Lucian's Point Of View
The door slammed.
Not softly. Not politely.
It didn't just close… it declared. The sound cracked through the room, sharp and final, like a verdict passed without appeal. The walls seemed to hold onto it, letting the echo linger longer than it should have, as if even the mansion itself needed a moment to absorb what had just happened.
I didn't move right away.
Didn't breathe right away either.
I just stood there, fingers pressed against my cheek, right where her palm had connected. The skin was warm. Not fading yet. Tingling beneath my touch, humming faintly like it remembered her hand better than I wanted it to. Not painful… not truly, but noticeable.
Insultingly so.
I rolled my jaw once.
Slow.
Measured.
The movement pulled at my cheek just enough to remind me again… 'she hit you'. The thought should have irritated me. Should have ignited fury. Instead, it sat there, heavy and strange, curling into something unfamiliar.
The girl was gone.
No footsteps anymore. No sharp breathing. No defiant glare burning holes into the room.
Just absence.
I watched the empty doorway long after her presence had vanished, my thumb brushing over the faint heat she'd left behind on my face. It was already cooling, but the imprint lingered, as if her defiance had weight. The corner of my mouth twitched.
Once.
Then curved. Then deepened into something darker… A smirk. Not amused. Not angry.
Interested.
Behind me, a sound broke the silence.
Laughter.
Not a snort. Not a restrained, polite chuckle.
A full, unapologetic laugh.
The kind that had no fear of consequence.
I didn't have to turn to know who it was.
Azriel.
"That," he said, strolling closer like he hadn't just witnessed sacrilege, like the laws of nature hadn't been bent and slapped across my face, "is officially the highlight of my century."
I finally turned my head.
Slowly.
Azriel had one hand braced on his hip, the other rubbing his stomach like he was trying to recover from genuine amusement. His grin was wide, wicked, irreverent… entirely too pleased with himself and the situation.
"Never," he continued, shaking his head, "would I have imagined someone hitting you and walking away alive. Let alone going scot free."
His eyes flicked deliberately to my face, lingering. "Right there too. Perfect form. Straight from the shoulder. Very personal."
The smirk slipped off my face.
Just like that.
The room cooled.
Not metaphorically. The air itself seemed to tighten, as if it had learned better than to linger too close.
"Who," he added lightly, too lightly, "is this girl, Lucian?"
I stared at him.
Really stared.
The kind of stare that had ended wars before they began.
The answer sat heavy on my tongue, unnamed, undefined. Not a title. Not a role. Not something neat enough to hand over for dissection or amusement. She didn't fit into anything familiar.
Instead, my face went blank.
"Shut your trap, boy."
Azriel blinked.
Once.
Then… worse, his grin widened.
"Oho," he said, delighted. "Now you want to take it out on me?"
He stepped closer, deliberately invading my space, testing boundaries like he always did. His eyes gleamed with that familiar, dangerous curiosity, the kind that thrived on pushing until something snapped.
"Where was this resistance," he went on, voice mock-innocent, "when she face-palmed you hard enough to echo?"
The silence stretched.
Thick.
Then, with lazy delight, Azriel said, "I like her." The words landed deeper than they should have. Not rage. Not jealousy. Something sharper.
Possession.
My fingers curled slowly at my sides, tendons tightening, power stirring beneath my skin whether I called for it or not.
"You like breathing," I said coolly. "I'd suggest you continue doing so."
Azriel laughed again, softer this time, slower, like he was savoring every second of tension humming between us. "Relax. I'm not challenging you."
He tilted his head toward the door she'd disappeared through, eyes glinting.
"Just stating facts. She's got bite. Fire. And zero sense of self-preservation."
From the shadows near the bed, Draven finally moved.
His presence grounded the room, heavy and immovable, like gravity had decided to manifest in human form.
"She's gone," he said, voice low. "And she's angry."
"Yes," I replied.
My gaze drifted back to the doorway.
The empty frame.
The absence that felt louder than sound.
"Good."
Draven frowned slightly. "Good?"
I lowered my hand from my face. The warmth was almost gone now, but the memory wasn't. It clung stubbornly, like a bruise forming beneath the skin.
"She didn't beg," I said. "Didn't cry. Didn't shrink."
