Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 254

Chapter 254: A Mother’s Judgement

The stairs down to the lower dungeons were old and narrow, carved from cold grey stone that had never once felt the sun. Derek went first, one hand hovering near Nana’s elbow, ready to catch her if she so much as wobbled.

"Nana, are you sure about this?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. "You don’t have to see him. I can handle it alone."

Nana kept walking. "Derek Wolfe, if you ask me that one more time, I will give you a very heavy knock. Maybe that way it would get into your skull."

Derek nodded, though doubt still lingered in his mind.

"I’m old, my boy, not made of glass." She paused on the landing to catch her breath, one hand pressed to the wall. "Though I’ll admit these stairs are trying their best to finish me off before I get there."

The deeper they went, the worse the air became, thick and sour, with the stench of damp stone, old blood, and rot. The two gammas stationed at the bottom snapped to attention the moment they saw who was coming.

"Your Grace. Lady Genevieve." They bowed low.

"Open it," Derek said.

One of them fumbled with the ring of heavy iron keys, and the cell door groaned open on rusted hinges. The stench hit them like a brick wall.

Crane hung suspended from the ceiling, his wrists bound in silver chains that had eaten raw, weeping rings into his skin. He was a shadow of the proud, sneering man he had once been.

His clothes hung off him in filthy tatters. Whip marks crisscrossed every inch of his exposed body, some fresh and glistening, others crusted dark where the blood had clotted and dried. His ribs pressed sharp against his skin. He smelled of everything a man should never smell of.

The moment Crane heard footsteps, his head lifted weakly.

"Derek..." he rasped, his voice barely more than a wheeze. His cracked lips pulled into something that might once have been a smile, though now it just looked like a wound. "Come to gloat again, have you?"

Derek stepped inside without a word, his face cold and inscrutable.

Crane’s chest heaved with the effort of speaking. "Just kill me. I’m begging you." A tear slid down through the grime on his cheek. "Please. Whatever twisted satisfaction you’re getting from this, you’ve had enough of it. End it. Have some mercy and put me out of my misery."

"Mercy," Derek repeated flatly, "is a funny word coming from you."

"Derek—"

But his words died when Nana stepped through the doorway. Crane’s eyes widened in horror. Then he broke completely.

"Mother," he choked out, and the word cracked as it left him. His whole frame began to shake, the chains rattling above him. "Mother, no. No, no, you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t see me like this."

Nana stood very still just inside the cell, both hands folded in front of her. She looked at the thing hanging before her, the son she had carried and birthed and raised, and her face gave away nothing at all.

"Please," Crane sobbed, and now the tears came in earnest, carving pale tracks down his filthy face. "Mother, please, have mercy on me. Tell him to kill me. Or give me a proper punishment. I can’t bear it anymore, I can’t—"

"Be quiet," Nana said.

She did not shout it. The two soft words landed harder than any scream, and Crane’s pleading died in his throat with a wet gurgle.

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