Chapter 18
Dusk bled into the edges of the curtains when I woke, my body thrumming with the pulse of the bond. Sorcha.
My first thought wasn’t of war or demons or the weight of my family’s empire, it was of her. The fragile, trembling warmth that had pressed into me during my sleep, the heartbeat under my palm, steady but new. Our child.
The second thought was fury.
I rolled from the bed in one fluid motion, pulling on black trousers, a shirt, my mind already running a hundred moves ahead. The world was filled with threats, and she was carrying the most important thing I’d ever put into existence. My son or my daughter, my legacy.
I barked for Ivan the moment I left the room, Jericho and Troy already stationed by her door as if they knew I’d be looking for them.
“Double rotations,” I ordered, my voice cold steel.
“No one leaves her alone. Ever. I want eyes on her at all times. Ivan, daylight coverage is on you. Jericho, Troy, nights. And I want five more men pulled from the eastern docks and put on perimeter. Anyone gets within a hundred feet of these walls without my approval you shoot first, ask later.”
They nodded, sharp and silent, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. I could put an army around her and still my chest would burn with the thought of one claw, one bullet, one hand brushing too close.
The walls of the house weren’t enough to contain the rage knotting inside me.
Every shadow whispered of threats, every echo carried her name.
I couldn’t breathe in the confines of my own home, not when my head was filling with plans, contingencies, and the knowledge that none of it would ever feel like enough.
I needed counsel, and there was only one man I trusted to give it without dressing it in softness.
Roman.
I strode out the front doors, the night air biting against my skin.
Before I could even issue the command, two Escalades roared to life.
Guards shifted instantly, trained shadows slipping into formation.
Darius was at my shoulder, Samson already climbing behind the wheel of one of the vehicles, Rory falling in with that changeling stillness that made him look like he could dissolve into the dark at any moment.
They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t need to. When I moved, they followed. That was the way of it.
I slid into the driver’s seat myself, ignoring Samson’s look when I shut the door and turned the ignition. “You’re not driving tonight?” he muttered, but I didn’t answer. My hands were already tightening on the wheel, the growl of the engine feeding the chaos in my chest.
The gates parted before me, iron teeth opening to spill me out onto the city streets. I drove like a man being chased, reckless and fast, weaving through the traffic with one thought pounding in my head.
Roman would have answers. He’d found a way to keep his head when Layla had carried Aleksander. He’d managed not to tear the city down brick by brick even though I knew the urge had burned him alive, same as it did me now.
How did he do it? How did he walk the razor edge between predator and protector without losing himself?
Streetlights flashed like blades across my windshield, the city a blur around me. My chest was tight, my grip white-knuckled on the wheel. I could hear Sorcha’s laugh from earlier, faint, the memory enough to make the rage twist into something else…terror.
She was too fragile for this world. Too human for what I was. And yet she was mine, carrying something more precious than anything I’d ever touched.
How do you not lose your mind knowing one mistake, one shadow, one breath too late, could take it all away?
That was the question I would demand of my brother before the night was over.
His mansion was already alive when I stepped inside. Guards at attention, the faint cries of Aleksander echoing down the hall before Layla soothed him. It hit me like a punch, family. His family. Mine too, though I hadn’t wanted to admit it.
I found him in his study, leaning over a map strewn with pins and red markings. He didn’t look up until the door shut behind me. His eyes met mine and for the first time since I’d known him, I didn’t try to hide the storm inside me.
“How?” I rasped.
His brow furrowed. “How what?”
“How did you do it?” My fists curled at my sides. “When Layla was carrying Aleksander. How did you keep your head? How did you not tear the world apart with the thought of something touching them?”
Roman leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile ghosting his mouth. Not amusement, but recognition.
“I didn’t keep my head,” he said quietly. “I lost it. Over and over until I nearly burned down this fucking city every time, she left my sight. But I learned.”
My jaw locked. “Learned what?”
“That locking her down, smothering her, treating her like glass, it only made her fight harder. It made her afraid of me instead of the things outside our walls. And that’s not what you want, Lucien. You don’t want her fear. You want her trust.”