I exhaled slowly, the breath measured, controlled.
"She struck."
Azriel hummed thoughtfully. "Bold move for a human."
I shot him a look.
"Careful."
He lifted his hands in surrender, grin never leaving his face. "Just saying… it's been a while since anyone surprised you."
That was true.
Too true.
Most people learned quickly. Fear made them predictable. Desire made them pliable. Power made them obedient.
She had looked at me with fury burning in her eyes and still swung.
Not because she thought she'd win.
Because she refused to bow.
"She thinks she's done with us," Azriel said casually, leaning against the bedpost like this was all an entertaining afterthought. "That's adorable."
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't sure.
The world didn't let people like her simply walk away untouched. Especially not after stepping into our orbit and leaving a mark… literal or otherwise.
Azriel studied me openly now, his voice dropping into something playful, teasing, but sharp enough to cut.
"So," he said, lips twitching, "tell me… are you going to brood about the girl who slapped you… or are you going to figure out where the hell she came from?"
He chuckled under his breath, a sleeze tease of laughter, eyes glinting with mischief rather than disrespect.
"Because something tells me," he added lightly, "she's not done with us."
The laughter lingered in the air.
And for the first time in a long while, I wondered;
Where the hell did she come from?
The question barely had time to settle before the air shifted.
Draven stepped forward.
Not rushed. Not angry.
Just decisive.
"Enough."
One word. Heavy. Final.
It cut through the room like a blade, slicing cleanly through the lingering amusement, through Azriel's lazy grin, through the strange echo she'd left behind. The temperature dropped—not from magic, not from weather, but from intent.
"Now's not the time to get distracted about some girl," Draven continued, his voice low, controlled, carrying the weight of command. "Girls come and go."
Azriel opened his mouth, likely to protest, "But this?" Draven went on, cutting him off without even looking at him. "The matter at hand? There are no second chances."
Silence slammed down.
The walls seemed to listen.
Even Azriel's grin hardened, the humor draining from his expression like someone had flipped a switch. He straightened, eyes sharpening, posture shifting from relaxed to ready. Whatever Draven was about to reveal wasn't trivial. Not with that tone. Not with that look.
I turned fully toward Draven.
"Were you able to get anything?" I asked.
My voice sounded steady, but something restless stirred beneath it. Instinct. The kind that only surfaced when the game turned serious.
Draven nodded once.
Then he reached inside his coat.
The sound of paper sliding free felt too loud in the quiet room. He stepped closer and handed me a document. Then, without ceremony, passed another to Azriel.
Same thickness.
Same weight.
Same implications.
I took mine. The moment my eyes dropped to the page, my frown deepened. Names. Dates. Symbols I hadn't seen in years. The kind of information that didn't surface unless someone wanted blood, or was already spilling it.
Azriel scanned his copy quickly.
Then froze.
He dropped the file onto the table with a sharp slap, the sound echoing through the room like a challenge.
"How long," he asked slowly, dangerously, "have you known about this, Draven?"
Draven didn't flinch.
"Since when," Azriel continued, pushing to his feet, anger crackling beneath his words now, "have you started keeping things this important from us?"
I looked up from the document, my jaw tightening.
Draven met Azriel's stare head-on.
"I did it for a reason, Azriel."
"Yeah?" Azriel snapped. "And what reason would justify this?"
Draven's voice stayed calm. Too calm.
"I know you."
Azriel scoffed. "That's supposed to comfort me?"
"If I had told you," Draven said evenly, "you would have gone out for blood."
Azriel didn't deny it.
"And that," Draven went on, "is the last thing I want us to do."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Tighter.
"Rushing blindly into this without planning," Draven added, "is exactly what they're hoping for."
Azriel let out a sharp breath through his nose, eyes flashing. He dragged a hand through his hair, then dropped back into his seat with a hard thud.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "You sit on this, and I'm supposed to just... what? Nod and smile?"
I folded the document once. Twice.
Carefully.
"What are we going to do now?" I asked.
Draven didn't answer immediately.
He looked between us, measuring, calculating… not just the situation, but us. Making sure the recklessness had burned itself out. Making sure we were listening.
Then he said it.
"We wait for them to slip which they would definitely do, then we strike."