Chapter 11
Lucien
Obsession has a taste. Like copper and honey on my tongue, thick enough to choke on.
It’s been a week since I watched Seraphina walk into her dorm building, her back rigid with fury, the mark of my ownership still fresh on her skin.
Seven fucking days of giving her space to process like I’m some kind of considerate boyfriend instead of what I really am—a predator toying and circling his prey.
But playtime’s over. I’ve grown bored of the space and the need to annoy her has only grown.
I lift the garment bag from the back seat of my car, running my thumb over the embossed Black Crown insignia on the zipper.
Inside are her new uniforms—all the requisite St. Augustine pieces that mark her as mine now.
The black and white standard colors accented with red instead of gray, the devil horns embroidered in various hidden places.
A reminder every time she dresses that she belongs to me.
I hope every time she finds it that it ruins her day.
Making my way to her dorm, I nod at the security guard who doesn’t even bother to check my ID. Everyone already knows who I am; I’m not some plebeian.
I’m almost to her door when my phone rings and I ignore it. Until it rings twice more, and I shift the garments to drag the loud, irritating piece of metal out of my pocket.
“Someone better be dead or dying, and it’s going to cost me millions for you to call me back to back three goddamn times.” I snarl when I answer without looking to see who it is.
“Mr. Devereux?” A crisp, professional voice responds. “This is Dr. Amara Franklin from Genetek Laboratories.”
My grip tightens on the phone. This is the call I’ve been waiting for. I needed to see it on paper to really let it sink in.
“About time,” I snap. “You were supposed to call two days ago. I paid you well for an expedited service.”
“We needed to run additional verification tests,” she says, her voice measured and clinical. “With results this sensitive, we wanted absolute certainty.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I lean against the wall outside Seraphina’s door. “And?”
“I have the results of the DNA comparison you requested between yourself and Miss Seraphina Carvelli.” There’s a pause, the sound of papers shuffling. “Mr. Devereux, our analysis indicates with 99.9% certainty that there is no genetic relationship between you and Miss Carvelli.”
“Say that again,” I demand, my voice hoarse.
“You and Miss Carvelli are not biologically related in any way,” Dr. Franklin repeats. “There is a zero probability that you share a parent. The genetic markers we examined show no familial connection whatsoever.”
A laugh bursts from my throat, harsh and wild. “You’re absolutely certain?”
“Yes, sir. We ran the tests three times with samples from different collection dates as requested. The results were consistent across all tests.”
My mind races, trying to piece together everything.
There’s no way my father and Mariella Carvelli just assumed Seraphina was his and my father wouldn’t lie about it.
He’s a lot of things, but lying about her paternity causes only problems, so what the fuck really is going on and how much of a hand did Seraphina’s mother have in?
“I’ll have the full report sent to your private email as requested,” Dr. Franklin continues. “Is there anything else you need from us?”
“No,” I say. “That’s all I needed.”
I hang up and stare at Seraphina’s door, my pulse hammering in my ears. She’s not my sister. She’s not my fucking sister.
The realization crashes through me in waves. Every restraint I’ve placed on myself, every line I’ve drawn—they’re all fucking meaningless now. Now, she can pay for her sins and I won’t feel bad about any of it.
I grab the garment bag and pound on her door, not caring who hears. When there’s no answer, I pound harder, my patience completely gone.
“Open the fucking door, Seraphina!” I shout. “I know you’re in there.”
The door flies open so suddenly I almost fall forward. She stands there in tiny sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her red hair a wild mess around her face, eyes blazing.
“What the actual fuck, Lucien?” she hisses. “It’s seven in the morning.”
I stare at her disheveled appearance, drinking in every detail.
The way her sleep shorts ride up her thighs, how her nipples poke through the thin fabric of her oversized shirt.
The knowledge that she’s not my sister makes my cock twitch with interest. I can have her now without the fucked-up complication of shared blood.
But she doesn’t know that, and I’m not about to tell her yet.
“Morning, Little Sinner,” I drawl, pushing past her into the room without waiting for an invitation. “And just be grateful I knocked instead of letting myself in. I am, after all, an upstanding gentleman of society.”
Seraphina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Upstanding? You’re about as upstanding as a fucking cockroach. What the hell are you even doing here?”
“Wardrobe update,” I say simply, throwing open the closet door and surveying her things. “Can’t have my Chosen wearing the wrong uniform, now can I?”
I start pulling her standard St. Augustine uniforms from the hangers. One by one, I toss them onto the floor in a growing heap.
“What the fuck, Lucien!” Seraphina squawks, lunging forward to grab at a skirt I’m about to throw. “Those are expensive!”
“I know exactly how much they cost,” I say, yanking the skirt from her grasp and adding it to the pile. “I’ve bought plenty of them.”
Her face flushes with anger as she watches me methodically empty her closet. “Stop it! You can’t just come in here and—“
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” I cut her off, enjoying the way her chest heaves with indignation. “You know how it goes. Time for the Sinners special.”
