OURS: The Hunted Prince

Chapter 8: OURS

“They touched what’s ours. Now they die.”

DRAVEN POV

The castle gates opened for us.

Ancient stone. Black iron. Carved with warnings older than the Treaty. They groaned on their hinges like they knew what we’d seen today. Death Magic. A wolf at the border. And still, worse was coming.

We climbed out of the car.

“Home sweet home,” Lucien sighed.

He sounded bored. He wasn’t. His eyes were too bright. Too sharp. Lucien only sounded bored when he was seconds from violence.

Cassius didn’t speak. He was already moving, shoulders tight under his coat. Toward the dungeon. Always toward the dungeon when he was angry.

We decided to check on our latest prey first.

A formality. The guards said they caught a wolf. Wolves don’t cross. Wolves don’t beg. We wanted to see what kind of stupid we were dealing with before we broke it.

We were halfway down the dungeon steps when it hit me.

The scent.

It didn’t walk in. It _slammed_ into me. Through stone. Through cold. Through three hundred years of blood and war and emptiness.

The most delicious scent I’ve ever smelled.

Rain. Not the city kind. The kind that falls on untouched forest. On soil that’s never been bled on.

Cedar. Old. Wise. The kind that holds up temples.

Snow. Not dirty slush. The first fall. Clean. Silent.

Frost. The bite of it. The way it burns your lungs clean.

Winter pine. Sharp. Green. Alive.

And midnight air. That breath you take at 3 AM when the world is asleep and you’re the only thing real.

All at once.

I almost stopped breathing.

How can someone smell so good?

It wasn’t possible. Not in a dungeon. Not in Duskmoor. Not in a world that stank of Death and ash and old betrayals.

I looked at Cassius.

Pale. Frozen. Like he’d seen a ghost. Like if he moved, the scent would vanish and he’d realize it was a lie. His hands were fists. Knuckles white. He wasn’t breathing either.

Lucien was no different.

He was still. That was the terrifying part. Lucien was never still. He vibrated. He grinned. He destroyed.

Now? Stone. Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Like he’d been struck.

And then we felt it.

Not the scent. Deeper.

In our chests. In our ribs. In the places we thought were dead.

Fear.

Sharp. Cold. Suffocating.

Our mate was scared.

The bond snapped into place like a blade between our ribs. Three hundred years of waiting. Of silence. Of wondering if we were too broken to be claimed.

And the first thing we feel from him is terror.

What in the bloody void were they doing to him?

I don’t know how we reached the dungeon door in one second.

One second we were on the stairs. The next, the door was in front of us. Time didn’t move. We did.

But what I saw broke me.

My mate.

On his stomach. On cold stone. Chains at his wrists. Shirt torn. Blood at his lip. Hair falling in his face like he’d been shaking his head. Saying no.

And two dead men — because they were dead the moment they thought about touching him — hovering over him. Hands reaching. Mouths open. Laughing.

About to defile him.

About to touch what was ours.

About to ruin the first clean thing we’d felt in centuries.

All I saw was red.

Not anger. Not rage.

Red.

The color of the seal. The color of the magic that bound Death. The color of the vow we made to never let this happen again.

Lucien exploded the door with his mind.

No warning. No touch.

One second, iron and wood and locks. The next, shrapnel. The door didn’t open. It ceased. The hinges screamed. The stone around it cracked.

And there he was.

The most beautiful creature we’ve seen in all our years of existence.

Even like this. Even bruised. Even shaking. Even with fear rolling off him in waves that made my teeth ache.

Pale skin. Dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Lips parted. Eyes squeezed shut. Like if he didn’t see, it wasn’t happening.

He smelled like winter. Like home. Like everything we didn’t deserve.

_“OURS.”_

We said it at the same time.

My voice. Cassius’s. Lucien’s.

One word. Three voices. A vow. A curse. A fact.

The sound of it made the torches flicker. Made the guards drop. Made the air go heavy.

He flinched at the word. At the sound. At us.

And then he passed out.

Just... went limp. Like his body decided it was safer to not be here. Like unconsciousness was better than us.

A sharp pain ripped through my chest.

Not mine. His.

Fear. Real fear. So deep it crossed the bond and sank its teeth into me.

He was scared of us.

I moved before I thought.

I rushed to him. Scooped him into my arms.

He was light. Too light. Like he hadn’t eaten. Like he’d been running. Like he was made of snow and would melt if I held too tight.

But I didn’t let go. Couldn’t.

His head lolled against my chest. His breath was shallow. Fast. But he was breathing. He was alive. He was here.

Behind me, the world ended.

Lucien was already draining one guard dry.

No words. No play. Just his hand on the man’s chest and the guard screaming as his blood turned to ice in his veins. As it flowed out of his pores. Out of his eyes. Out of his mouth. Into Lucien.

Lucien’s eyes were black. No white. No mercy.

Cassius was peeling the skin off the other. Slowly.

With his fingers. With his nails. With the kind of precision he usually saved for art.

The guard was still alive. He would be for a while. Cassius was good at keeping things alive.

The sound was wet. The smell was copper. The screams were music.

I trust my brothers with pain.

They would make it last. They would make it matter. They would make sure these men regretted being born, regretted breathing, regretted looking at him.

Thank the gods our mate wasn’t awake.

I don’t think he’d like this.

The blood. The screaming. The way Lucien licked his lips. The way Cassius smiled while he worked.

And the last thing we want is for him to fear us. To hate us.

He already flinched at “ours.” Already passed out from our presence.

If he woke up to this? To us, covered in blood, wearing death like crowns?

That would ruin us.

Three hundred years. And we’d lose him in the first minute.

I ran.

One second, dungeon. Stone. Screams. Blood on my boots.

The next, castle halls. Marble. Tapestries. Gasps from servants who saw me coming and pressed themselves to walls.

I didn’t slow. Couldn’t.

He was so cold in my arms. Too cold. His skin was ice. His lips were blue.

“GET THE CASTLE DOCTOR HERE NOW!” I roared at the maids.

My voice broke chandeliers. Shook portraits. Sent a footman to his knees.

“NOW!”

They scattered. Running. Screaming. Good.

Let them fear me. Let them all fear me.

Just don’t let him.

Please, gods we don’t believe in, don’t let him fear us.

Don’t let him wake up and see monsters.

Let him see us.

Let him see ours.