SHADOWED HEART.
1251 Words
(the scene resumes with Selene still in Lucian's room)
"Won't you join me?" she purred, patting the space beside her.
Lucian remained standing, his expression stoic.
Selene rose, closing the distance between them. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his chest.
"You're tense," she whispered, her eyes searching his.
Lucian grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not painful.
"Leave," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Selene's eyes flashed angrily, but she pulled her hand back, turning on her heel. As she passed Elia, she shot him a glare filled with contempt and hissed before exiting the room.
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Lucian and Elia alone once more.
Lucian turned to Elia, his gaze softening slightly.
Lucian turned slowly, his silver eyes still fixed on the boy who had cowered moments ago. Now, with Selene gone and the chamber dimly lit by the soft flicker of candles, there was silence — heavy,
He took one step forward, then another, approaching the boy with measured calm. Elia had not moved from the corner where he’d fled. His back was pressed against the wall, fingers clenched into the fabric of the oversized shirt he'd been given. The delicate line of his jaw was streaked with remnants of tears, and his eyes — a strange blend of defiance and fear — slowly raised to meet Lucian’s.
Lucian’s voice came then, low, smooth, like velvet wrapped around steel.
*“Who are you?”* he asked again, this time not with authority, but with curiosity… with something far more dangerous — interest.
And for the first time since the games… since the blood… since the screaming and the chaos… Elia looked Lucian directly in the face.
Something stirred.
It wasn’t just fear, or awe — it was instinct. Sharp. Electric. Primitive.
The moment their eyes met, something inside Elia twisted — pulled — awakened.
His breath caught in his throat.
That feeling... that bond that had eluded him in the chaos of the arena, in the terror of being lifted in the arms of a feared king, now roared to life like fire igniting dry wood.
It wasn’t just a mate bond.
It was hunger. A deep, primal yearning that confused him, frightened him… made him want to run and to stay at the same time. It rose in his chest like a scream he couldn’t release.
Lucian stood there, towering, unblinking — but his chest rose and fell as if something beneath his ribcage had started to rumble.
And as Elia continued to stare — forgetting the question he’d just been asked — Lucian’s control faltered.
His fists clenched at his sides.
He had never felt this. Not once. Not in the dozens of betrothal offers from noble daughters. Not in the presence of seductive she-wolves. Never had his soul reacted like this.
He didn’t understand what was happening — but as he stared at the bruised, delicate boy in front of him, a single emotion rose to the surface, drowning everything else.
*Rage.*
The marks on Elia’s body weren’t just remnants of a fight. They were evidence of suffering. Humiliation. Injustice. Lucian could almost feel the whip, the fists, the pain this boy had endured — and it made his blood boil.
He wanted to kill.
Whoever had touched him. Hurt him. Shackled him.
*“Who is responsible for this?”* Lucian’s voice trembled — not from fear, but restraint.
But Elia didn’t respond. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Still stunned, still caught in that invisible thread tethering him to this man — this terrifying, glorious man.
Then finally, his lips parted, and a whisper came out.
*“My name is Elia.”*
That snapped Lucian from his haze.
He blinked, turning his face slightly, as if trying to compose himself. The heat beneath his skin hadn't faded. The urge to close the space between them, to touch Elia’s cheek and vow retribution — it hadn't left either.
He turned, his cape sweeping behind him.
*“Follow me,”* he said curtly. *“We’re returning to the park.”*
Elia straightened from the wall but didn’t move. Fear crept back in, wrapping around his limbs like vines. He opened his mouth, his voice fragile and soft.
*“Please... don’t punish me. I didn’t mean to anger you. I’ll be good.”*
Lucian paused near the door.
*“You have no cause to worry.”*
And just like that, he was gone.
Elia stood there, heart pounding, his knees weak. That strange pull still throbbed in his chest, and he didn’t understand what it meant… but the moment Lucian left, he felt like something vital had gone with him.
Outside the door, one of Lucian’s commanders stood tall, arms folded across his chest.
*“Your Majesty,”* he said, with a half-bow. *“You’ve been summoned for dinner.”*
Lucian gave a small nod but didn’t look at him.
His thoughts were still behind him — in that room — with the boy who now haunted his very bones.
Meanwhile back in the room.
The room was quiet after Lucian left.
Elia sat still, eyes on the closed door, mind already far from it.
Why would a man like that help him?
An Alpha King—respected, feared, powerful—walking into a slave arena just to pull him out himself?
He didn’t understand it.
Was it a show of power? Pity? Or something else entirely?
Elia leaned back slowly, mind drifting to the only thing he was sure of—his curse. The way his body shifted against his will. The memories lost before Selene had found him at the border. Since then, everything had been survival. He’d never known peace, never known identity.
Lucian’s eyes… the way he looked at him. It wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t indifferent.
It almost felt like… recognition.
Elia’s brows furrowed. *Could Lucian know who I really am?*
The thought was dangerous—but also… hopeful.
If Lucian knew me, it meant I might not be entirely lost. That there could be answers.
Maybe… just maybe, Lucian wasn’t the threat I feared. Maybe he could help me discover what I couldn't remember about my buried and forgotten past.
But then another thought crept in.
*What if he does know me… and I was someone he hated?*
*What if I were an enemy? A traitor?
What does he want to do with me?
Elia's chest tightened.
He had no way of knowing.
And yet, beneath the questions, something else stirred—something more dangerous than all the rest.
He remembered that strange pull.
That heat under the skin.
That unspoken tension when Lucian was too close.
Elia’s heart skipped.
He had felt it. What was that feeling?
A bond?
No, he forced himself to look away. That wasn’t possible.
Not with an Alpha King.
It had to be his mind playing tricks. A trick of the curse. A flicker of illusion.
Because if he allowed himself to believe it… if Lucian somehow felt it too…
What then?
That kind of bond was just forbidden.
It was deadly.
And if Lucian ever found out— Elia wasn’t sure what would kill him faster:
The rejection… or maybe Lucian could end him with his hands for daring to entertain the thought. whatever that feeling was, he had to bury it.
- Writer
