Chapter 40: The beautiful light

Chapter 40: The beautiful light


Keith’s POV


The world is red. A haze of blood and fury. Every face that flashes in my vision is one of them—the ones who held me down, who stole my voice, who carved their cruelty into my soul.


I want to tear them apart. I want to feel their bones break under my hands. This rage is all I am. It’s a fire that burns away everything else, leaving only the primal need to destroy.


I don’t know where I am. There are screams, noises, blaring sounds. It doesn’t matter. Everything is a target.


Then I see it.


A shift in the red haze. A light. A soft, moving white light that doesn’t belong in this nightmare. I feel it before I truly see it—a coolness, a calmness that cuts through the inferno in my mind for a single, fleeting second.


I reach for it. I need to touch it. It feels... familiar. Like a memory I can’t quite grasp.


But it moves away from me. The light retreats.


A new kind of fury, sharp and bitter, joins the rage. It feels like rejection. It hurts.


I lash out, pounding my fists into the walls, into the ground, into anything that is near, roaring my frustration into the red night.


Then I hear it. A voice.


It comes from the light. The light can talk?


Why do I feel that this light... could end this? That It could stop the pain?


I move toward it, a desperate, stumbling charge. I hope it doesn’t run. I hope it lets me reach it.


Then the pain comes. White-hot, searing, unimaginable pain that wraps around my body, burning through the red haze. I roar, instinctively fighting against it.


The voice comes again from the light. Softer now. Pleading.


Stop. Stop fighting it.


I still. I don’t know why. The command, the feeling behind it, is stronger than the pain. I obey. I let the light pull me, each step an agony as the burning sensation bites deeper into my flesh.


I can’t take it anymore. The pain is too much, layering over the curse, over the rage, until it is the only thing I can comprehend. My legs buckle. The ground rushes up to meet me. The red fades.


I could hear low growls that vibrated through the floor. They weren’t mine. They were coming from the light.


A deep, protective instinct surged through me, cutting through the last remnants of my own agony.


I reached a trembling, clawed hand toward the light. I didn’t want to grab it; I wanted to... touch it. To see if it was real.


And it came to me. It drifted closer, then settled on the ground beside me, its glow illuminating the rough, scarred skin of my arm. As it lay there, I felt a strange, profound understanding.


This light was in trouble, too. It was scared. It was in pain. The growls were for it. My own suffering suddenly felt secondary. I just wanted to soothe it.


Ignoring the ache in my own bones, I gently rubbed my fingers over the surface of the light. It wasn’t fire; it was impossibly smooth, like polished glass warmed by the sun, and a profound sense of comfort flowed from it into me.


And then, the light did the same. A tendril of warmth, like a gentle hand, stroked my furrowed brow, my tense shoulder. A sound I hadn’t heard from myself, rumbling purr, rose in my chest.


I have never felt like this during the curse. The transformation is always pure, unadulterated torment. But this... the pain was still there, but it was better. It was being shared, and in that sharing, it lessened.


I rested my head near the light, curling my massive body around it in a protective hug. I just didn’t want this to end at all. For the first time in a lifetime of full moons, I felt peace. And I slept.


***


I wake with a start. I look around. I am in a wide storage room. How the heck did I get here?


I remember yesterday. Oh no. The last thing I remembered was breaking free from my brothers... So, me ending up here means that they weren’t able to. Oh no. This isn’t good at all.


A sharp, burning pain pulls my focus. I look down. Delicate, tarnished silver chains are wrapped around my chest and arms, their touch searing my skin. I curse, my fingers fumbling as I tear them off, tossing them aside with a clatter. Angry red welts are already rising on my flesh, the pattern clear against the pallor.


I am completely naked. I stand up, my body stiff, and reach for a dusty canvas cloth hanging from a hook. I wrap it around my waist. My head hurts and I grunt, trying to force the night to come back. But I wouldn’t be able to remember.


