Roman moved closer to Layla, his hand brushing over her back, his gaze sliding to me in silent acknowledgment. We didn’t need words. He saw it. The way Sorcha looked at the baby, the way she was already softening under my hand.
My brothers gave her distance. But I didn’t miss the way Viking smirked at me, sharp and wolfish, like he’d been waiting for themoment he could jab his elbow into my ribs and say, Finally,Lucien. He didn’t have to say anything, his grin was loud enough.
Volken, though, was the opposite. His eyes were knives, cutting over Sorcha in precise lines, cataloguing everything, the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands as she cradled Roman’s boy, the way she leaned instinctively closer to me without realizing it. He was assessing her like he would a battlefield, but not out of cruelty. Volken’s approval had to be earned, and already I could see the wheels turning behind that stare, he was calculating how she fit into our family, how she would hold up under fire.
Draugr… he didn’t smirk, didn’t analyse. He stood in the shadows as he always did, a wall of silence and menace, but when his gaze met mine there was no question. There was only respect. He understood that the bond was unbreakable, and in his world that was enough. He didn’t need to say it, but I knew that he’d guard her if I wasn’t there, that meant something. That meant everything.
Sorcha shifted slightly under the weight of their attention, her fingers flexing against the baby’s blanket. She was strong, stubborn, fire in a woman’s skin, but I could feel it in her pulse, in the faint tremor in her breathing. She knew what kind of men we were. That we are predators, that we are power wrapped in flesh and bone. And still, she stood there, chin lifted, holding the child without flinching.
Pride burned through me, fierce and possessive. My brothers might keep their distance for now, but I saw it in their eyes that they understood. She wasn’t just mine. She was one of us now.
Layla touched Sorcha’s arm lightly, her smile soft. “Come on, I’ll show you the nursery.”
Sorcha hesitated, flicking a glance at me, like she needed my silent approval. I gave her a small nod, and only then did she let Layla guide her down the hall. Watching her go, her hair loose down her back, her chin tilting higher the more uncertain she felt, it carved into me. She trusted me enough to let another woman take her from my side, but the distance still scraped my nerves raw.
The second they disappeared around the corner, Draugr’s voice rumbled low. “I’ve been pulling threads.” His massive frame shifted out of the shadows, arms crossed, eyes cold steel. “The Irish warehouse wasn’t just business. I caught two of the men who were running that place. They’re still breathing, barely. We’ve got them in one of the interrogation houses.”
My mood darkened. “Names?”
“Scum,” Draugr said flatly. “But they talk when the bone saw comes out. There were five who ran the cages, seven who rotated through. Two are in my hold. Three more, I’ve got eyes on. And the one who called the shots…” his mouth curved into something sharp, humourless “…he’s mine. He won’t run far.”
Heat ripped through me like a blade pulled from the forge. My fingers flexed, aching for a throat to crush. I pictured the chains around Sorcha’s wrists, the bruises on her ribs, the hollow look in her eyes the first time I saw her and then I pictured the men Draugr had described. Laughing, drinking, putting their hands where they didn’t belong.
I tasted blood, sharp on my tongue where my fangs had slid down.
“Leave them breathing,” I said, my voice low, even. “Don’t kill them yet. I want them alive when I get there.”
Volken tilted his head, sharp gaze narrowing. “You’re too close to this, Lucien.”
“No,” I growled, the word cutting like a blade. “I’m exactly close enough. They touched her. They hurt her. That means they’re mine.”
The air in the room went heavy, thick with the promise of violence. Viking’s grin flickered, not mocking now, but approving, sharp as a blade edge. Roman didn’t speak, but his silence was its own weight because he understood. He’d felt the same when it was Layla.
“I’ll let you have them,” Draugr said finally, his eyes unblinking, unreadable. “But the leader, he’s marked. I’ll let you know when I have him.”
I gave a short nod, but my voice was steel when I added, “Then I’ll take the others apart, piece by piece. Every breath they take from now until their last will be spent begging for what they did. And they’ll never be free of me until I decide they’re finished.”
My brothers didn’t argue. They knew there was no stopping me.
And as Sorcha’s laugh, faint but real, drifted back down the hall from the nursery, the vow inside me hardened into iron. Whoever had laid hands on her… their deaths were already written.
Chapter 11
The nursery was warm in a way that made my throat tight. Not just the low glow of the golden lamps or the soft cream walls, but the quiet peace of it. A place untouched by fear.
Layla moved through the room with the ease of someone who belonged there. She leaned over the crib, brushing her fingers gently across the cheek of the infant swaddled in pale blue.
“My son,” she said softly, the words full of a pride I didn’t recognize. Not the hollow pride of men who boasted about power, but something deeper. Something real. “He’s perfect, he’s loud and demanding, also bossy…Roman says he gets that from me.” She laughed lightly, then glanced at me. “Will you hold him for a moment while I get a change of clothes for him, please?”
My chest tightened. But Layla’s eyes were steady, calm, inviting, and before I could refuse, she was placing the warm, impossibly small bundle in my arms. The baby stirred, making a soft sound, his tiny fingers curling against the blanket.
“Oh,” I breathed, unable to stop the smile pulling at my lips. “He’s… he’s beautiful.”
“He looks like Roman,” Layla said, lowering herself into a chair beside me. “Strong already, stubborn. But his eyes…” She shook her head, her smile soft. “Sometimes I think he has mine.”
For a moment, I let myself just… hold him. I hadn’t touched something pure in months, maybe years. Everything had been rough, cruel, taken. But here was something made and not broken.
“You’re human,” I said finally, my voice low. “How is this even possible? A child. With a vampire.”
