Lucian’s Reign

by Mason, V. F.

  I no longer have to run; the monster died.

  Rolling to the side, I still carry the gun with me as I grip the table while getting up, my agonized scream echoing through the space because the pain in my ankle from all the tumbling burns so much I wonder if I’ve broken it.

  Still, I limp to the door, needing to the get the hell away from here, and finally wrap my hand around the knob, opening it wide and breathing in the fresh air.

  I step on the rough ground, welcoming the sunshine steaming brightly at me as if announcing the end to all the suffering, and that’s when I see him.

  My husband.

  Running so fast he’s almost a blur, but the closer he gets to me, the more blood I notice on him.

  His white shirt is soaked in it, and he has a nasty graze on his head. My God, how does he move with all these wounds?

  Ignoring my own pain, I race to him, finally throwing the gun away because my husband is here.

  He will protect me from anyone and anything else.

  One.

  Two.

  Three seconds and his strong arms wrap around me, hugging me tight as I circle his neck, sobbing into his shoulder, finally allowing the grief and pain to get to me, my heart shattering into tiny little pieces at all the truths discovered today.

  Because my villain is here.

  And his embrace and love will heal all my wounds.

  Epilogue

  “Once upon a time a villain and an artist fell in love.

  And their life was nothing but endless dark bliss.

  For her love cured the beast within.”

  Lucian

  Nine months later

  Lucian

  A monster falls in love only once, succumbing to the dark calling within him, reacting to the gentle creature who exudes nothing but warmth and beauty.

  Because she is the light in his darkness, which has the power to soothe the raging inferno inside his heart that pollutes his mind, she makes living through hell in his head a little easier every single day.

  Or so I thought anyway, before today.

  Before they placed him in my arms, screaming his lungs out, as he announced his arrival to the world to the doctor’s wide smile and Esmeralda’s sobs.

  His face was red, covered in mucus. He whimpered his displeasure at being ripped away from the only home he knew.

  I couldn’t help but stare at him in wonder as my chest filled with so much instant love that for a second, I thought I might burst from the impact of it.

  I’ve never felt anything like this before. No emotion can compare to the magnitude of the one he inspires in me.

  My baby boy, my firstborn, my heir.

  “Lucian.” Paul calls my name, snapping me out of the happiest memory of my life.

  I spin around to face an old friend who walks to me through the hospital’s hallway, his mantle flapping in different directions as a huge grin shapes his mouth. “Felicidades, amigo!” He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me hard before leaning back and grabbing my shoulders. “A boy! How is Esme?”

  “She cursed my name a few times during the labor, but I heard it goes with the territory.” He laughs at my joke, probably unable to imagine my wife being anything but sweet. When in fact her claws are so sharp, she can easily pierce flesh with them, and she did. My arms still have the imprints to show off proudly.

  After all, she gave them to me when she delivered our son who weighted seven pounds. “She’s resting now but begged me to bring her this.” I shake her latest obsession, iced green tea, and point at the door with my chin. “Come inside. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  Paul won her over when he agreed to help her run away from me, and he is a welcome guest in our house.

  He shakes his head, patting me on the shoulder one more time, before stepping back. “No, no. I think you need to be alone for now. I’ll happily meet the little one soon though.” He pauses, glancing to the side while an unreadable expression settles on his features. As if he ponders the words he wants to say next but doesn’t have the courage to voice them. Finally, he exhales a heavy breath. “I’m really happy for you, Lucian. The heart is okay now?” he asks, transporting me back more than twenty years ago to the rotten cage where a boy wanted to survive.

  Yet what he got exceeded all his expectations.

  Because an amazing woman trusted him with her heart and brightened up his good-for-nothing existence.

  Grinning back at him, I nod. “Yes.’’

  “I’m glad. Also, be prepared for mayhem.” I frown, and he elaborates, amusement lacing his tone. “Harold and Ricardo have already called to inform me to save the date two months from now.”

