I can practically feel the gray hairs sprouting. Is that even possible for vampires? Because I swear I'm about to find out.
Congratulations, Lucian! It's a girl! A forever-twenty-something bloodsucking, emotionally volatile girl who could probably bench press a car!
...I'm going to need so much more bourbon for this.
The lake stretches before me like spilled ink, moonlight fracturing across its surface. The bourbon in my glass matches the darkness, promising temporary oblivion from this clusterfuck of a night. Behind me, the mansion hums with the aftermath—Emily's patient explanations, Sable's questions, Damon's hovering presence.
At least someone's having a productive night.
The whisper of bare feet against the balcony stone barely registers until her scent hits me—cinnamon and honey, somehow untainted by the horror she's endured. I turn—and fuck me sideways—those little pink shorts and that white lace top sliding off one shoulder are doing things to my heart that should be medically impossible.
"Hey,daddy." Seraphina's voice carries enough sugar to put Willy Wonka out of business, with just enough spice to make my fangs ache.
Jesus tap-dancing Christ on a pogo stick.
I roll my eyes at the reminder of my new 'parental' status to our bubblegum vampire witch, butfuck me running—the way those words just rolled off her tongue makes parts of me stand at attention faster than a soldier during inspection.
"Careful there, Cupcake," I manage to choke out, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You keep calling me 'daddy' like that, and I might just have to put you over my knee."
Shit. Did I just say that out loud? Apparently my brain-to-mouth filter is on vacation. Probably sipping margaritas with my sense of shame.
"You know, for... discipline purposes. Gotta make sure you're being a good little angel and all that jazz."
Seraphina smirks, a look that's equal parts heavenly and sinful. "Oh, I think you like it when I call you that...daddy."
Fuck. Me. Sideways. With a silver-plated dildo.
"You did good, Lucian." Seraphina steps closer, her scent wrapping around me like a heavenly security blanket. "You tried to save her and you did... just in another way."
Right. Because turning someone into a vampire is totally what they mean by 'saving lives' in medical school.
I sigh, the world's weight settling on my shoulders like a lead blanket. "Yeah, maybe you're right. But all of that never should've happened—none of it." I swallow hard, the memory of the night rising like bile in my throat. "Especially with you."
Fuck. The image of Seraphina, broken and bleeding, her wings torn... it's seared into my brain like a brand. A permanent reminder of my failure.
"You didn't deserve that, Cupcake. Any of it." My voice cracks, emotions threatening to spill out like a burst dam. "I should've protected you. Should've been faster, stronger,better."
But I wasn't. And now I have to live with the consequences. Forever.
Seraphina's hand finds mine, her touch a lifeline in the darkness. "Lucian, you can't blame yourself. We all made choices tonight. And I'd make the same one again in a heartbeat."
Fuck, I love this woman. This angel. This goddamn miracle in high heels and a halo.
The questions I should ask pile up behind my teeth—What all did they do to you? How did they hurt you? Who do I need to dismember first?—but they stick there, trapped by the fear of knowing just how badly I failed to protect her.
My hands find her waist before she can speak, spinning her into the space between me and the balcony rail. The motion triggers something divine because suddenly the night explodes with light—her wings unfurling like living opals, casting rainbow shadows across the deck. Each feather catches moonlight and transforms it, turning the darkness into our own private aurora borealis.
She even makes breathing look holy?
Those sexy eyes tilt up to mine, and the raw emotion there hits harder than any whiskey.
How can she still look at me like that? Like I'm something worth loving? After I let her get taken?
The balcony railing creaks under my grip.
"Stop blaming yourself, Sparky." Her voice is honey, wrapping around me like a caress. The nickname—that ridiculous, perfect nickname—falls from her lips with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
"I'm sorry, baby girl." The words scrape raw from my throat. My thumb traces the curve of her cheek, needing the tangible proof she's really here. "This should never have happened. I got you hurt, taken, fuckingtortured—"
