Seraphina's POV
"When you die, you're taking whatever's left of my heart with you."
Lucien's words hung in the air between us, raw and honest and terrifying.
Before I could respond, he kissed me again.
This time was different. Not desperate and wild like the first kiss. This one was slower, deeper, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me. His hand cradled the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair. His other hand pressed against the small of my back, holding me against him.
I'd never been kissed like this. Like I mattered. Like I was precious.
The blood bond between us roared to life—not the locked, cold connection from before, but wide open and burning. His emotions poured into me:
Want. So much want it made me dizzy.
Fear. Absolute terror of what he was feeling.
Grief. Still there, always there, a wound that never healed.
And underneath it all—hope. Fragile and new and terrifying.
I kissed him back, pouring my own feelings through the bond. My loneliness. My fear of dying alone. My desperate need to feel alive just once before the end.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Lucien rested his forehead against mine, his silver eyes closed.
"This is madness," he whispered.
"Probably."
"You're going to die in three weeks."
"I know."
"And I'm going to shatter when you do." He pulled back enough to look at me, his face vulnerable in a way I'd never seen. "But I can't seem to make myself care."
My heart squeezed. "Lucien—"
"Don't." His thumb brushed across my lips, silencing me. "Don't tell me it'll be okay. Don't promise me anything. Just... stay here. In this moment. With me."
So I did.
We stood in the forgotten garden, surrounded by crimson roses and moonlight, holding each other like we were the only two people in the world.
Through the bond, I felt him lowering his walls completely. All the grief and loneliness and pain he'd carried for two hundred years—he let me see it all. And in return, I showed him my fear. My anger at dying so young. My desperate wish to experience everything before the tumor took it all away.
"You're so alive," Lucien said softly, his hand tracing patterns on my back. "Even dying, you're more alive than I've been in centuries."
"Then live with me," I said. "For three weeks. No past, no ghosts. Just us."
His silver eyes searched mine. "You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. I'm dying. You're lonely. We have three weeks to pretend none of the rest of it matters."
"And when the three weeks are up?"
I swallowed hard. "Then you let me go."
Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded slowly. "Three weeks."
"Three weeks," I agreed.
He kissed me again, and this time it felt like a promise. Like a vow. Like something sacred and doomed and beautiful all at once.
When he finally pulled away, his expression had changed. The devastated, broken vampire was gone. In his place was someone who looked almost... hopeful.
"Come," he said, taking my hand. "It's late. I'll walk you back to your chambers."
We walked through the palace hand-in-hand, and I marveled at how cold his skin was. Not uncomfortable cold. Just... different. A reminder that he wasn't human anymore.
"Does it hurt?" I asked. "Being a vampire?"
"No. But I don't feel things the way humans do. Temperature, pain—it's all muted." He glanced at me. "Emotions too, usually. Everything dulls after a few centuries."
"But you feel now?"
His grip on my hand tightened. "Because of you. The blood bond amplifies everything. Every emotion, every sensation. It's... overwhelming."
We reached my chambers. Lucien stopped outside the door, still holding my hand.
"I can't come in," he said quietly. "Not tonight. If I do, I won't be able to leave. And you need rest."
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Every day." He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. The gesture was so old-fashioned and sweet it made my chest ache. "I've wasted four days avoiding you. I won't waste any more time."
He started to leave, then turned back.
"Seraphina?"
"Yes?"
His silver eyes glowed in the darkness. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making me remember what it feels like to want to live."
Then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway with vampire speed.
I stood outside my door for a long moment, my lips still tingling from his kisses, the bond humming warm in my chest.
I'd come to Valthoria expecting death. Instead, I'd found something I never expected.
A reason to fight for every single day I had left.
I woke to sunlight streaming through my windows.
No—not sunlight. Moonlight that was somehow bright as day.
I sat up, confused. How long had I slept?
A knock sounded at my door.
"Come in," I called.
Elena entered, carrying a tray of food and wearing the biggest smile I'd seen.
"Good morning, sunshine! Or should I say good afternoon? You slept for fourteen hours." She set the tray on the table by the window. "The prince sent word that you're to rest today. He'll call on you tomorrow evening."
My face heated. "Did everyone hear about last night?"
"Honey, the entire palace heard about last night." Elena's smile turned knowing. "The prince hasn't gone to that garden in two hundred years. The fact that he was there, with you, holding your hand when you walked back—it's all anyone can talk about."
Great. So much for privacy.
"Eat," Elena insisted, gesturing to the tray. "You need your strength. And later, I'm helping you pick out something beautiful to wear. If the prince is finally paying attention, we're making sure you look absolutely stunning."
She left me alone with food I didn't have the appetite for. My head throbbed—the tumor's daily reminder that I was running out of time.
Twenty-two days left. Maybe less.
But last night, in Lucien's arms, I'd felt more alive than I had in months.
I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the blood bond pulse warm and steady. I could sense Lucien on the other end—far away but present. Not cold and locked anymore. Open.
For the first time since getting my death sentence, I felt something other than despair.
I felt hope.
The next evening, I dressed in the gown Elena had chosen—deep red silk that made my hair look like fire. She'd styled it in loose waves, woven with tiny crystals that caught the light.
"Perfect," Elena said, stepping back to admire her work. "Absolutely perfect."
A knock at the door made my heart jump.
Elena opened it, then curtsied. "Your Highness."
Lucien stepped into my chambers, and my breath caught.
He wore all black—a fitted shirt and pants that made him look both dangerous and elegant. His white-blond hair was pulled back from his face, showing the sharp lines of his features. His silver eyes found mine immediately.
And the look in them made heat flood my body.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice low.
"You clean up pretty well yourself."
His lips quirked—almost a smile. "Walk with me? I want to show you something."
Elena practically shoved me toward the door. "Go! Have fun! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
I followed Lucien through the palace, my hand in his. We walked in comfortable silence until we reached a part of the palace I hadn't seen before.
He opened a door, revealing a massive room filled with paintings.
My jaw dropped.
Hundreds of canvases covered the walls—landscapes, portraits, abstract pieces that looked like captured emotions. All of them stunning. All of them gathering dust.
"You painted these?" I breathed.
"A lifetime ago." Lucien's voice was quiet. "I haven't picked up a brush since Arianne died."
I walked through the room, studying each piece. In them, I could see who Lucien used to be—someone passionate, creative, alive.
"Why are you showing me this?" I asked.
He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Then:
"Because I want to paint again. Because you make me want to create instead of just exist." He moved closer, his presence warm despite his cold skin. "Because in three weeks, when you're gone, I want something to remember you by other than grief."
Tears pricked my eyes. "Lucien—"
A scream echoed through the palace.
We both froze.
Then—another scream. Closer this time. Filled with terror.
Lucien's expression went hard. His eyes flashed silver-bright. "Stay here."
"What's happening?"
"I don't know. But—"
The door to the art room exploded inward.
A vampire I'd never seen before stood in the doorway, his eyes completely black, his fangs extended. Blood dripped from his mouth.
"Found you," he snarled, looking straight at me. "Viktor Shadowmere sends his regards."
Then he lunged.