I shivered, my hand tightening in Lucien’s without realizing it. He squeezed back, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, grounding me.
And as I looked at Roman, fierce and unyielding with his son, then at Layla, her eyes soft with pride and love, I realized what I had been trying not to admit. I couldn’t see myself without Lucien anymore. The bond had tangled itself so deeply in me that the thought of breaking it was unthinkable.
I leaned into him, my head finding its home on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around me instantly, pulling me closer. He didn’t look down, didn’t need to. He just knew. And that knowing, the way he carried me without asking, the way he answered me without words, was both terrifying and grounding all at once.
Roman raised his son a little higher, his voice carrying like thunder through the room. “Aleksander Dragic.”
The name echoed off the stone, rich and final, the sound of history being carved into the air. Roman spoke it again, and again, three times in total, as was the tradition, each repetition sinking deeper into the room, into the bond between father and son, into the legacy of the Dragic line. I didn’t know their ways yet, but I could feel the weight of it, the reverence, the power, the binding.
When he lowered the baby back into Layla’s arms, the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full, heavy with meaning, with respect. Even the guards stood straighter, like they were witnessing something sacred.
And in that stillness, I felt it.
Eyes.
Not just Lucien’s, though his presence coiled around me protectively. But his brothers’, too. Viking, watching with a rare seriousness, his grin tempered but his nod toward me unmistakably approving, as though saying without words, Welcome to the madness.
Volken’s gaze was sharper, assessing, but it softened by a fraction when it landed on me. A silent acknowledgment, a recognition that I was no longer just some stray Lucien had picked up but that I was in their circle now, whether I understood the full weight of it or not.
Draugr didn’t stare, didn’t move. But I caught it anyway, the faint dip of his chin, the smallest inclination of respect. For me, or maybe for the bond I shared with Lucien. Either way, it was a mark of acceptance, and from him, it meant something.
It hit me then; in a way it hadn’t before. These men weren’t just brothers by blood. They were a wall. A fortress. And somehow, by binding myself to Lucien, I’d been pulled behind it.
For the first time since the night, I’d been dragged out of my old life and into this one, I didn’t feel like an outsider watching from the edges. I felt like I was being claimed, not just by Lucien, but by all of them, in their own ways.
And it made my chest tighten with something dangerously close to belonging.The naming was complete, the ritual sealed, and slowly the room shifted. Guards relaxed just enough, the tension easing into something lighter, warmer. A long table had been laid out in the adjoining hall, heavy with roasted meats, dark breads, cheeses, bowls of fruit that gleamed under candlelight, and bottles of crimson wine uncorked and waiting.
We moved together, brothers, mates, family like some tide rolling from one shore to the next. For once, there was noimmediate threat pressing at the door. No demons lurking in the shadows, no whispers of the Irish rising from their graves. Just quiet. A lull. And in that rare silence, we sat to feast.
Viking was already reaching for a bottle before anyone else had settled, pouring generously for himself and passing it down with a grin. Draugr cut through slabs of meat with a precision that looked more like preparing for battle than serving dinner. Volken surveyed the spread before choosing, methodical as ever, his movements slow and deliberate.
Lucien sat beside me, close enough that his hand remained at the small of my back like he couldn’t stop touching me even in something as ordinary as a meal. His thumb traced small, grounding circles there, even when he turned his attention to his brothers.
Conversation sparked like embers, flickers of life in a house more used to strategy and silence.
Viking, as always, was the loudest spark, his grin sharp as he leaned across the table. “You’re slipping, Roman. A year ago, you would’ve gutted anyone who dared to look at your plate. Now you’re sharing bread with us like a civilized man.”
Roman’s stare was flat as stone, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Touch my plate and see what happens.”
Viking laughed, pouring himself more wine before topping off mine without asking. “There’s the Roman we know.”
Volken, ever the blade in the dark, cut in, his tone precise. “You mistake tolerance for softness, brother. Roman has not changed. He’s simply… re-prioritized.” His eyes flicked toward Layla andthe child in her arms, his sharp mouth tightening as though the sight stirred something even, he couldn’t name.
Viking rolled his eyes. “Leave it to you to take all the fun out of dinner, Volken.”
“Someone has to,” Volken replied, sipping his wine with a calm that only made Viking scowl deeper.
Draugr rumbled from the far end, his voice low and rough, like boulders grinding together. “Both of you sound like old women gossiping. Eat and drink because tomorrow, there will be blood again. Tonight at least we have peace.”
The words, simple as they were, settled over the table like an anchor. For a heartbeat, even Viking’s grin dimmed, the weight of Draugr’s truth cutting through the banter. But then, just as quickly, it softened into something else, a flicker of warmth none of them wore often.
Roman’s mouth curved, not quite into a smile, but close enough to count. It wasn’t laughter, not exactly. It was something rarer. Something alive.
In that moment, I saw what bound them, not just blood, or war, but a fractured kind of family that only truly breathed in stolen moments like this one.
Layla was radiant even in her exhaustion, Aleksander cradled against her chest as she ate one-handed, Roman’s eyes never straying far from her. She looked like light in a room of shadows, and for a fleeting second, I wondered if that was what Lucien saw in me.
Wine was poured; toasts muttered more like oaths than celebrations. The food was rich, heavy, and I felt myself almostsinking into it, into the surreal peace of sitting with them, eating like we were just people instead of monsters and survivors.