  “What the hell for?”

  He glares at my choice of words, which only makes me chuckle. “For the baby’s christening.” Since I stay silent at this, he asks with an edge in his voice, apparently ready to fight me on this should I reply in an unacceptable manner. “You will be christening him, right?”

  Religion hardly plays any significant role in my life, and while I respect people’s beliefs or whatever helps them in hard situations, I never considered subjecting my child to it from an early age.

  However, it matters to two old, grumpy men who love me like their own, and even my best friends christen their kids left and right. Should my prejudices stop me just because my prayers fell on deaf ears?

  Maybe they never did though, and for all the suffering I’ve experienced, God gifted me her and now my son.

  “Of course.” His eyes sparkle at this and I wink. “You’d be a godfather if the situations were different. You know that, right?” I may consider a few men my friends in this life, but out of them all, no one is closer to me than Paul.

  He’s stuck with me through thick and thin, always keeping his integrity intact.

  “Yeah. Now go.” He shoos me away. “Everyone plans to visit you in the morning, so be ready.”

  Like I said.

  Best friend.

  I press on the handle, entering the spacious white room as the scent of peonies floats in the air.

  Through a huge window, moonlight streams inside, mingling with the bright light on the ceiling, exposing my woman sitting on the bed in all her gorgeous glory.

  She wears a purple flannel nightgown, and her hair is clipped on the top of her head.

  The small crib stands next to her, but it’s empty because our son rests on her breast, sighing heavily as she cradles him in her arms, lightly patting him on the bottom.

  “Mi amor, you were supposed to rest.” Although who could resist holding him in their arms?

  She raises her eyes filled with joy at me and brushes her thumb over our son’s cheek. “He started crying, and I couldn’t listen to it.” I walk to them and put the tea on the bedside table, perching on the edge of the bed and watching them both. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

  I trace my finger over his forehead as he sighs once again. His face scrunches, and then he opens his eyes, watching us in confusion. “He’s perfect.” His ocean-blue eyes follow my voice, acknowledging my presence, and I don’t care that all babies have blue eyes.

  My son will have his mother’s eyes; of this, I have no doubt.

  Watching him now, I’m once again grateful to the higher powers for allowing us to experience this moment despite the hell that happened nine months ago.

  As I held my sobbing wife in my arms, Jacob and Eugene arrived. From there, they took me to the hospital and I underwent two surgeries—thankfully the bullets missed all my organs.

  Meanwhile Esmeralda answered all the questions the police had while my friends took care of the rest.

  They marked Andreas’s death as an unhappy accident since his history was clear of any suspicious activity or charges.

  Harold and Ricardo hovered above us like mother hens, doting on our every wish, and even Suzanne arrived, showing her distaste of Alec and support to Esme.

  The old hag glared at me the whole time, claiming it was “my
damned fault”—exact quote—but she accompanied Esmeralda when she decided to spread Evangeline’s ashes in the ocean because she loved it.

  And that night, she cried in my arms for all her losses one last time, finally moving on and leaving her pain and regrets behind.

  Two months later, we found out she got pregnant, coincidentally on our wedding night. The idea of a baby scared me to death.

  A small breathing human being completely dependent on me, who needed love and attention, and me being a father… something I didn’t know how to be, because I haven’t seen good examples around.

  But looking at him now… I think all I need to do is love him with all my heart, never closing off from these emotions that have the power to hurt me.

  Because if something ever happens to him, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to survive it.

  My little miracle.

  “We need to pick a name,” Esmeralda says, pressing her lips lightly to our son’s forehead. “Preferably something that was on Harold’s list.” We look at each other and laugh, remembering how the old man frequently left notes with names written on them “accidentally,” when in fact he watched us the whole time making sure we got them in our hands. “He’ll never forgive us otherwise.”