That’s just how it is. It’s my brothers who tell me what happens, who show me the videos. But my brothers aren’t here. And the fact that I was sleeping peacefully here, bugs me more than anything. It never happens. I always wake up exhausted, wounded, surrounded by destruction.


How did it happen?


The question burns hotter than the headache. The confusion curdles into a familiar, bitter frustration. I lash out, pounding my fists into the concrete walls, into the ground, roaring my frustration into the silent, empty room.


The roar echoes in the confined space, the sound of my fists hitting concrete a dull, satisfying thud that matches the pounding in my skull. But the outburst does nothing to quell the turmoil inside.


Enough. I need answers. I need to get out of here.


I shove the heavy storage room door open, and the early morning sun stabs at my eyes, making me flinch. As my vision clears, I recognize the surroundings. I’m at the Serpent’s Kiss. But something’s off. The air itself feels... enchanted. My gaze sweeps across the damages around. My handiwork.


What else did I destroy?


I start walking, my bare feet silent on the pavement, heading instinctively toward the private VIP room we use. I need to get to our secure room, away from prying eyes.


A couple of early-morning workers carrying crates see me and freeze, their eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fear. Is it seeing their CEO half-naked and wrapped in a dirty drop cloth, or is it the fact that I’m here at all, looking like I’ve been through a war? Probably both.


I lock eyes with one of them, a young man who looks like he’s about to bolt. "You. Phone. Now," I rasped.


He fumbles in his pocket and hands over his smartphone immediately, his hand trembling. I take it, my own hands surprisingly steady despite the chaos in my head. I dial Kieran’s number from memory. He answers on the second ring, his voice a tense, wary snap. "Who is this?"


"Don’t cut the call. It’s Keith," I say quickly, preempting his habit of hanging up on unknown numbers.


There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by palpable relief. "Keith? Christ. I thought those fucking paparazzi had gotten my new number again. Where the fuck are you? We’ve been looking all night!"


"I’m at the Serpent’s Kiss," I say, turning my back slightly as the worker who lent me the phone wisely decides to make himself scarce. I lower my voice. "And what the fuck happened when I was... rogue?"


Kieran’s tone turns grim. "You were more vicious than normal, Keith. Worse than we’ve ever seen. You broke the titanium chains like they were string. We lost you after you vaulted. We’ve had teams searching the city. How did you end up at that place?"


So, they don’t know. They have no idea how I got into that storage garage. The mystery deepens, and with it, the nagging memory of a soft, comforting light.


"I don’t know," I admit, the frustration seeping back into my voice. "I just woke up here."


"Stay put. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you," Kieran commands.


"Just hurry." I end the call and hand the phone back to the waiting worker. Before I let go of the device, my thumb deftly navigates to the recent calls list and deletes Kieran’s number.


The worker scurries away, and I’m left alone again, the enchanted air of the venue feeling more like a cage than a comfort.


Something happened last night that has never happened before. And I have no idea if it was a miracle or a prelude to something far, far worse.


**


It didn’t take an hour before I saw the familiar, sleek black car glide silently into the underground parking entrance.


It pulled up beside me, the tinted window rolling down to reveal Kieran’s face. He looked tired, but a familiar, sharp-edged grin tugged at his lips as he took in my state.


"Well, don’t you look like something the cat dragged in, reverse-werewolf edition," he said, his tone a mix of relief and brotherly insult.


I yanked the passenger door open and slid inside, the cool leather a stark contrast to my grimy skin. "Save the compliments. We have bigger things to worry about. Like how I woke up inside a storage garage."


Kieran’s grin faded as he pulled the car away, navigating out of the lot. "We’ll figure that out. But it’s on a list, Keith. Something else happened last night. Something big."


The gravity in his voice made my skin prickle. "What happened?"


He glanced at me, his expression completely serious. "The Serpent’s Kiss has been enchanted. As in, the racetrack itself is... alive."


I stared at him. Was he making a joke? A poor-taste attempt to lighten the mood after a disastrous night? But Kieran’s face was granite. He was dead serious.