Unholy bond

Chapter three

Third pov

Lucien leaned against the cold stone wall outside the convent, his black coat brushing against the marble floor. He had been watching her for weeks now, memorizing each movement, every small gesture, the way she arranged the flowers in the courtyard, the way she moved through the halls silently. He studied her the way he studied enemies before war,quietly, with patience, noting everything, missing nothing.

She was unaware of him. That made it easier.

A soft breeze shifted, carrying the scent of flowers and candle wax. He inhaled, calm, calculating. His wolf stirred beneath his skin. Every muscle was ready, alert, but he did not move. He never moved until he chose.

Marco appeared behind him, silent as always. “The report is ready,” he said. He held a folder, bound with black leather, neat and precise.

Lucien took it without looking. His eyes stayed on her. Every detail. Every twitch of her hands, every tilt of her head. She glanced up at the sun filtering through the windows, then bent to adjust a piece of cloth. He memorized the curve of her neck, the steadiness of her fingers. Calm, always calm.

Finally, he tore his gaze from her. He opened the folder.

The papers inside were crisp, precise. Each line was measured, deliberate, a record of her life, her choices, her habits. Marco waited quietly, as he always did, knowing the look that would come over Lucien when reading something he did not expect.

Lucien’s eyes scanned the documents. At first, the usual calm returned. Then subtle changes began. His jaw tightened, his hands flexed slightly on the table. His wolf growled softly, a vibration beneath the skin that only he could feel. He leaned back in his chair, gripping the folder.

No one spoke. Not Marco, not the men nearby. They knew. He never lost control, but when he did, even slightly, it was terrifying.

He closed the folder after several long minutes. No one knew what he had read. He did not speak. He simply leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, silent.

Marco tilted his head, careful. “Everything in order?”

Lucien looked up at him. His eyes were sharper now, colder, but heavier somehow. “Yes,” he said, voice low. “Everything is in order.”

But it was not the same order he had known before. There was a weight in his chest he had not expected. His wolf stirred, restless. He had never felt hesitation like this before.

He stood, leaving the folder on the desk. He walked to the window overlooking the city. Hands behind his back, he did not move for a long moment.

Finally, he spoke. “Prepare everything for the next step.”

“Yes, sir,” Marco said.

Lucien did not elaborate. He rarely did. His mind was elsewhere, already circling back to her, back to the way she moved through the courtyard earlier. Calm, composed, untouched by fear.

The next day, in the convent, Mother Superior guided Seraphina down the hall. They walked past the stained glass windows that filtered the morning sun into colored patterns on the floor.

“Seraphina,” the Mother said softly. “I need to tell you something. About the man who has been visiting the grounds… Lucien Moretti.”

Seraphina stopped walking. She tilted her head, curious. “Lucien Moretti?”

“Yes,” the Mother said, voice steady. “He is a mafia leader. A werewolf. Ruthless and dangerous. Some call him cruel beyond reason. You must understand… he has killed, directly and indirectly, more people than any of us can count.”

Seraphina listened quietly, her hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were calm, but the slightest tightening at her lips betrayed her attention.

“He also gives to this convent,” the Mother continued. “Large donations. Food. Buildings. Money for the poor. But it is not charity in the sense you may understand. It is guilt. He carries the weight of the blood on his hands. He cannot escape it.”

Seraphina did not speak. She only nodded slowly. Her eyes looked beyond the Mother, out the window where the sun shone on the garden.

“Do not fear him,” the Mother said softly. “But do not be naive. He is a dangerous man. Approach with caution. Always.”

Seraphina bowed slightly. “I understand.”

The Mother smiled faintly. “Your instincts will guide you. You have always been careful. That will be your protection.”

Back at the city, Lucien did not sleep that night. He sat in the darkened room, watching the city lights stretch below him. He poured himself a drink, then set it down untouched. His mind replayed her movements over and over.

He did not know why he could not stop. He had memorized every detail already. He had observed her silently for weeks. But now, after reading the report, after everything he had learned, something had shifted inside him.

He did not speak of it. He did not even fully understand it. He simply felt it: the pull of her presence, quiet but insistent, like a heartbeat beneath his chest.

He stood, walking across the room. His wolf stirred. Restless. Alert. Protective. The animal inside him sensed something different in her, something he could not name.

He clenched his fists. Anger. Frustration. Curiosity. All mixed together. He had never lost control like this, not over anyone, not over anything he wanted before.

He poured the drink again, swirling it in the glass. The liquid reflected the lights of the city. He studied the reflection, as if he could see himself from the outside.

He did not like what he saw.

But he did not turn away. He could not.

The next morning, Lucien returned to the convent. He stayed at the edge of the courtyard, hidden in shadow. She was there again, tending the small garden near the chapel. The sun caught her habit, the folds crisp, the black and white stark against the green.

He watched her, silent. Studying her. Memorizing her presence like he memorized battlefields and enemies.

She paused for a moment and looked up. The sun caught her face, the calm in her expression. She did not see him. She never did. Not yet.

Lucien felt the same tension he always did when he observed a target before the first move. But it was different now. Something deeper. Something he did not understand.

He did not approach. Not yet. He simply stood and watched.

His wolf growled softly, restless. His instincts told him to act, to claim, to dominate. But he did not. He could not.

Not yet.

He had to understand her first. Learn everything. Know every movement, every reaction, every word she spoke.

Because he never failed.

And he would not fail now.