Chapter 10 #2
That seemed to silence her, though I could almost hear the war raging in her head. I didn’t press. Instead, I shifted, easing us both back until she was sitting more comfortably across me, her cheek resting against my chest, my arms locked tight around her.
“Ivan” I call.
“Yes, my Lord?” he replies approaching.
“Prepare the SUV and call Troy and Jericho,”
“Of course, my Lord,” he turns to do my bidding.
“Are you ready to meet my family?” I ask placing my finger under her chin to lift her face until she is looking at me. She nods, and then slides off my lap, leaving her small delicate hand in mine.
Rising I guide her towards the main door hearing the SUV pull up outside, Troy was driving, Jericho was in the passenger seat, both sharp-eyed and silent.
Ivan remained behind as I needed a changeling keeping the house secure.
Sorcha sat beside me in the back, her arms folded, but I caught the way her gaze flicked to me every few minutes, like she was trying to read me.
I reached over, covered her hand with mine. “You’ll stay by my side when we arrive.”
She made a soft sound, almost a laugh. “I don’t exactly blend in, Lucien.”
“No,” I said, letting my gaze drag over her deliberately, claiming. “You don’t blend in, you are right, you stand out. Which is why you’ll be beside me. Always.”
Her pulse jumped, I heard it, felt it on her wrist as I stroked it with my thumb, but she didn’t argue again.
Roman’s mansion rose out of the dark like a fortress, iron gates yawning open, lights spilling across the immaculate drive. Inside, it was warmth and steel, family and power.
My brothers were already there. Roman, sharp and controlled, his gaze cutting straight to Sorcha the second we entered.
Volken lingered in the shadows, his stare assessing, calculating.
Viking grinned, the bastard always too quick with his amusement, while Draugr leaned silent against the far wall, a living shadow.
I drew Sorcha close, my arm firm around her waist. “My mate,” I said simply, the words enough to silence any question. My brothers didn’t touch her, didn’t step too close, because the warning was clear in my voice and my hold.
Roman inclined his head, his respect wordless. Then Layla entered, a baby in her arms, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, her eyes soft but sharper than most people realized.
Sorcha froze when she saw the child, her lips parting. Layla’s smile was warm, the kind of warmth Sorcha hadn’t felt in too long. “You must be Sorcha.”
“I…” Sorcha’s voice broke, her eyes darting to me, uncertain.
Layla stepped closer, undeterred, shifting the baby in her arms. “I know it’s overwhelming. I felt the same when I first met them all. But you’re safe now.” She tilted the child slightly, his small fist curled tight against her shoulder. “This is our son. Would you like to hold him?”
Roman stepped forward, a frown adorning his face, but Layla ignored his protective instinct as she held out their son to Sorcha.
Sorcha blinked, her throat working, and for a moment she looked at me, like she needed permission. I nodded once.
Carefully, Layla placed the child in her arms. Sorcha held him as though he were spun glass, her expression breaking, softening, something raw flashing in her eyes.
Roman moved closer to Layla, his hand brushing over her back, his gaze sliding to me in silent acknowledgment. We didn’t need words. He saw it. The way Sorcha looked at the baby, the way she was already softening under my hand.
My brothers gave her distance. But I didn’t miss the way Viking smirked at me, sharp and wolfish, like he’d been waiting for the moment he could jab his elbow into my ribs and say, Finally, Lucien. He didn’t have to say anything, his grin was loud enough.
Volken, though, was the opposite. His eyes were knives, cutting over Sorcha in precise lines, cataloguing everything, the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands as she cradled Roman’s boy, the way she leaned instinctively closer to me without realizing it.
He was assessing her like he would a battlefield, but not out of cruelty.
Volken’s approval had to be earned, and already I could see the wheels turning behind that stare, he was calculating how she fit into our family, how she would hold up under fire.
Draugr… he didn’t smirk, didn’t analyse.
He stood in the shadows as he always did, a wall of silence and menace, but when his gaze met mine there was no question.
There was only respect. He understood that the bond was unbreakable, and in his world that was enough.
He didn’t need to say it, but I knew that he’d guard her if I wasn’t there, that meant something. That meant everything.
Sorcha shifted slightly under the weight of their attention, her fingers flexing against the baby’s blanket.
She was strong, stubborn, fire in a woman’s skin, but I could feel it in her pulse, in the faint tremor in her breathing.
She knew what kind of men we were. That we are predators, that we are power wrapped in flesh and bone.
And still, she stood there, chin lifted, holding the child without flinching.
Pride burned through me, fierce and possessive. My brothers might keep their distance for now, but I saw it in their eyes that they understood. She wasn’t just mine. She was one of us now.
Layla touched Sorcha’s arm lightly, her smile soft. “Come on, I’ll show you the nursery.”
Sorcha hesitated, flicking a glance at me, like she needed my silent approval.
I gave her a small nod, and only then did she let Layla guide her down the hall.
Watching her go, her hair loose down her back, her chin tilting higher the more uncertain she felt, it carved into me.
She trusted me enough to let another woman take her from my side, but the distance still scraped my nerves raw.
The second they disappeared around the corner, Draugr’s voice rumbled low.
“I’ve been pulling threads.” His massive frame shifted out of the shadows, arms crossed, eyes cold steel.
“The Irish warehouse wasn’t just business.
I caught two of the men who were running that place.
They’re still breathing, barely. We’ve got them in one of the interrogation houses. ”
My mood darkened. “Names?”
“Scum,” Draugr said flatly. “But they talk when the bone saw comes out. There were five who ran the cages, seven who rotated through. Two are in my hold. Three more, I’ve got eyes on.
And the one who called the shots…” his mouth curved into something sharp, humourless “…he’s mine. He won’t run far.”
Heat ripped through me like a blade pulled from the forge.
My fingers flexed, aching for a throat to crush.
I pictured the chains around Sorcha’s wrists, the bruises on her ribs, the hollow look in her eyes the first time I saw her and then I pictured the men Draugr had described.
Laughing, drinking, putting their hands where they didn’t belong.
I tasted blood, sharp on my tongue where my fangs had slid down.
“Leave them breathing,” I said, my voice low, even. “Don’t kill them yet. I want them alive when I get there.”
Volken tilted his head, sharp gaze narrowing. “You’re too close to this, Lucien.”
“No,” I growled, the word cutting like a blade. “I’m exactly close enough. They touched her. They hurt her. That means they’re mine.”
The air in the room went heavy, thick with the promise of violence. Viking’s grin flickered, not mocking now, but approving, sharp as a blade edge. Roman didn’t speak, but his silence was its own weight because he understood. He’d felt the same when it was Layla.
“I’ll let you have them,” Draugr said finally, his eyes unblinking, unreadable. “But the leader, he’s marked. I’ll let you know when I have him.”
I gave a short nod, but my voice was steel when I added, “Then I’ll take the others apart, piece by piece. Every breath they take from now until their last will be spent begging for what they did. And they’ll never be free of me until I decide they’re finished.”
My brothers didn’t argue. They knew there was no stopping me.
And as Sorcha’s laugh, faint but real, drifted back down the hall from the nursery, the vow inside me hardened into iron. Whoever had laid hands on her… their deaths were already written.