Bloody Intentions { BL SLOWBURN }

Nine : Autumn Air

The grand cathedral where the wedding took place looked like something out of a fairy tale with its towering stained-glass windows.

Ornate floral arrangements lined the walkway made from white roses and lilies that were woven together with delicate vines that spilled over the pews. The whole place glittered under the crystal chandeliers, a spectacle for the eyes of the elite guests gathered there. Celebrities, politicians and the rich and powerful all packed the venue, their murmurs quieting as the ceremony began, eyes wide as they witnessed what was being hailed as the union of the century.

But beneath the gilded surface, the atmosphere was tense. Luka could feel it in the air, a fragile thread stretched thin between the two families barely holding together. It was the first time the De Luca and Novak clans were gathered under a peaceful banner and despite the grand setting, everyone knew that one wrong move could tear it all apart.

Luka sat at the very back, his seat intentionally chosen to distance him from the elite, men and women whose status he could never achieve. But the other guests didn’t seem to notice him—they were too focused on the grandeur of the event, the pomp and circumstance of what was being hailed as the perfect wedding. Luka’s eyes didn’t care for the grandeur and instead never strayed from the aisle, watching silently as his best friend appeared at the far end, arm in arm with her father.

Izzy looked beautiful, of course. Perfect, in the eyes of everyone watching. The ivory gown that she’d confessed to hating flowed elegantly behind her, the veil draped delicately over her face, hiding the expression Luka wished he could see. Her steps were graceful, every movement practiced to perfection, but Luka knew there was no blushing bride under that veil. As Izzy moved down the aisle, her father marching her toward Matteo, Luka felt his chest tighten.

He hated everything about this wedding—the lavishness, the false smiles, the way Izzy’s fate was sealed with every step she took.

She looked like the perfect bride, just as Matteo stood at the altar looking like the perfect groom. He stood tall, his dark suit impeccably tailored yet his face was unreadable as he watched his bride approach, no sign on his face that he was happy to be there. To everyone else they were the picture-perfect couple—their marriage the ideal alliance of power and wealth, but it was all fake, a lie wrapped in a ten-million-dollar package.

The whispers of the guests surrounded Luka, voices admiring the beauty of the event, praising the brilliance of the union. They saw only what they were meant to see—two heirs coming together, a storybook ending to a business deal disguised as a loving marriage.

As Izzy reached the altar and her father handed her over to Matteo, Luka’s stomach twisted as the priest began the ceremony, his words echoing through the cathedral. Each word spoken, each exchange of vows, pulled Izzy further away from the freedom she had once longed for and Luka’s hands clenched into fists in his lap as he watched, helpless to change any of it. His mind flashed back to their conversation just days ago—'What I want doesn’t matter anymore…’ —the pain in her voice had been as sharp as a knife.

The crowd around him began to stir as the ceremony reached its climax, the priest asking for the rings. He as Matteo slipped the band onto Izzy’s finger, sealing the alliance that neither of them wanted.

“…You may now kiss the bride.”

The applause that erupted in the cathedral sounded hollow to his ears as Matteo placed a quick, almost laughably chaste kiss on Izzy’s cheek. The guests rose to their feet, cheering and throwing confetti at the newlyweds, whilst Luka remained seated. He didn’t glance up as Izzy began to walk down the aisle, couldn’t let anyone see how deeply this sham of a wedding unsettled him. So instead, he quietly slipped from the bench and moved toward the side exit, escaping the suffocating spectacle before someone clocked his expression.

Outside, the cool autumn air hit him like a shock and he breathed it in deeply, eyes closing as he let the coldness burn down his throat and fill his lungs. The crispness of the wind chilled his skin but it was a relief—a contrast to the warmth and false smiles inside. It was as he was trying to regain his composure that a voice cut through the moment, sharp and unexpected.

“Should you be out here?”

Luka’s eyes snapped open, the fragile calm instantly shattered as his body went on high alert. The question—low, smooth and laced with a quiet menace—cut through the autumn air like a knife and set his heart racing with awareness. He knew that voice. It had been months since he’d last heard it, but it haunted him still, woven into the fabric of his nightmares and, more disturbingly, his most vivid dreams. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Luka lifted his gaze, confirming who he already knew he'd see:

Damon Salvatore.

The last time they had been this close they had nearly torn each other apart and Luka wasn’t entirely sure how this confrontation would play out. His heart pounded against his ribcage, muscles tensing on instinct as he recalled all too well the way Damon moved, the precision of his strikes, the cold focus in his eyes. He hadn’t changed much since their last encounter—he was still as tall, broad and composed as ever, the tattoos snaking up his neck and arms only adding to the dangerous allure he exuded, like a blade waiting to strike at any moment.

For a brief moment, Luka was at a complete loss for words. Those dark eyes, as cold and unreadable as ever, were fixed on Luka, but there was a faint glimmer of something more behind them—something almost calculating. His jaw clenched as he sized Damon up in turn, the memories of their last encounter flashing through his mind like lightning. The fight. The intensity. The smirk.

“Funny. I could ask you the same thing.” Luka replied, voice low and hard. “What are you doing here?”

“Same reason as you, I imagine.”

“I didn’t think this was your kind of event.”

“It’s not.” Damon pushed off the wall and took a step closer, his hands slipping into his pockets as if the tension between them was a mere afterthought. “Besides, I was curious to see how well you’d recovered.”

Luka’s blood boiled, his mind flashing back to the brutal fight that had left him bruised, battered and if he had listened to doctors orders, bedridden. It had only been through sheer stubbornness he’d been able to function afterwards and his ribs still ached from the memory.

“I’m fine.” He bit out through clenched teeth.

“Good.”

The word hung in the air between them and for a moment, it was like they were back in that bar, locked in the same dangerous dance, waiting for the others next move. And just like back then, Luka wasn’t sure what Damon wanted. He wasn’t sure of anything when it came to this man, except that being near him again stirred something inside him that made him irrationally irritated.

“I enjoyed fighting you.”

Damon’s sudden confession hung in the air, heavy and unsettling. Luka frowned, caught off guard not just by the words themselves, but by the almost bitter edge in Damon’s voice, as though he, too, was just as confused by his own admission as Luka was.

“We didn’t even finish the fight.”

Damon nodded. “That’s for the best.”

“And why is that?”

Damon’s eyes flickered with something darker, his voice dropping as he spoke. “Because you probably couldn’t have handled it if we did.”

The words landed like a challenge and Luka’s teeth clenched, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

“If we ever fight again, I’ll make sure no one interrupts.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Before Luka could respond to that, Damon took a step back and without another word, turned on his heel and began to walk away, leaving Luka standing in the cold air with his fists still tight and his heart racing.