Zaria's knees nearly buckled as she stumbled out of the East Wing corridor, the cold stone beneath her bare feet slick with her own sweat. Her lungs burned, dragging air into her chest as though she had been drowning all along. Every muscle in her body screamed, her heart racing with the memory of the shadows that had almost swallowed her whole.
She pressed a trembling hand to the bite mark at her neck—the mark Lucien had left. It throbbed, alive, pulsing with something she couldn't name. It wasn't just pain; it was heat, awareness, a tether pulling her in one direction only. To him. Always to him.
And there he was.
Lucien leaned against the archway, cloaked in half-shadow. His golden eyes caught the candlelight, burning like molten steel. He said nothing, simply watched her—like a predator deciding whether his prey had proven itself worthy of survival.
Her breath hitched. She wanted to speak, to ask him what the hell that… trial had been, but the words withered on her tongue.
Lucien finally pushed away from the wall, his movements smooth, calculated. His boots clicked against the stone floor, each step sinking into her chest like a drumbeat.
"You lasted longer than I expected," he murmured, his voice low and sharp, like velvet dragged across a blade.
Zaria swallowed hard. "You tried to kill me."
A flicker—too quick to name—passed over his features. Amusement? Irritation? Both?
"If I wanted you dead, little one, you'd already be bleeding at my feet." He stopped just short of her, his height casting her in shadow. "What you faced in there was a fraction of what hunts beyond these walls. If you cannot endure shadows, you won't survive what's coming."
Her spine stiffened despite the exhaustion weighing her down. "And if I don't want any of this? If I never asked to be dragged here?"
Lucien's mouth curved, a humorless smirk. "Your blood asked for it. Your mark sealed it. Want has nothing to do with destiny."
The mark pulsed again beneath her fingers, a pulse that echoed his heartbeat. She hated the way it made her body betray her, the way her veins hummed when he stood this close.
She forced her gaze away, fixing on the darkened hall instead of his face. "You could at least pretend to care if I live."
Something in the air shifted. The silence stretched, heavy. She dared to glance up—and froze.
Lucien's expression had changed, though only slightly. His jaw clenched, his gaze cutting into her like a storm barely contained.
"Care is weakness," he said finally, his tone clipped. "And I do not break."
Her lips parted. For a moment, she wanted to argue, to claw at the armor in his voice. But she stopped herself. Because if she looked too long at those golden eyes, she'd see something buried there. Something he wanted no one to notice.
He turned abruptly, his cloak sweeping behind him. "Follow me."
Zaria hesitated, her legs shaky. "Where?"
He didn't look back. "To prove you survived."
⸻
The corridors felt colder this time, though maybe it was just her bones that hadn't stopped shaking. They walked in silence, his stride long, her footsteps soft and hesitant. The manor's walls loomed around her, whispering secrets she didn't want to hear.
Finally, they reached the dining chamber. The fire still burned low in the hearth, casting orange light across the table where their meals had been laid untouched.
Zaria eyed the food but couldn't bring herself to sit. Her stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from nerves.
Lucien sat easily at the head of the table, his gaze never leaving her as she lingered near the door. "Eat."
Her throat tightened. "How am I supposed to eat after that?"
His smirk returned, faint but cutting. "You survived. That's all that matters."
Her chest ached with a storm of words she wanted to hurl at him—anger, confusion, the ache of a bond she couldn't sever. But she bit her tongue, sliding into the chair across from him. The wood felt cold beneath her fingers.
She picked at the bread, tearing a piece small enough to swallow without tasting it. Her eyes flicked up. He was still watching her.
Always watching.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
Lucien tilted his head, slow, deliberate. "Because you don't look away."
Her cheeks burned, though she hated that heat, hated the truth in his words. He wasn't wrong. She never looked away, not really. Not when his presence was a storm she couldn't escape, not when his eyes held her like chains.
She tore another piece of bread, her hands clumsy. "Maybe because I'm afraid you'll strike if I do."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "Then you should be afraid."
The words made her shiver, but not the way she expected. Fear tangled with something else. Something darker.
The mark at her neck pulsed again, hotter this time, almost burning. She winced, her hand flying to cover it.
Lucien's gaze dropped to her fingers. His pupils dilated. For one fleeting second, his composure cracked.
"You feel it, don't you?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "The bond."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She couldn't deny it. Not when every nerve in her body screamed in answer to his.
But admitting it meant surrender.
She forced her voice steady, though it shook. "All I feel is pain."
The tension between them thickened, sharp as a blade. His jaw worked, but he said nothing more.
Then, from the far end of the corridor, a sound shattered the silence.
A howl. Low, guttural, not belonging to any wolf she'd heard before.
Zaria stiffened. "What was that?"
Lucien rose to his feet in one fluid motion, his cloak falling around him like wings of shadow. His eyes glowed, sharper than moonlight.
"Stay here."
But Zaria's pulse surged, her breath catching. Something deep in her gut told her this wasn't just another trial. It was something else. Something outside.
"Lucien—" she began.
He turned, his golden gaze locking on hers, hard as steel. "Do not move, Zaria."
The way he said her name—it was both command and plea. Then he was gone, disappearing into the corridor with inhuman speed.
The fire crackled behind her. The dining chamber stretched wide and empty, yet she felt suffocated, the silence pressing against her skin.
Her hand hovered over the mark at her neck.
She didn't know why—but she knew she couldn't stay put.
Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she stood, her body trembling with exhaustion but pulled by something stronger. The bond.
She stepped toward the hall, her heart hammering. The howl echoed again, closer this time.
And then—
A shadow moved at the far end of the corridor. Not Lucien. Taller. Broader. The air around it colder than death itself.
Zaria froze, her breath strangled in her throat.
The figure turned its head slowly toward her. Its eyes—empty, glowing with unnatural light—locked onto hers.
Her blood turned to ice.
And then it spoke. A voice like smoke curling through bone.
"You don't belong here."