BloodBound

Chapter Four – Lucian

They parted for me the way they always did.

It wasn’t respect. It wasn’t fear. It was both, braided together so tightly no one could tell them apart anymore. Every step I took through Blackthorn’s halls echoed with it—the silent acknowledgment that I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t just another rich boy with a last name that carried weight.

I was something else entirely.

And I carried that truth like a crown.

But the moment my gaze landed on her, I almost forgot the throne beneath my feet.

Evelyn Hale.

Scholarship girl. Mortal. Firefly.

She was standing too close to him.

Damon Veyron’s smile was sharp, his silver-gray eyes bright with amusement as he looked down at her. He had leaned in just enough to claim space that wasn’t his, to force her to look up at him. She was holding her bag too tightly, shoulders squared as though bracing herself against the weight of his attention.

And yet—there was a flicker of something in her expression. Not fear. Not quite. Something warmer. Something curious.

I wanted to tear it off her face.

My jaw tightened as I crossed the threshold into the classroom. Conversations died instantly. The crowd at the doorway shifted aside, parting like smoke, like shadows bowing to their master. My eyes went straight to her—and then to him.

Damon’s gaze lifted, meeting mine head-on. He didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Didn’t look away.

Instead, the bastard smirked.

It was a small curve of his mouth, subtle enough no one else might notice, but I did. Because it wasn’t just a smile. It was a challenge. A taunt. Look what I’ve found. Look what I can touch.

I felt the air change. Cold. Heavy. My hunger stirred, sharp enough that my fangs ached.

And Evelyn—sweet, fiery Evelyn—looked between us like she could feel it too. Her eyes widened slightly, her pulse skipping in her throat. Then she muttered something, clutching her bag tighter, and slipped past Damon to flee into the hall.

Wise choice.

Because if she had stayed, she would’ve seen what I was about to do.

I closed the distance between me and Damon with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t straighten, didn’t cower—just tilted his head, those silver eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Careful, Draxen,” he said lightly, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. “You’re staring at her like she’s the last glass of blood in the room.”

My lips curled, though the sound that slipped from me wasn’t amusement. “Stay out of my way, Veyron.”

“Your way?” His brow arched, that damned smirk deepening. “Funny. I didn’t realize she already wore your mark.”

Heat licked my veins, sharp and violent.

“She doesn’t need one,” I said softly, stepping closer until my shadow swallowed his. “Everyone here knows what belongs to me.”

For a flicker of a second, something shifted in his expression. His smirk wavered—then returned, sharper, almost eager.

“Oh, I think this is going to be fun,” he murmured, leaning back casually in his chair as though I weren’t close enough to rip out his throat. “Let’s see how long she lasts before she realizes what you really are.”

The words sank into me, hot and poisonous.

But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Not here. Not in front of the others.

Instead, I turned and walked out, my pace calm, my expression unreadable. But inside—inside, my hunger was a storm.

Because Damon was right about one thing. Evelyn hadn’t realized what I was yet. She hadn’t seen the truth in full.

But she would.

And when she did, she wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t be able to.

---

I found her in the library later.

The place was nearly empty, shelves stretching high into shadows, the faint smell of old books and ink curling through the air. She was tucked into a corner table, head bent over her notebook, chewing absently on the end of her pen.

Her hair fell across her cheek in soft strands, and for a moment I let myself stand there, drinking in the sight of her. Fragile and fierce all at once. Mortal and breakable, yet burning with a stubborn flame no one here could snuff out.

My firefly.

I stepped forward, slow enough that the faint scuff of my shoes announced me. She glanced up—and froze.

“You,” she whispered, tension snapping into her spine.

“Me,” I echoed, sliding into the chair across from her without asking.

She set her pen down deliberately, folding her arms across her chest. “Do you always stalk people through the library?”

I tilted my head. “Do you always look this tempting when you’re trying to study?”

Color rose in her cheeks, and I felt the rush of her heartbeat spike. She masked it with a glare, but I could hear it. Feel it. Every stutter was music.

“Why me?” she asked suddenly, her voice low and sharp. “Why are you watching me? You don’t even know me.”

I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table. My eyes locked onto hers, holding her still.

“Oh, but I do, Evelyn,” I murmured. “I know you wake up too early, because the bags under your eyes tell me you don’t sleep well. I know you chew your pen caps when you’re nervous. I know you pretend the whispers don’t cut you, but they do.”

Her lips parted, her eyes widening.

I smiled faintly, slow and dangerous. “I know more about you than anyone else in this place ever will.”

She swallowed, hard. “That sounds a lot like stalking.”

“Call it obsession if you like.” I leaned closer, until there was nothing between us but the faint scent of her skin and the rapid thud of her heart. “But I call it inevitability.”

Her hands clenched on the table, and I saw it—the war in her eyes. Fire and fear. Defiance and temptation. She wanted to push me away, and she wanted to lean in closer.

Perfect.

“You can’t just—” she began, but I cut her off.

“I can.” My voice was soft, lethal. “And I will. Because you’re mine, Evelyn Hale. From the moment you walked through those gates, you belonged to me.”

Her breath hitched, her lips trembling—not with fear, but with the effort of holding back words she didn’t want to admit.

And then she whispered, “You don’t own me.”

Ah. There it was.

The spark I craved.

I smiled, slow and sharp, leaning back just enough to let her breathe again. “We’ll see, firefly. We’ll see.”

---

Later that night, I stood alone in the courtyard, cigarette smoke curling into the moonlit air.

Damon’s words echoed in my skull, but louder than them was the sound of Evelyn’s heartbeat. The memory of her glare. The taste of her defiance.

She thought she could resist me.

She thought she could burn bright enough to blind me.

But I’d caught her fire in my palm already, and I had no intention of letting go.

And if Damon thought he could touch what was mine—he was already dead.