The Villains Must Win-Chapter 118: Valerian Cross 38

The world was a blur of pain and feverish dreams for Valerian. Darkness pulled at him, thick and suffocating, dragging him deeper into an abyss where he could hear the echoes of his sister’s screams and the mocking laughter of that damned vampire, Lucien.

Every breath burned, every shift of his body sent fresh waves of agony coursing through him. His chest felt as if it had been ripped open—because it had been.

And yet, he was alive.

Barely.

The scent of herbs and something sharp, metallic, filled his senses, mingling with the distant crackle of fire. His fingers twitched against soft fabric, and when he finally forced his eyes open, all he saw was a dimly lit chamber—stone walls, shelves lined with bottles and vials, and the flickering glow of candles casting restless shadows.

A figure moved nearby.

Evelyn.

She sat with her back turned to him, hunched over a table littered with open books, bowls filled with crushed herbs, and a bubbling cauldron emitting a deep, violet mist. The scent was heady, almost intoxicating, and he realized it was what had kept him tethered to life.

"You’re awake," she murmured without looking at him.

Her voice was even, but he caught the edge of exhaustion in it. Had she been up all night tending to him?

What day was it anyway?

He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, raw. A low groan escaped him instead, and almost instantly, Evelyn was at his side.

"Drink this," she ordered, pressing a warm cup against his lips.

He resisted at first, because he always did, but she wasn’t in the mood for his stubbornness. With surprising strength, she tilted the cup just enough to force the thick, bitter liquid into his mouth. It burned as it slid down his throat, but the moment it hit his stomach, warmth spread through his body, dulling the pain that had been tearing him apart.

He coughed, wincing, but managed to glare at her. "Poisoning me now, witch?"

Evelyn arched an elegant brow. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have dragged your bleeding corpse out of that godforsaken castle, Cross."

He chuckled, or at least tried to, but it only sent another sharp pain lancing through his ribs. Evelyn sighed, shaking her head as she placed the cup aside. Her fingers, cool and surprisingly gentle, brushed against his forehead, checking for fever.

"You should be dead," she muttered, almost to herself. "A wound like that—normal humans don’t recover from it. Not in days, not even in weeks. But you’re not exactly normal, are you, Valerian?"

His eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Evelyn only smirked. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with just yet."

She had tried every damn potion she knew to keep him alive for days—her best healing brews, ancient elixirs, even some questionable concoctions she wasn’t entirely sure were legal. There was no way in hell she was going to let him die just like that and lose the game.

Over her dead body.

If Valerian had the audacity to die on her now, she’d personally drag his soul back from the depths of hell, slap some life back into him, and shove him right back into her loving arms.

And then she’d kill him herself for putting her through this stress.

"That bunny better give me those stars," she muttered.

"Bunny?" Valerian hated when she spoke crazy. Hated how she sometimes knew something that he wasn’t aware of.

But he was too damn tired to push her for answers.

Instead, he let his gaze drift over her—her disheveled hair, the faint smudges under her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly as she reached for another vial.

"You look like shit," he said hoarsely.

Evelyn snorted. "So do you."

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the occasional pop of burning wood in the fireplace. Then, more softly, she added, "You almost died."

He turned his head slightly, watching her through half-lidded eyes. "You say that like you care."

Her expression didn’t change. "Maybe I do."

That caught him off guard. He expected sarcasm, expected her usual teasing remarks. But there was something different in her tone. Something raw.

A memory flashed in his mind—of her standing between him and the advancing horde of vampires, blood dripping down her chest from where Stephany had nearly torn her apart. She had been just as injured as him, but she had still chosen to get him out of there.

"Why?" he rasped.

Evelyn tilted her head. "Why what?"

"Why did you save me? You could have just escaped. With my death, you’d be free from the blood contract."

Evelyn scoffed, rolling her eyes. "My goal is to walk freely among humans, and I can’t exactly do that if you’re dead, now can I?"

Valerian watched her, noting the way she hesitated, the way she clenched her fingers around the edge of the table.

"You’re an idiot," she finally muttered, looking away. "An idiot who throws himself into danger without thinking. Someone has to keep you alive."

He smirked, despite the pain. "Sounds like you care."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Don’t let it go to your head, Cross."

But he saw through her. He saw the way her shoulders had relaxed ever so slightly, the way her breathing had steadied now that she knew he was awake and not slipping away into death’s grip.

And for once, he didn’t think about Stephany. For once, he felt lighter—relaxed, even. A strange sense of peace settled over him, knowing that Evelyn cared about him.

Silence stretched between them again, heavier this time.

Valerian let his head sink back against the pillow, closing his eyes. He was exhausted. But for the first time since stepping into that wretched vampire castle—since realizing he might never get his sister back—he didn’t feel entirely alone. And somehow, that made the loss in his heart a little more bearable.

Evelyn sat beside him, stirring her potions, ensuring his body healed at a rate no human should.

And despite the darkness still looming over them, for now, he allowed himself to rest.