Chapter 19
Lucien
I’ve seen fear before. I’ve caused it, cultivated it, collected it like fucking trophies. But not on her. Not like this. This isn’t the kind of fear I want from her. This isn’t the kind of power I enjoy.
She’s huddled against the wall, knife clutched in her white-knuckled grip, eyes wide and wild. The phone’s still pressed to her ear even though I’m right fucking here, squatting between her spread legs. Her chest heaves with panicked breaths, and I can see her pulse hammering in her throat.
I gently take the phone from her trembling hand and end the call. “I’m here now.”
That’s when she snaps.
The knife flashes as she lunges forward, and suddenly the cold bite of steel is pressing against my throat. Her hand is shaking so badly I can feel the blade vibrating against my skin.
My cock immediately hardens at the threat. Fuck, she’s magnificent when she’s dangerous.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hisses.
“That’s it,” I say, my voice dropping low as I grab her face between my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones.
“Just like that. You are Seraphina Elise Carvelli, daughter of Black Crown. My Chosen.” I hold her gaze, making sure she feels every word.
“No one can touch you. No one can harm you. Not without signing their own fucking death warrant.”
Her eyes widen, the knife still pressed to my throat.
“Anyone who tries will face my wrath,” I continue, my voice deadly calm. “And I will tear them apart with my bare fucking hands. Do you understand me? I will hunt them down and make them beg for a death I won’t grant them quickly.”
I feel a drop of blood slide down my neck from where her blade is cutting me, but I don’t move away. Let her see I’m not afraid of her edge. Let her know I welcome it.
“You belong to me,” I remind her, my grip on her face tightening just enough to make her feel it. “And I protect what’s mine. Always.”
The knife trembles against my skin. “Someone was in my room,” she whispers, voice cracking. “They left that…message.”
I don’t look away from her eyes. “I know. And they’re already dead, they just don’t know it yet.”
Slowly, her grip on the knife loosens, and she lets it drop to the floor with a clatter. Her body sags forward, and I catch her, pulling her against my chest as the adrenaline crash hits her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
I hold her like that for a minute, feeling her shudders gradually subside. When she’s calmer, I pull back enough to look at her face.
“I’m scared,” she whispers, the admission clearly costing her.
“I know,” I say, gently taking the phone from her hand and setting it aside. “But you don’t need to be. Not with me here.”
I notice her gaze shifting over my shoulder, fixated on the bathroom door.
“I need to see what they wrote,” I tell her, starting to rise.
Her hand shoots out, fingers latching onto the bottom of my coat. When I look down, her knuckles are white from gripping the fabric so tightly.
“I’ve got to go see it,” I say, keeping my voice calm and steady.
She shakes her head frantically, still clutching my coat like it’s a fucking lifeline.
I shrug out of my coat in one smooth motion and wrap it around her shoulders. It engulfs her completely, the expensive fabric swallowing her small frame. She immediately burrows into it, pulling it tight around herself like armor.
“Stay,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right back.”
I stand and move toward the bathroom, my body tensed for whatever I might find. The door is already ajar, the harsh fluorescent light spilling out into the darkened bedroom. I push it open fully, and the metallic tang of blood hits my nostrils immediately.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, taking in the scene.
The message is crude, the letters uneven and dripping—SINNERS WILL BE PUNISHED—smeared across her mirror in what I’m guessing is animal blood by the smell and consistency.
At the very least they could have made it symmetrical.
It’s theatrical, meant to terrorize rather than actually harm.
Which means this is personal. A warning.
I step closer, examining the blood without touching anything. It’s starting to dry at the edges but still tacky in the center. Pretty recent, within the last two hours or so.
The lock on her door wasn’t forced, which means either she left it unlocked like an idiot, or someone had a key. I’m betting on the latter. The question is who.
I pull out my phone and snap several pictures of the message from different angles. Evidence. Then I search the rest of the small bathroom, looking for anything else the intruder might have left behind. There’s nothing obvious—no footprints, no dropped items, no convenient fucking calling card.
Because fuck me, why would they make it easy on me?
It’s animal blood—I can tell by the consistency and smell. Probably pig’s blood, easy enough to obtain with the right connections.
“It’s not human,” I call back, not wanting her to think someone was slaughtered for this little performance. “Animal blood.”
I hear her exhale shakily from the other room.
Walking back toward Seraphina, I resume my squat in front of her.
She’s pulled her legs up to her chest, making herself as small as possible, and I rest my arms on her knees.
Her eyes are still wide, pupils dilated with fear, but there’s something else there now—a trust I don’t deserve but crave like a fucking addict.
“I’ll have someone come clean it up,” I tell her, already mentally cycling through who owe me favors and can be intimidated to not breathe a word of this to anyone. “But you can’t stay here.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“Even if you wanted to, which you don’t, we both know that.” I hold her gaze, not letting her look away. “There’s no way I’m letting you stay here.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” she asks, her voice small in a way that makes something in my chest tighten uncomfortably. “I can’t go to my parents.”
“You’re coming home with me.” It’s not a request. Not a suggestion. It’s a statement of fucking fact.
She shakes her head, a flash of her usual fire returning. “No. Not your place again.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.” I run my thumb along her jawline, feeling her tremble slightly under my touch. “Someone targeted you specifically. They got into your room without breaking in. They left a message in blood. You think I’m going to let you stay here alone?”
She sways slightly on her feet, still clutching my coat around her. “I can’t—we can’t—after what happened...”
“We’re not going to talk about that right now,” I tell her, already moving to her closet to grab her weekender bag. “Right now, we’re focusing on getting you somewhere safe.”
“You can’t just pack for me,” she protests weakly.
“Watch me, because I absolutely can and will.” I shove a handful of her underwear into the bag, pausing briefly to appreciate a particularly nice black lace thong before adding it to the pile.
“You need clothes, toiletries, whatever textbooks you’re using.
Anything else you can’t live without for a few days? ”
She stands there, frozen, watching me ransack her drawers.
“Seraphina,” I snap my fingers in front of her face. “Focus. What else do you need?”
“My laptop,” she finally says, moving to her desk. “And my chargers.”
Her hands are still trembling as she moves around the room, gathering a few more essentials—a worn paperback, a small jewelry box, and what must be her favorite pillow.
“Is that everything?” I ask, zipping the bag closed.
She nods, still wrapped in my coat like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart. The sight of her like this—fragile, vulnerable—makes something primal stir in my chest. Not the usual predatory hunger, but something more possessive. More protective.
“Let’s go,” I say, slinging the bag over my shoulder and placing my hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the door.
As we reach the door, she suddenly stops, turning to face me. Her chin lifts slightly with her stubbornness starting to return to her eyes.
“If I’m staying at your house, there need to be rules. Boundaries,” she says, her voice steadier than it’s been since I arrived.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, equal parts surprise and amusement. Even terrified out of her mind, she’s still trying to establish control. Fucking magnificent.
“Of course there are,” I say sarcastically, shaking my head. “By all means, let’s negotiate terms while standing in a crime scene. Your timing is impeccable as always, Little Sinner.”
“I’m serious, Lucien,” she insists, crossing her arms over her chest. “I need my own room. With a lock. And you don’t touch me.”
“Yes yes, you can have your rules and boundaries. You have your own room and it will have a lock. I promise you, I won’t touch you. Not until you beg me to.”
“Well that’s perfect because that will never happen,” she says, tightening my coat around her shoulders.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”