The Weight of Blood

Alexander’s POV

Rain poured harder, soaking through my shirt and chilling my bones, but I barely felt it. My pulse was thunder in my ears. My focus was on him—the hooded man now lying half in the mud, the rain washing blood down the side of his face.

Isabella’s hand trembled in mine. Her grip was weak but steady enough to remind me she was still here. Still breathing. Still mine.

“Stay back,” I said again, though I knew she wouldn’t listen if things turned worse. She never did.

The man lifted his head slowly, his hood falling back completely this time, revealing the face that had haunted my past—the man I had once called brother.

“Damian,” I breathed, the name tasting like ash. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

He grinned, a twisted, bloody smile. “Oh, but you always did underestimate me, Alex.” He spat blood to the ground, then rose, steady and unbroken. “Did you really think you could erase me that easily? That you could build a new life, a new empire, and she’d never know what you did to get it?”

I didn’t answer. My chest tightened, guilt threading through my rage. The sound of Isabella’s sharp intake of breath told me she recognized the name. I had kept Damian’s existence buried for years—a secret too dangerous to share.

And now, here he was.

My older brother. My enemy. The man I once looked up to before the night everything burned.

Lightning cracked the sky, white light splitting the air, illuminating his eyes—cold, venomous, full of hatred that had brewed for years.

“You took everything from me,” Damian hissed, voice trembling with fury. “You left me to die, and then you built your kingdom from the ashes of my blood. You took my legacy, Alexander.”

My jaw clenched. “You destroyed your own legacy. You made your choices. I just survived them.”

Damian laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You always did have a way of twisting the story.” He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, every movement dripping with rage and control. “And her—” he nodded toward Isabella, “—you thought I wouldn’t find out about her? About the woman who made the cold-hearted Alexander bleed?”

I felt Isabella tense behind me. I took a step forward, blocking his view of her completely. “Leave her out of this.”

“Oh, but she’s already in it,” he sneered. “The moment you touched her, she became part of the game. And now, brother, she’s your weakness.”

Something in me snapped. My pulse roared, hot and wild. I aimed the gun directly at his chest.

“You talk too much,” I said quietly.

Damian raised his hands mockingly. “Go on then, finish it. Just like before. Shoot me again and pretend you’re the better man.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. The rain mixed with blood on my hands, dripping from the wound on my arm. The thunder echoed the chaos inside my chest.

But as my finger brushed the trigger, Isabella’s voice cut through the storm.

“Alexander, stop!”

Her tone wasn’t pleading—it was desperate. I turned slightly, enough to see her face. Her eyes—wide, terrified, shimmering—cut through every ounce of rage inside me.

“Don’t do this,” she said softly. “Not like this.”

For a second, the world fell silent. All I could hear was her voice, trembling but strong, and the pounding of my heart.

Damian saw my hesitation and smirked. “See? Even she knows what you are.”

“Shut your mouth,” I growled, my hand shaking now, not from fear but from the war inside me.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” he taunted. “What you did that night. How our father died. How the blood on your hands isn’t just mine.”

“Enough!”

My voice cracked through the storm. The sound startled even me. Isabella’s lips parted in shock, her eyes searching my face for truth I didn’t want her to find.

The air between us thickened, heavy with memory and unspoken pain. Damian took advantage of that split second of distraction. He lunged.

I fired.

The gunshot echoed across the field.

Damian stumbled, clutching his shoulder, blood spilling between his fingers. But he didn’t fall.

“You always aim to wound,” he rasped, laughing even as pain twisted his face. “You never finish what you start.”

Before I could react, he reached into his jacket. I saw the glint of metal and dove forward, tackling him to the ground. The gun clattered away. The mud swallowed us as we struggled, our fists connecting with wet, sickening sounds.

He was strong, fueled by fury, but I had something he didn’t—the reason to live.

For her.

Isabella shouted my name somewhere behind me, but the rain drowned it out. All I could see was his face, twisted in rage, and all I could feel was years of betrayal surging through my veins.

He landed a blow across my jaw, splitting the skin. Pain flared white-hot, but I didn’t stop. My fist met his again and again until his laughter turned into gurgled gasps.

