Page 57 of A Hunter for Luna

Benedetto's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. For a long moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. But then he exhaled heavily through his nose, his gaze sliding away from mine to fix on the ceiling.

"It's not just about Lucardi," he said, his voice low and rough. "It's about my brother. Francesco." Benedetto's eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was seeing something beyond the confines of the room. "He was cursed by a sorcerer, driven madby dark magic. And I believe Lucardi is connected to the one responsible."

I frowned, my brow furrowing as I tried to make sense of his words. "What do you mean, connected? How?"

Benedetto's lips twisted into a humorless smile. "That damned book he acquired, the one we were after tonight. It's the kind of rare, forbidden tome that sorcerers would kill to get their hands on. Lucardi must have procured it for one of them, as payment or a favor owed."

He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "Sorcerers never give up anything so valuable without a steep price. And the timing...it lines up too closely to when Francesco first started showing signs of madness to be a coincidence."

I mulled over this new information, trying to reconcile it with what little I knew of Francesco's affliction and Benedetto's quest for vengeance. It was a tangled web, one that seemed to grow more complicated with each revelation.

"You say you don't care if your family line dies out," I pointed out, unable to keep the challenge from my voice. "Yet here you are, risking everything to avenge your brother. It seems a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Benedetto's gaze snapped to mine, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. "You don't understand," he growled, pushing himself up to sit. "No one else is doing a damn thing about it. They're all too preoccupied with their own petty power struggles to seek justice for Francesco or put an end to this madness."

I sat up as well, refusing to be cowed by his ire. "But he's family, Benedetto. Surely that counts for something, even in a family as fractured as yours."

He let out a derisive snort, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Family," he spat, as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth. "What has family ever done for me, or for Francesco? They'd sooner sweep his condition under the rug and pretend it never happened than lift a finger to help him."

The bitterness and resentment in his voice made my heart ache. I knew all too well the pain of feeling betrayed and abandoned by those who were supposed to love and protect you. After all, my own father had burned my mother alive for her moon magic when I was just a child. The scars on my heart would never fully heal.

"Not all family is like that," I said softly, reaching out to lay a tentative hand on his arm. "I haven't given up on my sister, or on the idea of building a new family someday. One founded on love and loyalty, not just blood and duty."

Benedetto stiffened at my touch but didn't pull away. He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

An awkward silence settled between us, heavy with all the things left unsaid. I could feel him withdrawing, his walls slamming back into place. The brief moment of openness and vulnerability had passed, leaving us once again as guarded adversaries rather than lovers.

Sighing inwardly, I slid off the bed and began gathering my clothes. There was no point in lingering, not when the chasm between us yawned so wide. I dressed quickly, feeling Benedetto's eyes on me but refusing to meet his gaze.

Only when I was fully clothed and had my cloak wrapped securely around me did I turn to face him. He was sitting on theedge of the bed, a sheet draped loosely across his hips, watching me with an inscrutable expression.

"I should go," I said quietly, hating the note of uncertainty in my voice. "It's late."

Benedetto inclined his head, his eyes hooded and distant. "Until next time, then."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pang of longing those words evoked. There could be no "next time," not in the way I secretly yearned for. This had been a means to an end, a cold transaction to better my chances of escaping my father's clutches. Nothing more.

Squaring my shoulders, I gave him a curt nod. "Until next time," I echoed hollowly. Then I turned and walked out, forcing myself not to look back.

As I stepped into the darkened hallway and pulled the door closed behind me, I nearly collided with a servant girl hovering just outside. She jumped back with a startled squeak, her eyes wide and guilty.

I narrowed my gaze at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes. She'd been eavesdropping, spying on our private moment. The realization made my stomach churn with unease.

Before I could say anything, the girl bobbed a hasty curtsy and scurried away, disappearing around the corner. I stared after her retreating back, a cold sense of dread unfurling in my gut.

If the servants were listening, then someone else knew what was going on. On the other hand, they had always eavesdropped, andthe servant would be beaten for it. I’d be vigilant but I won’t report her unless she did it again.

By the time I reached my chamber, I felt as if I were sleepwalking, my limbs heavy and my mind fogged with fatigue. The events of the night replayed in my head as I collapsed on my bed—the raid, the deaths, my reckless gambit with Benedetto. It all swirled together into a dizzying cacophony as I sank into a restless slumber.

I dreamed of the barren plain Sofia had once described, an endless expanse of cracked earth beneath a starless sky. The air hung heavy and oppressive, carrying the cloying scent of decaying roses entwined with something sharper, more metallic. Like blood mixed with perfume.

An eerie stillness permeated the landscape, broken only by the mournful sighs of the wind. It felt ancient, this place, as if it had existed long before the world I knew. A remnant of a forgotten time, now inhabited only by ghosts and shadows.

Through the wavering heat haze, I glimpsed a figure in the distance. Tall and gaunt, clad in black robes that fluttered around its skeletal frame like the ragged wings of a carrion bird. It seemed to beckon to me, spindly arms outstretched, bony fingers curling in an unspoken summons.

Compelled by a force I didn't understand, I stumbled forward, my bare feet sinking into the sunbaked earth. The wind snatched at my hair and clothes, carrying snatches of whispered words that danced just beyond my comprehension. Fragments of a language I felt I should know but couldn't quite grasp.

As I drew closer to the figure, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They wove around me like an icy current, ripplingacross my skin and making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I fought to make out actual words or phrases, but it was like trying to hold the wind - each time I thought I had it, it slipped through my fingers.

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