Lucien did not sleep.
He stood on the balcony outside his chambers, night wind cutting through his shirt, staring down at the inner courtyard of Nightfall as if it had personally betrayed him.
Immortals didn’t bleed like that.
They didn’t fail to heal.
And yet his skin still tingled where her fingers had touched him warm, electric, branded.
His wolf paced inside him, restless and furious, claws scraping against the inside of his ribs.
Mine.
The word echoed, unbidden and unwanted.
Lucien curled his hands into fists.
“She is a prisoner,” he muttered.
His wolf snarled back.
Necessary.
He turned sharply, stalking back inside. The chamber doors slammed shut behind him, the sound cracking through the silence. His guards stiffened instinctively.
“Bring no one near the lower cells,” h
