Claimed By Desire

Duty.

Lucien.

The door clicked shut behind her, and silence filled the room.

I stood there, breathing in the faint trace of her perfume, heat, and regret. The echo of what I didn’t let happen.

Control, that was the word I’d given her. But right now, it felt like a lie. Every damn nerve in me screamed to follow her.

I straightened my cuffs, steadied my breath, and left the room. The club had gone quiet, the halls washed in amber light. My footsteps sounded too loud against the marble. Inside, I was anything but calm.

I could still taste her on my tongue, feel the heat of her pulse beneath my fingertips as if I’d touched her again.

And God, I wanted to.

Every muscle in me still burned from holding back—every instinct screaming to claim what was already mine

My mate.

She didn’t know it yet, and that was the problem. Amara was fire wrapped in fragile humanity, fighting a truth she couldn’t see.

I’d waited centuries to find her, to claim her, and now that I had, she was the one woman too stubborn to kneel… or to run.

She met my stare like an equal, challenged me, provoked me, and every time she spoke, it stripped away the control I prided myself on.

Teach me.

Two words. Simple. Reckless. She had no idea what she was waking up inside me. But she will.

By the time I reached my office, the air was cooler. I loosened my tie and turned to the monitors.

There she was.

Amara.

Caught on the security feed, walking through the main floor. My jacket still around her shoulders, her face unreadable. She looked shaken. Beautiful. Real.

I leaned forward, watching her pause at the bar, steady herself, then keep moving. Even through the grainy feed, I could see the pulse at her throat, the kind that betrays everything. She had no idea what she’d just done to me.

Every tremor in her voice, every time she couldn’t meet my eyes—it wasn’t just power I wanted. It was her coming undone that was so striking to me.

I poured a drink, let the burn chase down the hunger. It didn’t help.

She thought I wanted control. She was wrong. What I wanted was the truth underneath her skin, the kind you only find when someone breaks.

The screen flickered. She turned once before leaving, like she knew I was watching.

A slow smile tugged at my mouth. Good. Let her feel the pull. She started this, she just doesn’t know how deep it goes.

My reflection glowed faintly in the glass of the monitor, ghosting over her figure as she made her way toward the exit. The room was quiet, except for the low hum of electronics and the muted bass of the club still vibrating through the floor.

Then someone stepped into the frame.

A man.

Tall, well-dressed, careless in the way only men without discipline tend to be. I didn’t recognize him — which already meant he was somewhere he shouldn’t be.

He said something to her. I saw her head turn sharply, her posture stiffen. Then she tried to move past him. He reached out.

My chair scraped the floor before I realized I’d moved.

By the time I reached the hallway, my pulse was calm again. Not slow — just contained, the way a blade rests quietly in its sheath before it’s drawn.

I saw them before they saw me.

The man’s smile was wide, confident. He leaned close, too close.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he was saying, “no need to play shy. A drink, maybe?”

“I’m not interested,” Amara said. Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket. She tried to walk past him again.

He stepped in front of her. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Now move.”

He didn’t.

That was enough.

“Is there a problem here?” My voice cut clean through the air, cold and unhurried.

The man turned, and the color drained from his face instantly. Recognition hit him like a bullet.

“Alph....I mean.... Mr. Thorne...I...I didn’t—”

“You didn’t,” I repeated softly. “And yet here we are.”

He stumbled over his words, backing away. “I swear, I didn’t know she was—”

“Stop talking.”

He did.

Amara stood still beside me, her pulse visible at the base of her throat. I could smell the faint trace of my own scent on her skin — and that alone was enough to make my control feel like glass, thin and trembling.

I turned slightly toward her. “You’re alright?”

She nodded. “Yes. I just want to go home.”

I looked back at the man. “Then we’re done here.”

He took the opportunity to vanish down the corridor, tripping over himself as he went. I didn’t bother to watch where he went — I already knew he wouldn’t get far.

I offered Amara my hand. “Come. I’ll drive you.”

She hesitated for a moment before placing her palm in mine. Her skin was cool against my own, and that single point of contact was enough to remind me how much I wanted to ruin the distance between us.

We walked out to the car in silence. The night air was sharp, the kind that carries the scent of rain before it falls. She slid into the passenger seat, still clutching my jacket around her shoulders like she needed to feel its weight.

I started the engine. For a while, neither of us spoke.

Finally, I said, “I’m sorry about that man.”

She turned toward me. “You don’t have to apologize for someone else’s behavior.”

“I do,” I said quietly. “Because in my world, protection isn’t kindness, Amara. It’s a duty.”

Her gaze lingered on me, uncertain but soft. “You don’t have to protect me, Lucien.”

I almost smiled. “That’s not up to you.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence — thick, humming silence that said more than either of us dared to. Every time I glanced at her, I saw the battle she was fighting within herself. She wanted distance, but her pulse betrayed her. So did mine.

When we reached her building, she unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, like she was buying herself a few more seconds before she had to leave.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For not…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “For being who you are.”

I turned to her fully, catching the faint tremor in her breath. “That’s exactly why you should be careful, Amara.”

She looked up at me, eyes wide, defiant. “I already am.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The air between us was alive, charged, and it took everything in me not to reach out, not to pull her closer.

I leaned back, forcing composure into my voice. “Don’t be late in the morning.”

She smiled faintly — the kind of smile that ruins resolve. “I won’t.”

“Goodnight,” I said.

“Goodnight, Lucien.”

I waited until the door closed behind her before I drove off.

By the time I returned to the club, Greg was waiting near the entrance — arms folded, jaw tight. He didn’t need to speak. The look in his eyes said enough.

“He’s in the back room,” he said.

I nodded once. “Show me.”

The hallway leading to the back was quiet, the air dense with anticipation. When we reached the door, Greg opened it for me. Inside, the man from earlier sat bound to a chair, fear pouring off him in waves.

The moment he saw me, his voice broke. “Please, I didn’t know she was with you—”

I stepped closer, calm and deliberate. “You didn’t know she was mine,” I said. “That much is true. But firstly, she said no. And secondly, you knew she was under this roof. And in my territory, ignorance is not protection.”

He shook his head frantically. “It won’t happen again, I swear—”

I tilted my head, studying him. “No,” I said quietly. “It won’t.”

Greg shifted slightly behind me. He didn’t need a command, he’d been with me long enough to know what silence meant.

I turned away before it was done. The sound that followed was muffled, distant. I didn’t flinch.

Some things didn’t deserve ceremony.

Outside, the night was still the same — the hum of the city, the faint echo of music bleeding from the club. But inside, something had changed.

I stood beneath the awning, looking out into the darkness.

She’d said thank you. For being who I was.

If only she knew what that really meant.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and her voice, the way she said my name, the tremor in it, cut through the quiet.

There were rules I’d built for myself. Rules I’d taught others to live by. But lately, every time I looked at her, I felt those rules start to crack.

And I knew, one day soon, she’d be the one to break them completely.