All Chapters of The Nun's Lustful Desire : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

VINCENT'S POVThe slap comes before I see his hand.My head jerks sideways, my ear ringing and my cheek burning. I taste blood where my teeth cut my lip. The room goes silent. Even my grandfather’s glass stops moving, and the servant stands frozen.Everyone waits for my reaction.For a moment, I give them nothing. I just stand there, jaw tight, the pendant hidden in my closed fist.“Give it to me.” My father holds out his palm, steady, like he's asking for a set of car keys and not something that has drained the color from his face. “Now, Vincent.”“I lost it.” The lie comes out too easily.My father’s eyes narrow. He knows I'm lying. He doesn’t shout. He goes quiet. And with my father, silence is always worse."Where did you lose it?" he asks after a silence long enough to make my pulse climb.I open my mouth to answer, then notice where he’s looking. Not at my face. Not into my eyes, searching for a lie like he always does. His gaze is fixed on my closed fist—the small circle pressi

ANGEL'S POV"Because you keep calling me."The whisper echoes in my skull the moment sunlight bleeds through the dorm curtains. My eyes snap open. Cold sweat clings to my collarbone despite the warmth pressing down from outside.I touch my neck, where three faint lines appeared last night, but the marks are gone now, as if they never existed. I can still remember his breath against my ear, so real that it feels like he is standing right here in this room. But then Bianca turns on the lights at that exact moment to use the bathroom, and everything ends. I went to sleep last night trying to convince myself I had imagined it all, but even this morning, I can't dismiss what happened as imagination.It feels far too real for that."Are you planning to apologize, or are you planning to stare at the wall all morning?"Juliet's voice drags me back. She stands at the foot of my bed, still in her silk sleep shorts, her shoulder-length dark brown hair messy on one side. Her warm hazel eyes study

AZRAEL'S POVI've been walking the streets of Bucharest for fourteen hours straight, and for the first time, I understand why living as a human must be exhausting.My boots strike the wet pavement again and again, their rubber soles leaving dark prints the rain quickly swallows. My lungs don't burn from exhaustion—that's one of the few mercies of immortality—but something worse claws at my chest. Desperation. The kind that tastes like rust and failure.Bucharest sprawls in every direction, a maze of glowing signs and endless streets that all smell exactly the same: gasoline, trash, and human sweat layered thick enough to choke on. Back in Veyra, scent tracking was simple. Every creature carried a distinct magical signature—one that couldn't be faked or mistaken. Here, human bodies are walking perfume bottles. Soap. Deodorant. Shampoo. Underneath it all, flesh and salt and something so utterly generic that tracking a single human through this city is like trying to find one snowflake i

THEODORE'S POVThe ice spreads first. Then the screaming follows.My knuckles hit the training hall wall. The marble cracks. Frost races through the fracture, swallowing the stone in seconds. Chunks of it crash onto the floor, already sealed beneath a skin of ice.The entire chamber drops into winter.One of my royal attendants—a fairy with iridescent wings and trembling hands—rushes forward with a towel. The towel is absurd.I haven't broken a sweat in two centuries. My skin has been too cold for that, for two hundred years.I snatch it from her hands anyway and hurl it across the room. She flinches. They always flinch."Leave," I command. The sheer weight of my voice drives half of my attendants to their knees before they scramble for the exit.The remaining attendants exchange glances, uncertain whether to obey a prince covered in frost or follow instinct to flee an apex predator. Instinct wins. They scatter without another word, leaving me alone with the wreckage—and the question

ANGEL’S POVThe first crack doesn't sound like breaking glass. It sounds like the world has forgotten how to hold itself together.I feel it before I see it—a ripple of cold running up my spine, electric and ancient, like something buried beneath the earth has just opened its eyes.Vincent’s grip tightened on my waist. “Angel, run!” he barked—just as the reinforced classroom window cracks.Then it shatters.Thousands of glass shards suspend in midair before slamming to the floor, drowning out the students' screams. And I know, deep in my bones, that this is my fault.I did this.Just like I did the first time, when I woke in that icy throne room and frost spread beneath my fingertips like a living thing.Darkness pours through the broken glass like something waking from centuries of sleep, and the temperature drops so fast my breath crystallizes before I can exhale.The overhead lights shatter in a shower of sparks, plunging the lecture hall into darkness so complete that, for a moment