Author's note: Ah, another ficlet. Hopefully soon my muse will be able to focus on my main stories, but for now, just ficlets. Lately she has been focusing more on lycans again, finally, going back to my favorite characters and finally getting into their heads again. So, here's another Lucian ficlet. Hope everyone enjoys, and please review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zero, zip. Everything belongs to D. McBride, K. Grevioux, L. Wiseman, and Sony. I mean no copyright infringement, ok. Please, do not sue me. Savvy?



Time had a way of numbing, of making things fade. Blurring the edges and dulling the pains. Yet it had never done this for Lucian. He could still remember every curve of her body, every sigh from her mouth. He could still feel every lash on his back, hear every anguished scream, coming from both of them.

She had been so perfect, and they had tainted her more than he ever had. They had desecrated her body even after sentencing him to death for supposedly doing worse. And the child, innocent of every crime except being what it was inside her womb, a creature of mixed blood, of untold power, and unknown strength.

And they had feared it, shunned it. The vampires had despised his kind, but they felt terror only for the product of the forbidden love.

Lucian could remember the sight of it, of fear in their eyes, of the hatred, of the contempt, but nothing of pity. No mercy, no quarter given. No pardon, not even for an unborn child, guiltless in the matter.

They had destroyed his family, tried to break him. They had in many ways. Then put him back together in some twisted way, changing him, making him someone else, something else. He was not even sure he was lycan anymore.

He had once known what he was, who he was. When she had been around. When they had been together. Everything had been clear, had made sense then. She had wiped away all confusion, erased all pain, cleansed all sins, been his goddess and his damnation.

She had known who she was with him, and she had accepted him as her own god and damnation as well. She had known her fate, and had thrust herself to it, without looking back. Even as she burned away, he had known.

No regrets clouded her mind. Fear and sorrow and pity. Pain and despair, even the longing to protect her child as she had tried to scrunch her stomach protectively while sunlight rained down on her with fiery rays of light.

Time had never erased those actions from his mind, had never dulled the smell of her burning flesh. It was still fresh. He could smell it when he woke, when he slept, when he hunted, when he kept to himself in silence. He could hear her screams every moment, see her writhing in agony whenever he closed his eyes, the image burned into his soul deeper than any brand.

Time had never taken those things from him. Never made his memories fade, never numbed his pain or dulled his senses. It was supposed to, that was how time worked. It got rid of the old, made way for the new.

But Lucian clung to those things. He fought time, and he won. They would never leave him, they would never lose potency. They kept him alive, kept him going, reminded him of why he still existed, why he still fought.

A small smile formed on his lips as he thought, as his mind drifted back even farther, memories of her form in his protective arms. Of his mouth pressed to the small swell of her belly, of times he had come to find her asleep still, mouth open slightly, lips begging for a kiss. Of times she had laid on top of him, of the feeling her cold skin meeting his burning flesh, of nights he entered her and gave her all the pleasure he could.

Eyes closed as he continued to remember, as he thought of when she held him tightly, when she laughed, face even more aglow. Of emerald eyes meeting his, speaking volumes silently across a room. Thinking of days he guarded her and her kind knowing she would be waiting, knowing she would be there, and they would be together again.

Lips parted and a sigh that almost became a sob escaped while he remembered words of love spilling from their mouths as they nuzzled each other, content in that simple pleasure, that simple contact. The words explaining he would be a father, the words promising he would take her and their child to safety, that they would find a way to escape.

Fists clenched as pain filled his mind, old scars almost bleeding anew as he again saw her broken form, her tattered dress and dirty face assuring him that even she had not escaped the wrath he had suffered for days since their discovery. As his own screams rang in his ears, then mingled with hers as he saw it all happen again.

Lucian relaxed his body. He opened his eyes, unclenched his fists and reached up with one hand, fingers tracing over the golden pendant hanging from his neck. The pendant that had been hers. The pendant Viktor had tried to steal from him.

The bastard had not deserved to even touch it, let alone keep it. It had been hers, and now it wasn't, and it was because of Viktor, because of his fear and hatred and inability to accept change that she was gone, lost to them both forever. And he had tried to take it for himself.

And now the Elder tried to hunt them all down, trying to wipe out every lycan in an attempt to make himself feel better. He could not kill Lucian, he thought, but he would see all of them fall, no matter the cost.

Lucian rose from his chair, walking over to the small window of his room. He stared at the sunset. The sun. He lifted his hand, looking at the skin. If only he had been able to somehow give this gift to Sonja, to somehow make her frail form withstand the harsh light of day.

He could endure, why not she? Why did she have to be the one gone, the one taken? Why his child?

Perhaps because his fate was worse. It was selfish to want to trade places, because every day he saw her charred remains, all trace of their child purged from her body. Because every day he led a war, he fought his own demons, and clung to his memories as though they were his life.

And they were.

Sonja did not deserve such a fate. Sonja would never have the fate she truly deserved, but perhaps it was best she had been so frail, so delicate, despite the strength in her soul and her heart. She was at peace now, leaving Lucian only with only his memories.

Maybe his was the weak one. Because he did not think he could survive without his memories. Perhaps he was truly the weak one. Because he could not exist without thoughts of his family. Maybe it was really his soul, his body, his being that was frail.

Because the only reason he had any will at all, was because she had loved him freely and without regret.