“I am.” His eyes sharpened, a soldier’s stare levelled on me. “If Lucien thought you were anything less than worthy, do you think you’d be here? Do you think he would’ve bled half the Irish filth across that warehouse floor to get you out? Men like us don’t fight for mistakes. We fight for what’s ours.”
Heat crawled up my throat, though it wasn’t embarrassment, it was that strange, confusing mix of shame and comfort. He’d called me theirs, Lucien’s. And instead of recoiling, part of me wanted to believe it.
I stared down into my mug, hiding the flicker in my chest. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to defend myself. For some reason, which steadied me more than the tea.
As I was going up to be with Lucien before he awoke, I found that he was already awake. The sight of him stopped me cold. He was pacing, only in his boxers, muscles taut, the ridges of his back shifting under the low light. The lines of ink scrawled across his skin seemed alive, twisting with every movement, every flex of rage vibrating through him.
Hours slipped by in quiet, the day heavy and suffocating, until his voice shattered it. Sharp and Ruthless. Each word was a blade cutting into the air. I froze halfway up the stairs, my fingers clutching the banister like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
The phone was pressed hard against his ear, his jaw locked, fangs peeking as if just the sound of the man on the other end made him want to bite through steel. His pacing echoed down the hall, heavy, measured steps that still managed to sound like thunder.
The word he said next… “Keller” …slammed into me like a physical blow. My stomach lurched, my knees went weak, and the world tilted around me. The air was suddenly too thin, too sharp. My skin crawled, my chest tightened. Memories I’d buried clawed their way up to explode in my mind. I had blocked out his name, blocked out the memories but now it camecrashing back. Keller’s laugh, Keller’s hands, Keller’s orders. The terror he’d poured into me and the others.
I gripped the railing so hard my knuckles went white, my whole-body trembling, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to run back down the stairs or burst into the hall and beg Lucien to stop saying that name.
But it was too late. I was already shaking, my breath coming short and sharp, and even from a distance I knew Lucien would sense it.
The name echoed in my head, splintering into a thousand ugly pieces. My breath stuttered, ragged, uneven. I tried to back away, to steady myself, but the wooden step beneath my heel creaked.
Lucien’s head snapped up. For a heartbeat, the world froze. His dark eyes locked on me across the distance, and whatever he’d been saying into the phone ended abruptly. The phone was gone, either shut or crushed in his hand, I couldn’t tell which.
He was on me in seconds. One blink of the eye and he was at the end of the hall, the next his hands were on me, gripping my arms, scanning my face like he was looking for blood. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, furious, but not at me. At the air, at the reason that made me shake.
I tried to speak, but the name tangled in my throat. I forced the words out, broken and sharp. “Keller...you said the name Keller. He…he was the one. The worst of them. He… he enjoyed it. The others, they were cruel, but him… he was different.” My voice cracked. “He hurt us because he liked it.”
Lucien stilled as something feral slipped into his features, his jaw locking so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.His nostrils flared, his pupils narrowing to dark, dangerous pinpoints. The fury rolling off him was suffocating, and I knew, it wasn’t directed at me. It was at the man who’d carved scars into me and the others.
“He touched you,” Lucien growled, low and guttural, not a question but a sentence. “That filth, that fucking animal.” His grip on me tightened for a fraction, then shifted, drawing me against his chest as if to shield me from the memory itself. His voice dropped to a raw, trembling edge. “Tell me exactly what he did. Every bruise, every fear, every scar. Because I swear to you, Sorcha, I will make him pay for all of it. I will rip his skin from his bones until he begs for death.”
I shook my head, pressing my face into him, torn between the terror of remembering and the strange safety of his rage wrapping around me. “I don’t want to…”
I couldn’t move. My body was locked, my breath shallow. Images stormed through me of the things that happened at the warehouse, Keller’s smirk, his voice in the dark, the way he’d laughed when one of the women begged for water. His hand in my hair, yanking until my scalp screamed. His threats and his promises.
“You don’t have to.” He cut me off, his mouth against my hair, his hands cradling me like I might break. “You don’t ever have to say it. I already know enough. And it’s enough to promise you this, he will die screaming.” I felt his body go rigid around me, his muscles like stone, his breath sharp against my ear. And then his rage erupted, quiet but lethal.
His words vibrated through me, as much vow as threat. And for the first time, Keller’s shadow didn’t feel invincible. For the firsttime, it felt like maybe, just maybe, Lucien’s fury was strong enough to burn it out of me.
The growl that ripped out of him wasn’t human. It shook the air, rattling down to my bones, the kind of sound that reminded you monsters weren’t hiding under the bed that they were standing right in front of you, wearing the face of a man who would burn the world to protect you.
His hands were trembling where they gripped me, not from hesitation but from the sheer violence he was holding back. His claws bit faintly into my skin through my shirt, a reminder of what he was, what he could unleash. His fangs gleamed in the dim light, his eyes glowing with that predator’s fury, molten fire and shadow all at once.
“He’s mine,” Lucien hissed, every syllable dragged from the depths of hell itself. “I’ll take him apart piece by piece. He’ll beg for death before I give it to him. And when he dies, it will be knowing he never should have laid a finger on you.”
I should’ve been terrified, shrinking away from the beast uncoiling in front of me. But I wasn’t. My heart was racing, yes, but not with fear. What I felt was something else entirely. Something dark. Something twisted. Safety. His rage wasn’t aimed at me, it was for me, because of me. It was a shield made of claws and fangs, brutal and unrelenting, and somehow, I felt safer inside it than I ever had in my life.
“Lucien…” I whispered, my voice breaking. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. To stop him? To calm him? Or maybe just to remind myself that this wasn’t a dream, that I really had someone who would kill gods and devils alike if it meant keeping me safe.
His thumb brushed over my cheek, a small touch that shouldn’t have carried the weight it did. The fury boiling out of him, the predator coiled tight and ready to kill, all of it clashed with that single act of tenderness. A gentleness that felt like it belonged to another man, yet somehow, impossibly, it lived in him too.
“No one touches you. No one hurts you. Not anymore.” His voice dropped, softer, but still heavy with conviction. His eyes, molten with rage only moments ago, softened just enough to steal my breath. “That’s in the past. And I promise you, Sorcha…I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
He cupped my face in both hands now, his calloused palms warm against my skin. I could feel how tightly wound he was, like his body was straining to keep the violence contained, yet the only thing he showed me was care. His forehead dropped against mine, his breath warm, his chest heaving like he was dragging air through fire.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, like if he said it enough times it would stitch itself into me. “With me, you are always safe.”
The storm in me, the panic and overwhelming fear, that aching thread of disbelief eased under the weight of his words. My body leaned into him before my mind caught up, seeking the safety of his hold, the steadiness of his presence.
His hands slid down to my shoulders, massaging gently, grounding circles. He tilted my chin up just slightly, scanning my eyes like he was searching for any sign of fractures. “Better?” he asked, his tone rougher now, but not with anger but with concern.