  “I think he’s just happy about a little one, who they all can spoil rotten, running around.” Our son fusses a little, and she rocks him in her arms, humming softly. “Still, we need a name.” She bites on her lower lip. “What is it, mi amor?”

  “Harold told me the other day how your father once mentioned a name he’d like to give to his grandson.” I still, staring at her, and after a hesitation, she elaborates. “Do you want to hear what it is?”

  My heart contracts inside my chest, because one of the enduring traditions in the Cortez family was the grandfather picking the name for his grandson. It’s why they named me Lucian and kept Javier as my middle name.

  The information unsettles me, rubbing old wounds still present in my soul, because we didn’t understand each other, no matter how much we tried to patch the big gap between us that we couldn’t cross.

  My son fusses again, and without thinking, I reach out for him, and she carefully places him in my arm, resting his head in the crook of my elbow.

  I get up, holding him to me as he blinks at the light above him, and rolls his lips in a sucking motion.

  My son.

  Was this how my father felt when he found out about me?

  Enormous amount of happiness except it was tainted by regret and pain?

  “Cuál era el nombre?” I hear myself ask, finally fully accepting and being grateful for belonging to the Cortez family.

  When my father found me, he gave me a legacy, and now shouldn’t I start anew and mend what was broken for at least two generations so far?

  Our gazes clash, and she wraps her hands around a pillow, resting her cheek on it. “Santiago.” She muses on it and adds, “I like it.”

  I try the name on my tongue and then look at my son who blinks again, his blue orbs studying me. “Santiago Cortez,” I address him, and he coos a little and a smile curves my mouth. “Te gusta?” He fusses again in my arms, and I stroll to the window where the view of nighttime Chicago is illuminated by thousands of colorful lights. “Bienvenido a mi vida, hijo,” I whisper to him, and he blinks, listening to me. “I promise you that not a day will go by where you won’t be loved. No matter what you do, where you go, or what you say… my love will always be yours. You’re a precious gift that I’ll cherish ‘til the day I die and protect with everything I am.” He rolls his lips again, and I rock him a little. “The world lies at your feet, so conquer it. Enjoy it. Live it.” I lean down and give him a light kiss on the forehead. “Welcome, Santiago, welcome.” Half turning, I look at my beloved wife without whom none of the happiness I experience right now would have been possible.

  She wipes away her tear. “Te amo, mi amor,” I tell her, and she grins, her eyes glowing.

  “I love you too.”

  And that too is a gift I shall cherish until the day I die.

  Seven years later

  Lucian

  A loud shattering echoes through the mansion, freezing the maids walking down the hallway, and my brows rise as I step out of the office.

  They resume their walk, nodding at me, and I stroll to the room from where a collective gasp shortly follows mixed with groans.

  Pausing in the doorway, I watch the four hellions responsible for the broken glass scattered all over the marble floor glistening under the chandelier shining brightly.

  Or how their mothers call them.

  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

  “We broke Mama’s favorite vase!” Santiago exclaims, tangling his fingers in his dark hair while he huffs in exasperation. “Mierda!”

  “I don’t think you are allowed to say that word,” a blond-haired boy says, mischief playing in his green eyes as he peeks over Santiago’s shoulder to look at the damage.

  “Oh, crap,” Remi mutters, his dark hair swaying under the AC humming in the room, while his scuffed shoe taps on the crushed porcelain.

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to say that word either.”

  Remi and Santiago swing their heads at the boy and hiss, “Shut up, Florian!”

  Jacob’s son and my godson—God help me, because I have a feeling I’ll need it in the future—just smirks at this and hops on the nearby couch, snatching the pencil resting on his ear.

  He grabs his sketch book, drawing something as he studies the scattered pieces and bites his tongue.

  Despite his young age, he’s already showing the Price family talent that by my estimation will far exceed his father’s. Not to mention the kid can’t go an hour without sketching something and finds inspiration in every little detail.

  Esme thinks it’s adorable, while I just shake my head.

