CLAIMED BY MY STEPBROTHER

Forgotten

I gave it ten more minutes and finally admitted it he wasn't coming.

So I started walking in what I guessed was the way home, mostly because standing at an empty curb felt worse than wandering off clueless. But really, I had no idea which way was right. I'd only been in the car once, going the opposite direction, pretending not to be as freaked out as I actually was. I didn't know a single street name. Honestly, I couldn't even tell you what the neighborhood was called.

The farther I went, the less anything looked familiar. Glass office buildings faded into older ones, then into quiet suburban blocks, every house behind a wall of hedges so tall I couldn't even tell if anyone lived there. My phone was nearly dead, too didn't charge it this morning. Just another thing on a growing list I'd never planned for in this new life I was supposed to figure out.

I tried asking someone this woman at a crosswalk if she knew where the Cross estate was. She looked at me like I'd suddenly started speaking Martian, shook her head, and darted away before I could follow up.

Then the sun started going down. That’s when I got truly scared. Nothing dramatic, just a slow, steady weight pressing in, making every step quick and awkward.

I passed three guys leaning on a low wall by the corner shop. Right away, I knew it don’t look, don’t draw attention, just keep going. The oldest survival trick in the book. Of course, one of them pushed off the wall and followed, keeping a half-step behind me, closer than anyone should.

"Hey," he said, sticking way too close. "You lost?"

"I'm fine," I answered, barely slowing down.

"Didn't ask if you were fine," another voice chimed in from the other side. Suddenly there were two, hemming me in tight but not touching—yet. "Asked if you were lost."

I kept moving. Faster now, heart banging away, waiting for a hand to yank me backwards. It never came.

The closest one leaned in so close I could feel him breathe in by my ear, sharp and slow, like he was tasting if I was worth bothering with. He coughed out a laugh, drew back with this smirk, half amused, half annoyed.

"Human," he said, flat and bored, like that explained everything.

They cut me off like a bad song, just shrugged me aside, and boom lost all interest. One shoved me in the shoulder, hard enough to knock me off balance, before turning his back and laughing with his friends. I guess it was over. I guess I'd proved I wasn't worth the hassle.

So I just stood there, heart pounding, legs shaky, trying to look invisible for a second longer before I found the nearest bench outside a closed pharmacy and dropped.

Checked my phone six percent battery left. No idea where I was. Two people in the whole city I could realistically call.

I tried Mom first. She picked up after two rings, and hearing her voice almost undid me.

"Max? Honey, where are you, it's almost seven—"

"I got lost," I said, hating how tiny I sounded. "Lucian didn't come after school and I tried to walk but I... I really don't know where I am."

"Oh, sweetheart." Of course she sounded worried. That just made it harder. "Alright. Stay there, send me a photo, whatever you can. I’ll call a car, right now."

She stayed on the line till the cab got there eleven minutes—with neither of us saying much. I just listened to her breathe. It helped. I handed the driver the address she texted over and watched the city blur past as the car rattled along, my own face pale and tired in the window.

I made it through the door a little after seven thirty, showered in five minutes flat, and came down for dinner already dead on my feet, though not from walking.

Everyone else was seated. Mom checked on me quick, quiet, just a glance that asked if I was actually okay. I gave what I hoped was a reassuring nod.

Lucian wasn’t there.

He showed up twelve minutes later, dressed like he had somewhere better to be dark shirt, too much expensive cologne, car keys spinning. Didn’t sit, didn’t care, just grabbed a piece of bread on the way by.

"Where were you," Damian asked, quietly. Too quiet.

"Out." Lucian didn’t bother meeting his eyes.

"You were supposed to bring your brother home from school."

"I had somewhere to be."

"He waited." Damian’s voice got harder. "He stood outside for more than an hour. Alone. In a city he doesn't know. He had to call his mother, take a cab, because you forgot one simple thing."

Lucian’s jaw went tight, but he wouldn’t look at me. "He's not a kid. He’ll figure it out."

"He got lost, Lucian." Damian's tone made the whole table freeze. "Do you get what could have happened to him? Alone, unclaimed, human?"

"Not my problem."

"It is exactly your problem.” Damian set his fork down with a sharp clink louder than any shout. "You’re taking him with you tonight. Wherever you were going. Show him the city so this doesn’t happen again, unless you want to explain why you'd rather let him get hurt than be decent for one night."

"This is my night. My friends. My life," Lucian shot back, cold and furious. "You don’t get to dump him on me every time you feel guilty about marrying his mother."

"Get used to it," Damian replied, solid as a brick wall. "Until he knows this city, you’re his ride. His guide. His brother, like it or not. Or I can decide what kind of punishment fits leaving your family behind."

The silence was brutal.

Lucian finally glanced my wayone blank look, no apology, just irritation I’d caused this mess.

"Fine," he said to Damian. Not to me. "Get ready. You’ve got ten minutes."

I didn’t have anything you’d call club clothes. Not something I’d ever needed until right then, standing in front of my closet, ten minutes ticking away, staring at three shirts I’d worn to every awkward interview in my life.

I picked the one that seemed least formal. Black pants. Told myself it was going to be fine.

It wasn’t.

I knew as soon as I slid into Lucian’s car and he scanned me once, that faint sneer flickering over his face before he looked back at the road. I knew it even more the second we walked into the club dark, loud, packed with people in leather and metallics, every one of them moving like they were born to it. My shirt and slacks lit me up like a warning sign.

"Nice look," someone called as we passed. "Who dressed you, your priest?"

Laughter chased after the comment easy, mean, effortless.

Lucian just moved faster, never looked back, already peeling off toward a booth surrounded by people who practically snapped to life as he arrived. Somebody slapped a drink in his hand. The rest grinned. He was instantly one of them.

I took my wallflower post, watching from a safe distance. I saw him tip back his drink, light something someone handed him, exhale smoke with that rare, almost-peaceful face, one I hadn’t seen before. People moved around him like he was gravity, the center of their little orbit.

He didn’t look for me. Not once.

A girl found me eventually pretty, confident, not bothered by the way people stared and she took my wrist like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Come dance."

I glanced at Lucian’s booth without meaning to. He was watching. Not with worry or real curiosity. Just watching, almost bored, like I was a video gone slightly wrong.

I left the wall for the dance floor because, honestly, standing stuck to that spot felt worse than the disaster I knew was coming.

It was bad.

I never learned to dance in places like this. I felt stiff, awkward, painfully visible, and it didn’t take long before the snickers started up behind me. A stray hand yanked me into a dumber pose for their entertainment. Someone dumped a drink, all "accident," and now I was soaked, sticky, skin crawling. I didn’t say a word I’d learned talk just made things worse.

One glance at the booth dripping, embarrassed, part of me stupidly hoping Lucian might get up, might step in, might help, even a little.

Nope.

He just watched, glass in hand, face blank as ever. Let it all play out. Didn’t lift a finger.