I sank into the chair opposite him, my chest tight. “I can’t lose her, and I can’t lose the baby. I’ll gut everyone that tries to take them away before I let that happen.”
“I know.” His eyes sharpened, the predator in him surfacing. “And you should. We make war on anyone who threatens what’s ours. But inside your walls? You give her space to breathe. You let her live. If you don’t, the bond will suffocate her and you. And then you’ll both drown in it.”
I swallowed hard, the words hitting deeper than I wanted to admit. “And if the demons…”
“They won’t,” Roman cut in. “Not while we’re standing. Not while Draugr bleeds for us, not while Viking burns every deal that crosses us, not while Volken is five moves ahead. And not while you and I are willing to kill the whole goddamn world for the ones we love.”
For the first time in days, the fire inside me eased. Not gone, never gone but it was tempered. Roman always had a way of doing that.
“You’ll see it,” he said, softer now. “That she doesn’t need you to be a cage. She needs you to be the shield. The sword. The storm outside that keeps her world inside steady.”
I nodded once, the tension in my chest shifting. “Thank you, brother.”
“Anytime.” He gave me a look that said he meant it, the kind of look Roman didn’t give lightly. “Now go home. She needs you more than I do tonight.”
I turned to leave, the heaviness in me eased if only a fraction, but his voice stopped me at the door.
“And Lucien…”
I glanced back, finding his eyes steady on mine, a rare smile tugging at his mouth. “Congratulations, brother. You will be a great father.”
The words hit harder than any counsel he’d given. Roman didn’t waste praise. He didn’t hand it out to soothe or flatter, he never had. Everything he spoke carried the weight of blood and truth. And I respected that above all else.
Roman had always been more than a brother.
He was the eldest, the one who carried the mantle of leader when none of us were ready.
He’d been the storm wall, the shield, the one who bled so we didn’t have to.
He’d shaped us into the Blood Mafia, kept us alive and carved our empire out of steel and ash.
If Roman believed I could do this, if he thought I was strong enough to not only be Sorcha’s protector but also a father, then maybe I could believe it too.
I gave him a short nod, sharper this time, more certain. “Your word means everything, Roman. More than you know.”
He didn’t answer, just tipped his chin in that quiet way of his, the unspoken acknowledgment that was as close to sentiment as he let most people see.
And I carried his words with me like armour as I walked out into the night, knowing that if Roman Dragic believed in me, then I wouldn’t fail. Not Sorcha. Not our child and not the family we were building.
The drive back was quieter than usual. Roman’s words stayed with me, circling my thoughts like wolves on a hunt.
‘You will be a great father’. I gripped the wheel harder, trying to make sense of how something so simple had eased the storm in me.
My brother’s belief was a foundation, and for once, I let myself lean on it.
By the time I pulled through the gates, my men already sweeping the grounds with their watchful eyes, I felt something I hadn’t in weeks, I felt that I was steadier. I still wanted to tear the world apart for every threat that could touch her, but at least I could breathe through it.
Inside, the sound of laughter surprised me, it was unexpected which met me before I even reached the sitting room. It wasn’t the men. It was her.
I stepped into the doorway and froze.
Sorcha sat curled on the couch, a blanket over her legs, her eyes fixed on the television.
The glow from the screen lit her hair like fire, and there was a flush on her cheeks, not from sickness but from excitement.
Troy, Jericho, and Ivan were gathered around, but the second they saw me, they were on their feet, silent as shadows.
They bowed their heads slightly and slipped out without a word, leaving us alone.
Her head turned toward me, that spark in her eyes striking me harder than any blade ever had. “You’re back.”
I crossed to her in three strides, sinking down beside her, my hand brushing over her hair, needing to touch her just to prove she was real. “Always.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Her gaze flicked back to the TV, then back at me, her lips quirking. “I didn’t take you for the type to watch football.”
I arched a brow, following her gaze to the screen. Two teams in bright kits clashed across a massive green field. “I’m not,” I said flatly.
She grinned, leaning back, eyes dancing with mischief. “Good. Because I’d destroy you in stats and history. You wouldn’t last a second.”
I tilted my head, studying her. “You know the game that well?”