I unzip the garment bag and pull out the first of the new uniforms—identical to her old ones at first glance, but with the subtle red accents that mark her as belonging to a Sinner. The devil’s in the details, quite literally.
I hang it up carefully, smoothing down the fabric with deliberate slowness. When I glance over my shoulder, Seraphina is watching me with narrowed eyes, her jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle jumping in her cheek.
“I’m not wearing those,” she spits, crossing her arms over her chest.
I ignore her, hanging the first set in her now-empty closet. “You don’t have a choice.”
One by one, I hang the new uniforms, arranging them with meticulous care. Each time I glance over my shoulder, I catch her silently seething, her jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised her teeth don’t shatter.
“Red isn’t my color. It clashes with my hair.”
“If that was true you wouldn’t paint your lips red every fucking day so please don’t insult my intelligence,” I scoff, reaching out to trace my thumb over her bare bottom lip.
She jerks her head away like I’ve burned her.
“Also it wouldn’t fucking matter anyway, you know red is for us, the Sinners. ”
The final thing I pull out is what I’ve been saving for last—two St. Augustine Basketball jerseys with my name and number on it. One a woman’s cut to match mine and the other modified into a dress.
“Look,” I say, holding them up with a smirk.
“I even give you options. Wanna wear a skirt to my game, you can wear this one,” I say, shaking the jersey.
“Wanna wear a dress, now you can.” I hold up the dress version, watching her face contort with rage.
“You’ll look so pretty as my little basketball wifey. ”
Something in Seraphina snaps. She lunges forward with a guttural scream that doesn’t even sound human, clawing at the jerseys in my hands.
“Get the FUCK out!” she shrieks, her face turning almost as red as her hair. “I am not your fucking WIFEY! I’m not wearing your name! I’m not your goddamn property! We can’t be anything.”
She rips the jersey dress from my hands and starts tearing at it, her fingers digging into the fabric as she tries to shred it apart. The sight of her losing control like this sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. This is what I want—to see her come undone, to break through that icy composure.
“You think this is cute?” she screams, throwing the mangled jersey at my chest. “You think I’m just going to parade around campus wearing your fucking name like some kind of trophy? I’d rather walk around NAKED!”
My cock stiffens at the thought, and I can’t help the dark laugh that escapes me. “That can be arranged too. And let’s not forget it’s your name also.”
She’s in my face now and something in me just fucking snaps. I back her up against the closet wall in three quick strides, pinning her there with my body, feeling every soft curve pressed against me. My hands slide into her hair, gripping those wild red strands tight enough to make her gasp.
“You want to know what’s cute?” I growl against her mouth. “The way you think you have a fucking choice in this.”
I crash my lips against hers, expecting her to claw at me like the wildcat she is.
But instead, she goes completely limp in my arms, her mouth softening under mine, opening to me with a little whimper that shoots straight to my dick.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers as I press her harder against the wall, my hands fisting in her hair.
Just as I’m thinking I’ve won, that I’ve finally broken through that wall of resistance, she bites down on my bottom lip. Hard. Fucking hard enough that I taste blood.
“Fuck!” I jerk back, touching my lip and looking at the smear of red on my fingertips. The coppery taste fills my mouth as I stare at her, both of us breathing hard.
She looks shocked at herself, her eyes wide, lips swollen and stained with my blood. But there’s something else there too—a flash of heat in her eyes that she can’t disguise.
“Get out,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction behind it.
I laugh, licking the blood from my lip. “Not a fucking chance.”
I grab her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, using my body to keep her trapped against the wall. With my free hand, I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
“You want to play rough? I can play rough.” I trace my bleeding lip with my tongue, watching her eyes track the movement. “You want me. Now you’ve got my blood in you, in more ways than one huh? In your mouth, in your veins. You wanna sin with me, baby?”
“I don’t want you,” she hisses, but her body betrays her. Her nipples are hard against my chest, her hips unconsciously seeking friction against mine.
“Liar.” I lower my head to her throat, dragging my teeth over the spot where my mark stains her skin. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your stubborn brain refuses to admit it out loud.”
She’s like a wounded animal, beautiful and dangerous, ready to lash out or surrender completely. She wants me just as badly as I want her, but she’s still clinging to the lie that we’re siblings.
A lie I could destroy with five simple words: You are not my sister.
But I don’t. Not yet. That knowledge is my weapon, and I’ll wield it when it serves me best.
Instead, I release her wrists and step back, watching her chest heave as she tries to catch her breath.
Her lips are still stained with my blood, her eyes wild and unfocused.
I could push her further, take what we both want right now on the floor of her dorm room. But that’s not the game I’m playing.
I back away and walk out of her closet and into her room toward her door to leave before calling out, “I expect you at the game tonight and I expect you in a jersey. Team spirit and all that.” I pause with my hand on the doorknob.
“And Seraphina, don’t even think about denying me. ..you won’t like what happens.”
Part of me hopes she does defy me. Punishment will be so sweet…for me.