Zara didn't sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same thing: the flash of silver eyes in the alley, the press of his hand against her skin, the sharp, searing puncture of his bite.
She lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling as the faint hum of the city bled through the walls. Her fingers kept tracing the mark at her neck — two perfect crescents, still tender, still warm as if carrying their own pulse.
The strange part was… it didn't feel like a wound anymore. It felt alive.
She sat up, pressing her palm to the spot. A strange heat pooled under her skin, spreading down her collarbone. For a moment, she swore she heard something — a whisper, low and indistinct, curling at the edges of her mind.
Her breath hitched.
It wasn't the first time since the bite. In the hours after she'd woken, she'd caught flickers of sensations that weren't hers — the faint tang of iron on her tongue, the cool rush of air against skin that wasn't hers, the sharp awareness of movement in the dark.
This is insane, she told herself, shaking her head.
A soft creak echoed from the hallway. She stiffened, her eyes darting to the door.
The sound of footsteps followed — unhurried, deliberate. She recognized them instantly.
When the door opened, he stepped in like the shadows had parted for him. His gaze found hers instantly, and for a heartbeat, the room seemed smaller.
"You haven't left," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
"I wouldn't call it staying," he replied, moving to the far wall. "I call it… making sure you don't do something reckless."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Like what? Step outside?"
"Like try to outrun something you don't understand."
His tone wasn't condescending — it was worse. It was factual.
She crossed her arms, irritation mixing with an uncomfortable truth: she had thought about leaving. "You still haven't told me your name."
He tilted his head slightly. "And yet you're still speaking to me."
She exhaled sharply through her nose, but before she could answer, the mark at her neck burned again — harder this time, almost a sting. Her hand flew to it, and her knees weakened.
He was at her side in a blink, one hand bracing her shoulder. "It's starting."
She swallowed hard. "What's starting?"
Instead of answering, his gaze held hers. For the first time, she saw something there that wasn't cold detachment — it was focus, urgency… and something else she couldn't name.
"Tell me," she demanded.
"You're linked to me now," he said finally, voice low. "That mark is more than blood. It's a tether. And tonight… someone will feel it."
Her chest tightened. "Someone?"
His eyes darkened. "The kind of someone who will come for you."
The room felt suddenly colder, the silence heavier. She realized, with a sick twist in her gut, that he wasn't speaking in hypotheticals.
He stepped back, scanning the corners of the room like he could see through walls. "If you hear anything — anything — you stay where I can see you. No running, no screaming."
Her voice cracked. "And if they find us?"
His gaze returned to hers, sharp as a blade. "Then I make sure they don't leave."
She didn't want to ask how. She already knew the answer wouldn't make her feel any safer.
Minutes passed. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock on the nightstand. She thought the tension might choke her. Then, faintly, she heard it — a scraping sound, like claws on stone.
Lucien moved instantly, the motion too fast to follow. One moment he was in front of her, the next he was at the door, his body a barrier. "Stay."
Zara's instincts screamed at her to argue, but something in his voice — something dark and absolute — rooted her to the spot.
The scraping grew louder, turning into a low, guttural sound that made the hair on her arms rise. She strained to listen, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Then, silence.
Lucien's shoulders tightened. "They're close."
Zara clutched the blanket, wishing it could shield her from whatever was out there. The burning at her neck flared again, hotter than before, until it felt like liquid fire was seeping into her veins. She gasped, biting back a cry.
His head snapped toward her, and for the first time, he looked… worried.
The window shattered.
She screamed as shards of glass exploded into the room. A dark shape lunged through, landing in a crouch — pale skin stretched over sharp bones, eyes glowing an unnatural crimson.
Before she could move, Lucien was on it. The room erupted into chaos — the hiss of the creature, the dull thud of impact, the crash of furniture as they tore across the space.
Zara stumbled back, but the mark on her neck pulsed with every strike they exchanged, like it was feeding her fragments of the fight — Lucien's focus, the smell of blood, the thrill of the hunt.
The creature snarled and lunged for her, but Lucien slammed it into the wall with a force that cracked the plaster. His voice was a low growl. "She's not yours."
Zara's pulse thundered in her ears as the fight blurred into sound and shadow. Then, with a sickening crack, the thing went still.
Lucien let it drop.
She stared, trembling, as the creature's body dissolved into dark mist, seeping into the floorboards.
"What… what was that?" she whispered.
He turned to her, eyes still glowing faintly. "A warning."
Her mouth went dry. "From who?"
His jaw tightened. "From the ones who know you're marked. And they won't stop."
The room smelled faintly of iron and smoke now, the air heavy and tense. Zara couldn't look away from him. There was blood on his collar, a cut on his cheek already healing before her eyes, and in that moment, she realized something terrifying — she wasn't sure if she feared him or trusted him.
Lucien took a step closer, his voice lower now. "If you want to survive this, Zara… you stay with me. No matter what."
She hesitated. "And if I don't?"
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. "Then you won't live long enough to regret it."
The burning at her neck eased, but the fear didn't. And deep inside, a small, dangerous part of her wondered if staying with him might be the most dangerous choice of all.