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Soul Cure: How to Heal Your Pain and Discover Your Purpose

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Gregory Dickow
Gregory Dickow

Gregory Dickow, born on September 18, 1964, is an individual whose profession and category are unknown. more

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“Lucien leaned his head back against the rock wall behind us. 'And then I'll ask your mate how he survived it- knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male's bed.' I tucked my freezing hands under my arms, gazing toward the gloom ahead. 'Tell me when you knew,' he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. 'That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.' I chose not to answer. 'Was it going on before you even left?' I whipped my head to him, even if I could barely make out his features in the dark. 'I never touched Rhysand like that until months later.' 'You kissed Under the Mountain.' 'I had as little choice in that as I did in the dancing.' 'And yet this is the male you now love.' He didn't know- he had no inkling of the personal history, the secrets, that had opened my heart to the High Lord of the Night Court. They were not my stories to tell. 'One would think, Lucien, that you'd be glad I fell in love with my mate, given that you were in the same situation Rhys was in six months ago.”

“His red hair gleamed in the faint firelight a moment later as he shoved through the flaps and swore. 'Maybe I should sleep out there.' I rolled my eyes. 'Please.' A way, considering glance as he knelt and removed his boots. 'You know Tamlin can be... sensitive about things.' 'He can also be a pain in my ass,' I snapped, and slithered under the blankets. 'If you yield to him on every bit of paranoia and territorialism, you'll just make it worse.' Lucien unbuttoned his jacket but remained mostly dressed as he slid onto his sleeping roll. 'I think it's made worse because you two haven't... I mean, you haven't, right?' I stiffened, tugging the blanket tighter onto my shoulders. 'No. I don't want to be touched like that- not for a while.' His silence was heavy- sad. I hated the lie, hated it for how filthy it felt to wield it. 'I'm sorry,' he said. And I wondered what else he was apologising for as I faced him in the darkness of our tent.”

“I wasn't sure I'd been born with the ability to forgive. Not for terrors inflicted on those I loved. For myself, I didn't care- not nearly as much. But there was some fundamental pillar of steel in me that could not bend or break in this. Could not stomach the idea of letting these people get away with what they'd done.”

“I heard Lucien first. 'Back off.' A low female laugh. Everything in me went still and cold at that sound. I'd heard it once before- in Rhysand's memory. Keep going. They were distracted, horrible as it was. Keep going, keep going, keep going. 'I thought you'd seek me out after the Rite,' Ianthe purred. They couldn't be more than thirty feet through the trees. Far enough away not to hear my presence, if I was quiet enough. 'I was obligated to perform the Rite,' Lucien snapped. 'That night wasn't the product of desire, believe me.' 'We had fun, you and I.' 'I'm a mated male now.' Every second was the ringing of my death knell. I'd primed everything to fall; I'd long since stopped feeling any guilt or doubt about my plan. Not with Alis now safely away. And yet- and yet- 'You don't act that way with Feyre.' A silk-wrapped threat. 'You're mistaken.' 'Am I?' Twigs and leaves crunched, as if she was circling him. 'You put your hands all over her.' I had done my job too well, provoked her jealousy too much with every instance I'd found ways to get Lucien to touch me in her presence, in Tamlin's presence. 'Do not touch me,' he growled. And then I was moving. I masked the sound of my footfalls, silent as a panther as I stalked to the little clearing where they stood. Where Lucien stood, back against a tree- twin bands of blue stone shackled around his wrists. I'd seen them before. On Rhys, to immobilise his power. Stone hewn from Hybern's rotted land, capable of nullifying magic. And in this case... holding Lucien against that tree as Ianthe surveyed him like a snake before a meal. She slid a hand over the broad panes of his chest, his stomach. And Lucien's eyes shot to me as I stepped between the trees, fear and humiliation reddening his golden skin. 'That's enough,' I said. Ianthe whipped her head to me. Her smile was innocent, simpering. But I saw her note the pack, Tamlin's bandolier. Dismiss them. 'We were in the middle of a game. Weren't we, Lucien?' He didn't answer. And the sight of those shackles on him, however she'd trapped him, the sight of her hand still on his stomach- 'We'll return to the camp when we're done,' she said, turning to him again. Her hand slid lower, not for his own pleasure, but simply to throw it in my face that she could-”

“You tell them I killed them. In self-defence. After they hurt me so badly while you and Tamlin did nothing. Even when they torture you for the truth, you say that I fled after I killed them- to save this court from their horrors.' Blank, vacant eyes were my only answer. 'Feyre.' Lucien's voice was a hoarse rasp.”

“How are you not winded,' he panted, hauling himself onto the flat top. I shoved back the hair that had torn free of my braid to whip my face. 'I trained.' 'I gathered that much after you took on Dagdan and walked away from it.' 'I had the element of surprise on my side.' 'No,' Lucien said quietly as I reached for a foothold in the next boulder. 'That was all you.' My nails barked as I dug my fingers into the rock and heaved myself up. Lucien added. 'You had my back- with them, with Ianthe. Thank you.' The words hit something low in my gut, and I was glad for the wind that kept roaring around us, if only to hide the burning in my eyes.”