Chapter 86: Love Crazed 1
MARGAUX
Séverine stared at me.
She stayed rooted in place, her gaze fixed on me with the certainty of someone who had already written the ending to our conversation before a single word was spoken.
"You seem very fine," she said, "considering you just met them."
I opened my mouth.
"Were they not invisible too?" She tilted her head. "Gosh. You are such an attention seeker."
Her words slid out smooth, almost pleasant, which only sharpened their sting.
"Still holding on to him," she continued, "despite everything you and your family did to him. It is so pathetic." She let the pause breathe before she added, "I am starting to think there was no witch or warlock at all. You just did that to get attention."
My reply slipped out before I could catch it.
"Right." I met her eyes without flinching. "I drowned myself for Étienne. I even killed a skilled sentinel despite not having any fighting experience, all so I could get closer to him." I let that settle. "I am not that pathetic yet."
"The thing is," she said, soft as a blade that had not drawn blood yet, "I do not believe you." Her chin lifted. "After everything he did to you, you are pathetic enough to keep the bond. He humiliated you and your family in front of several packs. If I were in your shoes—"
"You would never be in my shoes," I said it clean and without heat. "Ever."
That seemed to hit a mark inside her.
"I cannot believe I had empathy for you," I said. "If Étienne wants this bond gone, he can make it happen. He knows how. I wanted it the second his game plan was revealed. I said as much. But he refused because he wanted to make me suffer."
A flicker of change crossed her face.
"But you are not suffering," she said, and it came out less like an accusation and more like a realization she hadn’t meant to say aloud.
I really saw her then: the swollen skin beneath her eyes, her jaw clenched tight as if holding back words she would regret. Her cruelty was not born of power but of fear, and she had tangled the two together so often they had become indistinguishable within her.
"Since we are stepping into each other’s shoes," I said, "let me tell you something." I kept my voice even. "If a man ever made me doubt my own worth so badly that I was crashing out in public corridors, I would call myself to order. I would ask myself how I ever handed him that power to begin with." I paused. "You are a Luna, Séverine. He is a false heir. You have more standing than he does in most rooms you will ever walk into, and you are not beholden to your family’s ambitions like I was." I meant it. That was the strange part. I meant every word. "So make the best of your fucking life."
Her expression tightened. "The bitch dares give me advice."
"I do not have time to stand here and argue with you over a man."
"Right." Her smile went sharp. "You want to run to him. Tell him you saw a witch. It is the only way you know how to latch on to him."
I turned to leave.
Her hand closed around my arm.
"A word of advice." Her voice dropped to a quieter, considerably more dangerous tone. "Étienne is mine. I will not lose him to the likes of you. Thread very carefully. Or you might not like the fate that befalls you. And trust me whore, I do not make empty threats."
Her threat lingered between us, unresolved, when footsteps struck the corridor with urgent force.
I turned.
Étienne appeared at the far end of the hallway, nearly running. He was unmasked, and that struck me harder than anything else could have. He usually never went without it, not in public. But his face was bare, scars exposed, and his shirt gaped open at the chest, buttons missing, though his belt was fastened again.
He called Séverine’s name.
She scoffed—a brief sound, almost nothing, yet it echoed with years of history.
"Étienne," I said, pulling his attention before he could reach for her. Their fucking relationship issues could wait. My survival was far more important. "I came across a man in this corridor. He was naked, and he didn’t look like anyone I recognized. Now that I think about it, he did not even smell like a wolf. He had blue eyes, strange ones. But he was solid. Real." I hesitated only for a second. "When I touched him, he vanished. But I scratched his arm first. I think I have something under my nail that could be used."
I held up the hand in question.
Séverine broke the silence before either of us could speak. Her voice was quiet again, the careful quiet she used when she was pretending at control she did not truly possess.
"Taking care of the witch comes first," she said, her gaze moving to Étienne. "Help her. You still have time to give me an answer."
Then she walked away.
His hand rose toward her back—a gesture that faltered before it became real, as if he caught himself at the edge of something irreversible. She never looked back. Her footsteps faded, steady and unhurried, as she disappeared around the corner.
I looked at the space where she’d been.
Then I looked at him.
His face settled into that unreadable mask he wore when too many secrets pressed behind his eyes.
He turned toward the wall, eyes moving upward. A camera sat mounted near the ceiling, its small red light blinking.
"It is a good thing I had Laurent put cameras up through the hallways after the first attack," he said. His voice had gone practical again. Controlled. He was pulling himself back together in real time, and I could see it. "If they were here, we would find something."
He looked once more toward the corridor Séverine had taken. One beat, then two.
Then he turned back toward the infirmary and started walking.
I fell into step beside him.
The silence stretched on, deliberate and heavy, until it felt like a choice rather than an accident.
"Your aptitude for revenge," I said, "is giving you relationship problems."
"Drop it."
"I don’t want a love-crazed Luna as a new enemy on top of a witch trying to kill me," I said. "So I want to talk about it."