Author's note: Written for 15minuteficlets, the word being "anguish". I must say, I will never, ever tire of writing Lucian. I love this character, and he is so much fun to write. Hopefully the ficlets don't get too repetitive. Hope you enjoy and please review. Reviews are like a drug.

Disclaimer: I don't own, please don't sue. Savvy?



He couldn't make it stop. He couldn't make it leave him be. He couldn't run from it, hide from it, escape it. He couldn't control it. He could only harness it, use it, focus on it until he was certain a knife was truly cutting through his heart.

He watched the fighting, watched the vampires and his lycans. He watched them as they battled. He was ready to enter the fray now, and he would take many vampires down tonight. He would die tonight. He would go down fighting, and he would die at the hands of his own, chosen killer.

All the while he focused on the pain inside, the despair, the sorrow, the hatred, the anguish, the longing, the bitterness, the emptiness, the contempt, the disgust, the disdain. He would harness it as best he could and he would use it.

He fought in human form. He wanted to look into their eyes and have them stare back into his human pair. Not his lupine pair. That was too honorable. It would spare them the raw hatred and triumph. The tiny bit of satisfaction their deaths gave him.

But it was not enough. And they would see that. That their death was only one in a thousand that could ever come even halfway close to being enough. That they were meaningless in his eyes, that they no longer had any position or power in his eyes. That their one time slave saw them as the dirty he had been treated like.

And then those who remained behind would rejoice upon his killer's return. They would think themselves safe in their castles and their lush palaces. They would celebrate his death, the way they celebrated everything they could. They would celebrate his death as if their own princess had not been killed.

He would watch them from the shadows. He would watch them with cold, empty eyes, and he would imagine the expressions on their faces when they learned the truth. He would relish the taste of their death, and he would make them remember.

Remember her. Remember their princess who had loved a slave more than the carnal pleasures and pristine comforts that were her birthright.

And he would make them feel what he felt. He would see it in their eyes before they died. He would taste it in their blood, just as he had heard it in her scream. He would smell it, filling his nostrils like a drug he never wanted but was addicted to all the same.

They would fall and see their slave stand above them as they become true corpses, and they would know anguish.