thorne didn't look up. "I know."
Thorne exhaled. "It happens after the full moon," he murmured.
"But it's more intense this time… Ten days is a lot," Caelum replied, pausing for a second, hesitating. "Should I have the tea brought again?"
Thorne finally looked up, his expression tired but firm. "No. It's not working anymore."
Caelum frowned. If the tea wasn't working anymore, then what would? The tea was specially made for Thorne to sleep, and it had been helping for as long as it could until now…
"You can't keep pushing yourself . You need—"
"I said no. It's of no use," Thorne snapped, passing the document back to the beta. "What else?"
"Lord Levi has arrived. He's been shown to the room, and I've informed him that you'll see him tomorrow…"
Thorne hummed. "Good. I'll deal with whatever problems he's brought this time tomorrow," he replied, leaning back against the chair.
Caelum turned to leave but paused, hesitating. "Are you sure you don't want the tea? You look—"
"I said no, Caelum! No!" Thorne snapped, and the beta nodded curtly before stepping out, finally leaving him to himself.
Thorne stood up and walked towards the alcohol cabinet, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. Of course, it would do nothing to him; it wasn't so different from drinking water, but at least this one had some sort of taste.
He ran his fingers through his hair, gulping the drink, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire from the fireplace. His insomnia was getting worse, and he was beginning to feel like he was losing his mind. He couldn't turn off this buzzing noise in his head, and when he finally found a way to shut his eyes, he'd always woken up, drenched in sweat by the same nightmare. It still haunted him.
He dragged a hand down his face. His skin felt tight, like it didn't fit right anymore. Like he was stretching out of himself.
The door creaked open again.
"I said—" he growled, spinning around. "I'm not drinking the damn tea, Caelum, I—"
But it wasn't Caelum. No. It was Elara.
She stood by the door, gaze pinned on him, and then she stepped in, shutting the door behind her. She said nothing at first. Just watched him. Watched the way his fingers clenched around the bottle.
"You look like hell," she said gently.
"What are you doing here, Elara?" Thorne asked.
Elara paused, tilting her head sideways. "What am I doing here? I heard your sleep pattern got worse. Ten days without shutting your eyes? I can imagine how maddening it must be." Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by novel★fire.net
Thorne shut his eyes, gulping the rest of the drink. "It's late, Elara. You should leave," he said, walking towards the cabinet again.
"How long will you keep me at arm's length, Thorne?" Elara voiced out suddenly, taking him by surprise.
Thorne stilled at the cabinet, his back still to her.
"I'm not a child anymore," she said. "Stop treating me like one."
He turned slowly, brows furrowed. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it?" she asked. She walked towards him, stopping a few feet away from him. "You hold me at bay like I'm fragile. Or worse, like I'm your sister. But I'm neither of those things."
His eyes darkened. "You're walking a dangerous line, Elara."
She smiled, and there was nothing kind in it. "I've danced that line for years."
She stepped closer to him. "It's happened before," she whispered, fingers ghosting over the hem of her gown. "You didn't stop me then. So why now?" The gown dropped to the floor, leaving her in nothing.
"Don't think of me as Elara tonight," she said. "Think of me as her. As Roseanne. If that's what you need. Imagine her face on mine, that it's her body you touch." She leaned closer, her lips ghosting over his shoulder. She then looked up at him. "Use me tonight, Thorne. Use me however you want to if that gives you the relief you desperately seek."
He stared at her, every muscle in his body taut like a bowstring.
"How long will you keep bottling it all up, Thorne?" she asked. "You're going to explode. So do it. Here. On me. Use me. I'll let you."
She reached for his hand, guiding it to her waist. His breath hitched.
"I'm not asking for love," she whispered, close to his ears, "just… relief. Let me be the one to take the edge off."
Elara dropped to her knees in front of him. "Tonight," she murmured, fingers moving to undo his pants, "I'm Roseanne."
Thorne's breath hitched. "Elara—" he growled low, as if warning her, but he didn't stop her.
"You miss her so much it's eating you alive," she said it like a confession. "So let me be her. Just for tonight. Let me be the ghost you can't stop chasing."
And then she took him into her mouth. Fully.
His hands clenched at his sides, torn between pushing her away and giving in. He hated himself for how quickly the heat overtook him. For how his body betrayed him. For tuning his lycan out.
Thorne shut his eyes, head tipping back. The world blurred… she was right… he was too pent up. He had to release his frustration somehow. Somewhere.
Elara took him deeper, bobbing her head as though it were her life purpose. She wanted to show her skills. Give him something he wouldn't forget. Something he would always want, need.
Thorne gritted his teeth as pleasure twisted into something else. Her face flashed in his head, clearer than anything, and he groaned, gripping Elara's hair tight. His hips jerked forward, and for a moment—just a moment—he gave in.
But it wasn't Roseanne's face he saw.
Eyes narrowed in, lips parted, her scent tangled in his head, drowning every part of his sense.
And just like that, the heat turned cold.
"Stop." Thorne jerked back, breathing hard, his hand still fisted in Elara's hair but already loosening. "Stop. Get up."
Elara blinked, stunned. "What—?"
"Get up," he snarled, stepping away, shoving his pants back into place like it would erase what just happened.
Elara stood slowly, confused, angry, and frustrated. "Thorne—"
He ran his fingers through his hair manically. "Leave now. This— this never happened," he growled.
Elara flinched, eyes clouding with hurt, but right now, Thorne didn't care. No. He didn't. Not when he should've imagined Roseanne. The forever love of his life and instead… instead, he could only see Adina.
He was losing his mind.