Lucien
I’ve seen fear before. I’ve caused it, cultivated it, collected it like fucking trophies. But not on her. Not like this. This isn’t the kind of fear I want from her. This isn’t the kind of power I enjoy.
She’s huddled against the wall, knife clutched in her white-knuckled grip, eyes wide and wild. The phone’s still pressed to her ear even though I’m right fucking here, squatting between her spread legs. Her chest heaves with panicked breaths, and I can see her pulse hammering in her throat.
I gently take the phone from her trembling hand and end the call. “I’m here now.”
That’s when she snaps.
The knife flashes as she lunges forward, and suddenly the cold bite of steel is pressing against my throat. Her hand is shaking so badly I can feel the blade vibrating against my skin.
My cock immediately hardens at the threat. Fuck, she’s magnificent when she’s dangerous.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hisses.
“That’s it,” I say, my voice dropping low as I grab her face between my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “Just like that. You are Seraphina Elise Carvelli, daughter of BlackCrown. My Chosen.” I hold her gaze, making sure she feels every word. “No one can touch you. No one can harm you. Not without signing their own fucking death warrant.”
Her eyes widen, the knife still pressed to my throat.
“Anyone who tries will face my wrath,” I continue, my voice deadly calm. “And I will tear them apart with my bare fucking hands. Do you understand me? I will hunt them down and make them beg for a death I won’t grant them quickly.”
I feel a drop of blood slide down my neck from where her blade is cutting me, but I don’t move away. Let her see I’m not afraid of her edge. Let her know I welcome it.
“You belong to me,” I remind her, my grip on her face tightening just enough to make her feel it. “And I protect what’s mine. Always.”
The knife trembles against my skin. “Someone was in my room,” she whispers, voice cracking. “They left that…message.”
I don’t look away from her eyes. “I know. And they’re already dead, they just don’t know it yet.”
Slowly, her grip on the knife loosens, and she lets it drop to the floor with a clatter. Her body sags forward, and I catch her, pulling her against my chest as the adrenaline crash hits her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
I hold her like that for a minute, feeling her shudders gradually subside. When she’s calmer, I pull back enough to look at her face.
“I’m scared,” she whispers, the admission clearly costing her.
“I know,” I say, gently taking the phone from her hand and setting it aside. “But you don’t need to be. Not with me here.”
I notice her gaze shifting over my shoulder, fixated on the bathroom door.
“I need to see what they wrote,” I tell her, starting to rise.
Her hand shoots out, fingers latching onto the bottom of my coat. When I look down, her knuckles are white from gripping the fabric so tightly.
“I’ve got to go see it,” I say, keeping my voice calm and steady.
She shakes her head frantically, still clutching my coat like it’s a fucking lifeline.
I shrug out of my coat in one smooth motion and wrap it around her shoulders. It engulfs her completely, the expensive fabric swallowing her small frame. She immediately burrows into it, pulling it tight around herself like armor.
“Stay,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right back.”
I stand and move toward the bathroom, my body tensed for whatever I might find. The door is already ajar, the harsh fluorescent light spilling out into the darkened bedroom. I push it open fully, and the metallic tang of blood hits my nostrils immediately.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, taking in the scene.
The message is crude, the letters uneven and dripping—SINNERS WILL BE PUNISHED—smeared across her mirror in what I’m guessing is animal blood by the smell and consistency. At the very least they could have made it symmetrical. It’s theatrical, meant to terrorize rather than actually harm. Which means this is personal. A warning.
