Regret & Conflict Part 1

Kieran -

The brandy burned going down, but not nearly enough to silence the voice in my head that kept cataloguing my failures. I sat in my study, the same room where I'd held Catherine's stolen rose like a talisman, and tried to convince myself that I'd done what was necessary.

She's safe, I told myself. Protected. The cell will keep her contained until the full moon passes.

But safety felt like a thin justification when I could still smell her fear clinging to the air hours after she'd been escorted below. Could still see the way her spine had straightened when she realized the beautiful chambers had been a lie. Could still hear the careful politeness in her voice as she'd thanked me for hospitality I had no intention of providing.

Coward, my conscience whispered. You couldn't even tell her the truth yourself.

No, I'd left that task to servants who knew better than to question orders, no matter how distasteful. Had hidden in my study like a guilty child while Catherine Montgomery discovered exactly what kind of arrangement her father had negotiated.

The second glass of brandy went down easier than the first, though it did nothing to improve my mood. If anything, the alcohol was making my self-recrimination more acute, stripping away the carefully constructed justifications I'd been building all evening.

She trusted you, the voice continued relentlessly. When you touched her hand, when you showed her those rooms, when you called this place home—she trusted you. And you repaid that trust by having her dragged to a cell like a common criminal.

"Enough," I said aloud, though there was no one to hear except the shadows that danced in the firelight.

But it wasn't enough. The guilt was settling into my bones like winter cold, making me question every decision that had led to this moment. The bargain with her father, the preparation of those chambers designed to deceive, the careful orchestration of her arrival—all of it felt tainted now by the look in her eyes when she'd realized what was happening.

She didn't break, I reminded myself. She maintained her dignity even when faced with betrayal.

That should have been comforting. Should have confirmed my belief that Catherine Montgomery was strong enough to survive what lay ahead. Instead, it made me feel like even more of a bastard for putting her in a position where such strength was necessary.

The prophecy—

Damn the prophecy, I thought savagely. And damn my need to see it fulfilled at any cost.

Because that's what this was really about, wasn't it? Not protection, not necessity, not even the desperate loneliness that had been eating at me for decades. It was about my willingness to sacrifice an innocent woman's freedom for the chance—however slim—of breaking a curse that was my burden to bear alone.

The third glass of brandy didn't help either.

I was reaching for the bottle again when Lucas's voice cut through my brooding like a blade.

"Drinking yourself into oblivion won't change what you've done."

I didn't turn from the fire, didn't acknowledge his presence beyond the slight tensing of my shoulders. "I'm not seeking oblivion. Merely... perspective."

"Perspective." Lucas stepped into the room proper, his footsteps measured and deliberate. "Is that what you're calling guilt these days?"

Guilt. Such a simple word for the complex tangle of emotions that had taken up residence in my chest. Regret, yes. Self-loathing, certainly. But underneath it all was something worse—the knowledge that if I had to do it again, I would make the same choices.

Because the alternative was an eternity of isolation, an endless cycle of full moons and empty chambers and dreams that never quite satisfied the hunger gnawing at my soul.

"She's safe," I said, the words feeling hollow even as I spoke them. "That's what matters."

"Safe." Lucas's tone carried enough skepticism to cut glass. "Is that what you're calling a dungeon cell now?"

Dungeon. The word hit like a physical blow, stripping away whatever euphemisms I'd been using to make my actions palatable. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? A dungeon, complete with iron bars and symbols of warding carved into ancient stone.

"The full moon is tomorrow night," I said, finally turning to face him. "You know what I become. What the pack becomes. She needs to be contained until—"

"Until what?" Lucas interrupted. "Until you decide she's suffered enough? Until the beast is satisfied that it's established dominance? Until she's been broken enough to accept whatever scraps of affection you're willing to offer?"

Each question hit home with uncomfortable accuracy. Because I hadn't thought beyond the immediate problem of keeping Catherine safe during the change. Hadn't considered what would happen afterward, how I would explain the necessity of her confinement, how I would rebuild whatever trust I'd destroyed with tonight's betrayal.