Chapter 3
798 Words
Chapter Three – Dinner with the Devil
The dress wasn’t hers.
It hung over her chair, soft satin in a shade of midnight blue, smooth as a secret.
Aria stared at it for a long time, fingers curling at her sides. It looked too expensive, too deliberate, too… intimate.
The kind of dress that didn’t just cover skin — it commanded attention.
When the maid returned, Aria was still standing there.
“He chose it,” the woman murmured. “He said you’d look like the night in it.”
The words sent a strange shiver through her.
“Dinner is in ten minutes,” the woman added softly before slipping away.
Aria hesitated only a moment longer before dressing.
The fabric whispered across her skin, cool and smooth, and when she caught her reflection in the mirror — hair brushed loose over her shoulders, eyes wide and uncertain — she almost didn’t recognize herself.
She looked like she belonged in his world.
And that terrified her.
The dining hall was all shadows and candlelight.
Lucian stood by the window, half-lit by the pale glow of the moon, a glass of red wine in his hand. He didn’t turn when she entered, but she could feel the shift in the air — that subtle flicker of awareness that always followed him.
“Sit,” he said simply.
His voice was quiet, but it filled the room.
Aria obeyed, her heart thudding. The table was set with silver cutlery and crystal glasses, every detail sharp and perfect. She’d never seen so much luxury and felt so out of place in it.
Lucian finally turned.
His eyes swept over her, slow and assessing, and for a moment the silence was unbearable.
“You clean up well,” he said at last.
Aria looked down, her cheeks heating. “You make it sound like I was filthy before.”
A small curve tugged at his lips — not a real smile, but close.
“Not filthy,” he murmured. “Just.. unclaimed.”
She looked up sharply, startled by the word.
“Unclaimed?”
Lucian poured himself another glass of wine, his movements unhurried. “Every wolf has instincts,” he said. “Possession. Protection. Territory.”
Her throat went dry. “And humans?”
He glanced at her. “You’re different. Fragile. Curious.”
He took a slow sip. “And much harder to resist.”
The air between them thickened. Aria swallowed, unsure what to do with the way her pulse betrayed her.
He wasn’t just dangerous — he was magnetic. The kind of danger that drew you closer even when you knew you shouldn’t.
“You don’t have to pretend,” she whispered after a moment. “You can let me go, and your pack will forget I ever existed.”
Lucian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Let you go?” he repeated quietly. “Do you think they would? You’re a Moonveil. The daughter of the Alpha they tried to destroy me for. You’d be dead before sunrise.”
Aria’s lips parted. “Then why save me?”
Lucian’s gaze burned into hers. “Because,” he said, voice low and even, “the night you crossed into my forest, I smelled something I hadn’t felt in years — truth.”
She frowned. “Truth?”
“You looked at me without fear,” he said. “Even when I shifted. You saw what I was — and you didn’t run.”
“I wanted to,” she whispered.
“But you didn’t.”
The words hung there, soft and charged.
Lucian stood, his chair scraping lightly against the floor. He walked to her side of the table, slow, deliberate. Aria froze, every breath shallow as he stopped behind her.
“You’re not a prisoner, Aria,” he said quietly near her ear. “But you are bound to me now. The moment I spared you, your fate was sealed.”
Her voice trembled. “Bound how?”
His answer came almost like a promise.
“By instinct,” he murmured. “By scent. By choice.”
He moved past her then, toward the door. The faintest brush of his hand grazed her shoulder — just enough to leave a spark behind.
“Rest well, little Luna,” he said. “Tomorrow, the pack will meet you.”
And then he was gone.
Aria sat there long after, trying to steady her breath. Her mind screamed at her to hate him — to remember what he’d done. But her body betrayed her with every heartbeat, every stolen glance that had burned between them.
She didn’t know if it was fear or fascination that kept her there.
Only that both felt dangerously the same.
- Writer