  The only reason I even agreed to be his godfather was to shut up Jacob’s jokes about the possibility of my daughter ending up with his son. The fucker loves playing on my nerves and poking the beast, while I fail to see the humor in it.

  Over my dead body, not that I have a daughter to speak of, but Florian doesn’t ever get my nonexistent princess.

  “Why are you sitting on the couch? We need to clean up!” Remi grips Florian’s shoulder, and the boy rolls his eyes. “Come on.”

  “We? I didn’t do anything. I was sitting right here when you all decided to play tag.” Remi growls, and Florian blows him a kiss. “Clean up yourself.”

  “Keep your voice down, Remi!” Octavius whispers, kneeling on the floor and gathering pieces in a silver bowl, his hands shaking a little, and anger flares inside me at the sight of his fear.

  Kenneth was right after all. Wayne truly created hell on earth for Kenneth’s son, and unfortunately until his mother accepts it, I can’t do anything else. I tried interfering once, but it had no effect as the kid stays silent.

  Still though, I control his shares so at least he will have his company once he turns twenty-one.

  The boy has excellent manners and loves to read, but he’s so skittish at any sign of trouble as though already expecting to be blamed for it.

  “It was my fault.” He picks up another piece. “I ran after Remi and accidentally knocked it down.” He exhales heavily. “Do you think we can hide it?”

  Santiago frowns and then gently touches Octavius’s shoulder, ready to reassure him when Remi notices me. He elbows Santiago, whose eyes widen and he stands up straight.

  Every time my eyes drop on him, the warmth inside me grows along with pride and love, because he’s the apple of my and Esme’s world.

  We go horse riding together, golf, playing pirates in the garden, and generally bond over the simplest things.

  This whole father thing might not be so hard after all, as long as your kid stays happy and knows that he can always trust you to catch him when he falls.

  Or kill the monsters hiding under his bed.

  And who be
tter to do it than another monster?

  Although I’ve toned down on the murders, still participating when someone vicious goes around my city or I hear about demons feasting on children. However, I don’t actively search for it, honoring my wife’s request to be extra careful and not sacrifice our family on the altar of my responsibility toward a promise I gave a long time ago.

  “I broke Mama’s vase,” Santiago announces to me, and I cross my arms. “We played in the living room and I knocked it down. It was an accident.”

  I stay silent, staring him down, and barely restrain myself from laughing when he lifts his chin, giving me the same stubborn expression right back.

  Oh, he’s my son all right.

  “Is that so?” I ask, noticing how Florian continues to sketch, unaffected by the whole hoopla while two other boys shift uncomfortably.

  Ah, guilt.

  Heavy weight to carry if one has a conscience.

  “Sí.”

  “No, it was me.” Remi pushes him away and stands in front of me, fisting his hands as his voice shakes a little. “I hit the table and it fell.” His brown orbs drill into me, awaiting my reaction while inwardly I grin.

  Since Esmeralda loves all things pretty, we hired a gardener who takes care of all the flowers she’s planted, and his son was four years old at the time.

  He instantly bonded with Santiago, and the boys became best friends within a day. Sometimes he acts more like an overprotective brother though, always shielding Santiago from stuff and taking a lot of the blame.

  Not that my kid lets him, so watching them both trying to keep the other out of trouble to show who cares about whom more is hilarious.

  Octavius gets up, dusts his knees off, and takes a deep breath. “They are both lying. It’s my fault. I knocked it down.” He looks at me, not even blinking while his body tenses as if in preparation for a blow. “I’m so sorry.”

  Among them all, Octavius has the biggest sense of honesty and moral code, so he will never allow anyone else to take the blame for him.

  Florian jumps up really quick, throwing his notepad away, and blocks Octavius from my view as he addresses me. “No. It was me. I was in my head, didn’t watch my steps, and poof, the vase was broken.” His mouth lifts in a half grin that doesn’t reach his panicked eyes. “My fault, padrino.”