CHAPTER 15
986 Words
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Lucien stood on the cliff’s edge, the wind biting against his bare chest as his golden eyes searched the horizon. The pain in his chest hadn't subsided since Raven’s betrayal. He could still taste the blood-bond snapping, feel the ghost of her lips on another man.
Dante.
The name alone made his wolf want to tear flesh.
He should’ve killed him back in that chapel. Should’ve ripped his heart out and thrown it to the crows. But Raven… she had stopped him. Thrown herself between them, power exploding from her like a hurricane made of silver flame and shadow.
He’d never seen anything like it.
She wasn’t just changing. She was awakening.
“She’s mine,” Lucien growled to the wind.
“Is she?” a voice asked from behind him.
Lucien didn’t need to turn to recognize the scent.
Elara.
“You should be resting,” he muttered.
“And you should be thinking with something other than your d**k,” she replied sharply, limping up beside him.
Her cheek was still bruised from her escape, and her wrists bore fresh burn marks from the silver shackles. But her eyes were alive—bright and dangerous.
“She’s not a normal hybrid, Lucien,” Elara said. “Not anymore. She drank from a vampire. She was marked by you. And now her power is split between two ancient lines.”
Lucien’s jaw ticked. “I know.”
“You don’t,” Elara said. “Because if you did, you’d realize what it means.”
Lucien’s silence was answer enough.
Elara stepped closer, voice low. “She’s standing at the crossroads of fate, Lucien. And you—you're too focused on possession to see it. She’s not a prize to be won. She's a storm. And storms don’t bow.”
Lucien’s hands clenched. “He bit her.”
“She asked him to,” Elara said. “That part matters more.”
---
Meanwhile…
Raven sat on the edge of her bed, a glass of bloodwine in her hand, legs trembling.
She had washed the bite, scrubbed it until her skin was raw. But it was still there—two delicate puncture wounds just above her collarbone.
They tingled. Warm. Like an ember nestled beneath her skin.
She hated how good it felt.
“Damn you, Dante,” she whispered.
She didn’t regret it. Not really. She’d wanted to know. Wanted to feel it. The taste of forbidden danger. The ache of something dark and beautiful curling into her blood.
But now? She couldn’t escape it.
The kiss. The bite. The way her body had responded like it had been waiting for him.
The bond hadn’t replaced Lucien’s. But it had grown. Threaded deeper. She could feel Dante now in her veins, like whispers in the shadows.
A knock at her door startled her.
She tensed. “Who is it?”
“Me.”
Lucien.
She hesitated. Then: “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and there he was—shirtless, raw, angry.
But his eyes… they weren’t glowing with rage.
They were bleeding pain.
He stepped inside, slowly. “You didn’t run.”
She met his gaze. “I wanted to.”
“I would’ve chased you.”
“I know.”
He took another step. “I felt it.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between them. Thick. Unforgiving.
Lucien exhaled. “Did it hurt?”
“No,” she admitted. “It felt… like falling. But not down. Like floating. Into something I wasn’t sure I wanted.”
He flinched. “And now?”
She stood slowly, facing him.
“I still don’t know.”
He moved to her in one stride, gripping her shoulders. “Then let me remind you.”
His mouth crashed onto hers, wild and possessive. Raven didn’t resist.
She returned the kiss with fire.
Lucien lifted her effortlessly, laying her back against the bed as his body pressed into hers. His mouth claimed her throat, grazing the healing bite.
“I hate that he touched you,” he growled.
“I let him,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He didn’t stop. His hands slid under her shirt, pushing it up and over her head. His mouth followed, trailing fire across her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts.
“Lucien—”
“You’re mine,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’ll remind every cell in your body.”
He kissed her again, slower this time. As if he needed to reclaim her piece by piece. His hand found hers, fingers lacing together.
She felt it then—the bond flare. The heat. The ache. The part of her that only responded to him.
But just beneath it, something else stirred.
A flicker of cold fire.
Dante.
She pushed the thought away.
Tonight, there was only Lucien.
---
Later…
Lucien lay beside her, chest rising and falling, their hands still tangled. His thumb brushed her knuckles absentmindedly.
“You don’t have to choose yet,” he murmured.
She turned her head. “That’s not what you said before.”
“I know. I was wrong.”
She stared at the ceiling. “What if I never can?”
He looked at her, golden eyes soft. “Then we’ll burn together. Or not at all.”
A tear slid down her cheek. She didn’t know why.
“Your mother,” Lucien said after a while, “She knew what this would do to you, didn’t she?”
Raven nodded. “I think she did.”
“Then maybe she also believed you could survive it.”
Raven closed her eyes.
Somewhere deep inside her chest, the pulse of her powers beat louder than ever.
Two mates.
Two fates.
And a world on fire.
Tomorrow, they’d prepare for war.
But tonight?
Tonight she chose comfort.
And heat.
And Lucien.
Even if Dante haunted her blood.
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