“Say it,” I growled between blows. “Say her name again, I dare you.”

He spat blood, his grin still defiant. “She deserves to know, Alexander… what kind of monster she’s with.”

Rage blinded me. My hands closed around his throat, and for a moment, I saw nothing but red.

But then—Isabella’s voice again.

Pleading.

Crying.

“Alexander! Stop! You’ll kill him!”

Her words pierced through the madness. My grip loosened just enough for him to suck in air. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my fingers—rapid, erratic, fading. I could end it right there. One more second, one more ounce of pressure, and it would all be over.

But her voice kept me tethered to something human.

“Please,” she whispered, barely audible over the storm. “Don’t lose yourself.”

And for some reason, those words broke me more than his betrayal ever could.

I released him, shoving myself back, chest heaving, mud clinging to my skin. Damian lay gasping, coughing, blood mixing with rainwater.

“This isn’t over,” he rasped. “It never is.”

I stood, shaking, soaked in rain and blood, my body trembling from rage and exhaustion. I turned away before the temptation to finish it could take over again.

Isabella ran to me, her hands touching my face, my chest, my shoulders as if to make sure I was real, alive, still here.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

“So is he,” I muttered. My voice was hoarse, hollow.

Her eyes searched mine, full of fear and heartbreak. “Alexander… who is he?”

The question I had been dreading. The storm around us quieted slightly, as if waiting for my confession.

“My brother,” I said finally, the word heavy as stone. “The one I thought I buried years ago.”

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. “Brother?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Damian.”

I expected anger, disgust, shock—but what I saw instead was sorrow. Her eyes glistened as she whispered, “Then why does he hate you so much?”

Because I deserved it. Because once, long ago, I pulled the trigger and watched my brother fall, believing I’d ended his madness. But fate had other plans.

Before I could answer, Damian’s laugh echoed weakly through the rain. “He won’t tell you,” he coughed. “He never does.”

“Shut up,” I growled, turning back to him.

He pushed himself up onto one elbow, blood smeared across his mouth. “You killed Father,” he said.

Isabella froze. The world tilted.

“That’s not true,” I snapped, but my voice cracked under the weight of the memory.

Damian’s grin widened. “He doesn’t deny it anymore. That’s progress.”

I took a step forward, rage burning through my chest again, but Isabella grabbed my arm.

“Alexander, please,” she whispered. “Not now.”

Her voice—soft, trembling, full of love I didn’t deserve—anchored me once again.

I turned to her slowly, my face inches from hers. Rain dripped from my lashes to her cheeks. “You don’t understand,” I said, my throat tight. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He wasn’t supposed to die.”

Her eyes searched mine. “Then tell me what happened.”

I shook my head. “Not here. Not now.”

“Then when?” she pressed, her voice breaking. “How many secrets are you going to bury until they destroy us both?”

The truth sat heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t say it—not when the smell of gunpowder and blood still hung in the air. Not when Damian’s mocking laughter still echoed through the storm.

“I’ll tell you everything,” I said finally. “But first, we end this.”

---

The distant wail of sirens cut through the rain. My pulse spiked. Damian’s men. Reinforcements.

“Isabella,” I said, turning toward her. “We have to go.”

“But—”

“No.” I gripped her face between my palms, forcing her to look at me. “You move when I say. You stay close. No matter what happens, you don’t stop running until I tell you to.”

Her lips trembled, but she nodded. “I trust you.”

Those words burned through me more than any wound ever could.

I took her hand, pulling her toward the tree line as Damian’s laughter faded behind us. The rain swallowed our footsteps, but my mind couldn’t shake his voice.

“This isn’t over,” he had said.

And I knew he was right.

As we ran through the dark forest, the thunder rolled above us, and for the first time in years, I felt the weight of the blood on my hands. Not just Damian’s. Not just our father’s. But every life I had taken to build the empire that now threatened to collapse.

And beside me, holding my hand, was the only thing pure enough to break me completely.

I glanced at Isabella—her wet hair clinging to her face, her chest rising with labored breaths, her eyes flicking toward me with fear and love tangled together—and I knew then: if Damian wanted war, I would give him one.

But this time, I wasn’t fighting for revenge.

I was fighting for her.