Untraceable
1143 Words
Lucian’s POV
Sleep? Yeah, right. As if. I just lay there, eyes glued to the ceiling, moonlight slicing through the curtains like some cheap horror movie effect. All I could see was him. Silver eyes, that cocky little smirk, and the way his mouth crashed into mine.
And his damn teeth in my neck. My skin still burned from it, shaky, restless. My wolf wouldn’t quit snarling, pacing, practically howling inside my head.
Mine.
I was up before the sun even thought about showing up.
Straight to the control room. Two guards, half-awake, clutching their coffee like it was holy water.
“Pull up last night’s cameras,” I barked.
They nearly shot out of their chairs.
“Y-yes, Alpha.” The taller one started hammering keys like his life depended on it.
“Banquet hall. Focus on the waiters. One of ’em had silver eyes.”
They scrolled through footage, guests laughing, servers gliding around, music playing. The whole thing felt fake, like a stage.
“There,” I said, jabbing my finger. “Stop. Zoom in.”
Camera froze on a bunch of waiters. My heart just about leapt out of my chest.
But nope. Not him.
We scrubbed every feed, gates, side doors, kitchens, guest rooms, you name it. Zip. Nada.
I leaned in, practically eating the screen. “Again. Check again.”
The short one looked nervous. “We already did, Alpha. No waiter with silver eyes. Not on any camera.”
My jaw locked so tight it hurt.
“That’s bull. He was there.”
“He didn’t leave through the gates. No vehicles left after the party except yours and Miss Selene’s.”
I grabbed the chair, knuckles white.
“You think I made him up?” My voice was sharp, too sharp.
Their eyes dropped. “No, Alpha.”
Lies. I could hear it. I stormed out.
At breakfast, Selene was all put-together, blue silk robe, hair curled with her lips pink as candy.
She smiled. Nothing. I felt nothing.
“I was thinking lilacs and silver for the ceremony,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Your mother loved lilacs.”
I nodded. Or at least, I think I did.
She kept talking, but honestly, it was all noise. My head was just silver eyes, warm hands, flashes from last night.
She snapped, “Lucian. What’s wrong with you this morning?”
I blinked, trying to come back to earth. “Just tired.”
She didn’t buy it. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“You vanished last night. I waited.”
“I had business.”
“What business?”
“Private.”
Her frown deepened. I could feel her wolf, watching me. Waiting.
She leaned back, eyeing me. “You smell… different.”
Instant panic. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. “Your scent changed. Something’s weird.”
I said nothing.
She lifted her chin. “Where were you really?”
I stared her down. “Nowhere important.”
Her lips tightened. She didn’t believe a word.
Later, caught her in the hall, whispering with her Beta. They shut up the second I walked by.
She gave me this too-sweet smile. Uh-huh. I knew that look. She was plotting. Always did when she felt me slipping.
Back in my room, it felt like the walls were pressing in. I shut the door soft, slow. Silence so thick I could choke on it.
Jacket off, tossed onto the bed. My shirt from last night still on the floor, crumpled and pathetic. I picked it up.
Just a shirt, right? Harmless. But when I brought it to my face, I froze.
His scent, damn, it hit me hard. Wild, sharp, a little dangerous. My hands started to shake, chest squeezing tight.
Why did I let him touch me?
Why didn’t I stop?
My wolf snarled, deep and low.
Mine.
“No,” I said, out loud, voice hard. “No. He’s not mine.”
But I was still clutching the shirt. Fingers shaking. And, yeah, I pressed it to my face again.
Why? Why can’t I stop this?
God, I hate it. Hate the ache in my chest, like something got ripped out. Hate how his scent twists my stomach. Hate that I want it again.
I staggered to the fireplace, legs wobbly. Dropped to my knees, tossed the shirt in, struck a match and watched the flames eat it up.
I watched the flames lick up the fabric, slow at first, then greedy. The edges curled in on themselves, shriveling up like dead leaves, and then, poof gone, just ash and smoke. The smell started to vanish, eaten up by the fire. Not in my head, though. Nah, his scent stuck around, stubborn as hell. Like somebody branded it on my brain.
I got up, wandered to the balcony, cracked open the door. Cold air smacked me in the face, sharp enough to make my eyes water. Down below, the garden looked dead quiet. Trees not moving, sky just this heavy slab of black. And then footsteps behind me. My Beta, creeping up the stairs, trying to stay invisible, but the dude’s never been good at sneaking.
“Alpha… we questioned everyone. All the staff. Didn’t miss a soul.”
Didn’t bother turning around. I could hear the nerves in his voice.
He kept talking. “Nobody remembers a silver-eyed waiter.”
My face twisted up. “That’s not possible.”
He shifted his weight, probably fidgeting with his hands. “No check-in. No name. No ID. Cameras missed him completely. It’s like… he wasn’t even there.”
I spun around so fast, I probably startled him.
“Oh, he was real,” I snapped. “I touched him.”
My hand drifted up to my neck, almost on its own.
“He bit me.”
His eyes bugged out, he actually looked scared, which was kind of funny if I wasn’t so pissed.
“Maybe a rogue,” he blurted. “Magic, maybe. Or, or a vision. Some kind of trick.”
I stepped right up to him, glare dialed up to eleven.
“Do I look like I hallucinate?”
He gulped. “No, Alpha.” Then he made this little bow and bolted. Smart move.
Silence again. Just me and the cold and the weird ache in my chest. I stared out at the garden, hand pressed to the bite mark. Still burned. God, he’d felt real. His touch, his breath, that scent, like I could drown in it. My whole body remembered him.
Hell, my soul remembered him.
So where’d he vanish to? Why can’t I get him outta my head? Why’s it feel like he ran off with a piece of me? Like I’ll never get it back, no matter what I do.
- Writer
