You can't run from the hybrid.
1301 Words
Lucien.
He felt her before the shadows even rose.
A sudden rip through his chest — sharp, hot, hers.
Lucien froze, the room around him falling to static. The moment her magic cracked, it slammed into him through the bond like fire laced with blood.
Pain.
Fear.
Rage.
And something darker… something final.
Death.
The connection burned like molten iron behind his ribs.
His hands clenched the railing of the balcony until it cracked under his grip. His breath came out unsteady, heavy, almost wild.
“No,” he whispered.
“Who touched her?”
He didn’t speak to anyone. But the entire hall silenced like it had.
Because the king was shaking.
And he never shook.
She snapped.
He felt it like it was his own — the moment her shadows struck, the moment the breath was stolen from their lungs. Three lives gone. Just like that.
She didn’t even try to stop it.
But it wasn’t the kill that made his jaw lock.
It was the echo that came after — a tremble in the bond, like she was slipping away.
Like she was trying to shut him out.
And it terrified him.
She’s mine. He said in his head.
Silas appeared at the doorway. “Something’s happened. It wasn’t us.”
Lucien turned slowly, eyes glowing, voice low and lethal.
“I know.”
“I felt her. Someone tried to take what’s mine.”
His shadows flared, reacting to his fury.
“She’s bleeding power. She's scared. And she thinks she can run from me?”
He stepped forward — dark mist already swirling at his feet.
“No. She’s not slipping away.”
“Lucien—” Silas tried.
“I’m going to find her,” he growled. “And if someone laid a finger on her, they’ll choke on their last breath begging me to stop.”
The shadows surged like a living storm, and with a snap of energy — he vanished, pulled by the bond, straight toward her.
************
The moment Lucien’s boots touched the ruined floor, the shadows coiled back like they knew their master had arrived.
And there she was.
Anara.
Eyes wide, body trembling, the aftermath of her power still thick in the air. The bond pulled at him like gravity. She looked up at him once — just once — and then her legs buckled.
“Anara!”
He was at her side in a breath.
His arms wrapped around her before she hit the stone, shadows curling protectively around them both. Her skin was cold. Her pulse was wild beneath his hand.
“No. No, no—” his voice dropped, raw with panic. “Don’t do this now.”
Her head rested against his chest, her body slack.
She wasn’t dead — he could still feel her heartbeat. But it was buried under exhaustion, fear, and the heavy crackle of uncontrolled magic.
Lucien clenched his jaw, jaw flexing as he looked down at her face.
“You broke the seal,” he whispered. “And you nearly broke yourself with it.”
Across the room, movement.
A bloodied cough. A soft whimper.
Lucien’s head snapped toward it — eyes narrowing.
Evelyn.
Slumped against the wall, barely upright, skin pale, lips shaking. Her eyes flickered between him and the girl in his arms. She looked ready to speak, but no words came.
Lucien rose slowly, still cradling Anara, and walked toward her.
The scent of blood filled the air.
“You let her face them alone,” he said, voice deathly calm.
“I—I couldn’t move,” Evelyn rasped.
“She killed three witches,” Lucien said coldly. “The bond cracked wide open. And you just watched her burn herself out.”
Evelyn swallowed. “I tried—”
“Try harder next time.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, then shifted Anara gently into one arm — his grip strong, possessive, unrelenting.
With his free hand, he reached into the shadows. A silver-bladed ring glinted on his finger as he sliced his palm — a thin line of black-red blood welling instantly.
He knelt beside Evelyn and shoved two fingers, slick with his blood, against her lips.
“Drink.”
She flinched.
“Or die.”
She drank.
The moment his blood touched her tongue, she convulsed. Not with pain — with power. Dark, ancient energy surged through her. It wasn’t healing. It was reviving. A temporary patch to keep her alive.
Just enough.
Nothing more.
Lucien wiped his palm clean and rose again, Anara still unconscious in his hold.
“You live,” he said to Evelyn, his voice cold steel.
“Because she’d grieve if you didn’t.”
“But don’t confuse that with mercy.”
His eyes flared crimson one last time before the shadows rose around him again like wings, and the three of them — Lucien, Anara, and a half-conscious Evelyn vanished into darkness.
*********
The first thing she felt was heat. Not from the fire — but from the weight of something watching.
When Anara opened her eyes, her body screamed with exhaustion. Her bones ached, her head was spinning, and the silk beneath her felt too soft to be real.
Then—
“You really thought you could shut me out?”
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Lucien’s voice cut across the room like a blade.
She turned her head slowly. He was there — standing by the fireplace, his shirt buttons undone, the runes on his chest faintly glowing beneath his skin, like they were alive with rage.
“You sealed the bond,” he growled. “You sealed me out.”
His eyes locked on hers. Glowing. Furious.
“Do you know what that did to me?”
He walked towards the bed, each step sending his shadows crawling along the floor like smoke.
“I felt nothing for hours. Like someone had ripped half my soul out.”
“And then I felt you die a little.”
He stopped by her bedside, his hands curling at his sides, breathing sharp.
“You think I care because of the bond?” he hissed.
“No. I care because you are mine. And you tried to cut me off like I was nothing.”
Anara’s lips parted, heart hammering.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t lie. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
He turned his back on her for a second, running a hand through his tousled hair. When he spoke again, his voice cracked — quieter now, strained.
“I couldn’t feel you. And I hated it.”
The words dropped like stones.
“And then the bond cracked wide open — and all I felt was pain. Your pain. Rage. Power. And then... silence.”
He looked back at her. Slower this time.
“You nearly killed yourself,” he said, quieter. “And you didn’t even think to let me in.”
She tried to sit up, the covers rustling.
“You’re angry.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m furious. Because even now, lying in my bed, looking like hell you still think you can carry all of these alone”
He sat at the edge of the bed, close but not touching. His hand lifted — as if to brush the side of her face — but stopped, hovering an inch from her skin.
“Next time,” he whispered, voice rough, “don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”
“Because if I ever lose you like that again... I’ll burn the world.”
He didn’t wait for her response.
He stood.
And vanished into the shadows.
- Writer
