Elira had never flown before—not in dreams, not in fantasies, and certainly not in the arms of an immortal creature whose heart beat like thunder against her skin.
Lucien soared through the sky as if the air bent to his will, cloaking them in shadow. She buried her face in his chest to keep from screaming. The wind howled past, cold and alive, but his body was warm—unnaturally warm for a vampire.
He landed soundlessly before a set of towering gates carved into a mountainside, vines curling along the dark stone like living things. They parted at his presence, groaning open to reveal a hidden world: the Night Court's ancient stronghold, known only as the Fortress of Thorns.
Massive obsidian spires pierced the sky, connected by bridges strung with silver lanterns. Magic danced in the air—alive, watching. Elira clung to him as they passed under the gates, her senses overwhelmed by the power pulsing beneath her skin.
"This is your home?" she whispered.
"It's our sanctuary," Lucien corrected. "For now."
Guards bowed as he passed, though some dared to glance at Elira—wide-eyed, curious, afraid. She was the Omega, after all. The prophecy-made-flesh. The one who could break the rules of blood and bond.
Inside, the halls were cathedral-dark and candlelit, with crimson banners fluttering like bloodied silk. Elira's footsteps echoed as Lucien finally set her down in a grand chamber adorned with velvet, steel, and magic wards etched into the walls.
"No one can enter here unless I allow it," he said. "You'll be safe."
She took a shaky breath and faced him. "Safe? You mean imprisoned."
His gaze darkened. "I didn't force the bond. The magic chose us."
"That doesn't mean I belong to you."
In a blink, he was in front of her—so close she could feel the storm in his chest. "No. But I belong to you now. That's how it works."
Elira's lips parted, and for a moment, all she saw was a man—not a vampire, not an Alpha. A man torn between control and chaos.
She stepped back. "What happens to me now?"
Lucien hesitated. "You'll stay here. Train. Learn to control the bond. If the Council comes again, you must be able to protect yourself."
"I'm not a warrior."
"No, you're something more dangerous," he said quietly. "An awakened Omega bonded to a pureblood Alpha. That kind of power hasn't existed in centuries. And everyone wants it."
Elira folded her arms. "So I'm a prize."
His jaw clenched. "You're mine. Not a trophy. Not a weapon. Mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. It should have frightened her.
Instead, her heart ached with something dangerously close to longing.
**
That night, sleep eluded her.
She lay in the silk-draped bed of the guest chamber—though nothing in this place felt like a guest's domain. It felt like a cage gilded with velvet. The bond pulsed in her wrist like a second heartbeat, pulling her toward the chamber down the hall where Lucien slept.
Or didn't.
She wasn't sure if vampires even did.
Her thoughts were a storm. Why her? Why now? Why did her skin burn with need every time he looked at her, even though her mind screamed to resist?
She was still turning it over when the door creaked open.
Lucien stood in the doorway, shirtless, shadowed, eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight pouring through her window.
"You couldn't sleep either," he said softly.
"No," she admitted, heart racing at the sight of him.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "The bond is too new. It makes the nights restless."
She sat up, clutching the covers. "You didn't come here to talk about sleep."
"No," he admitted. "I came because I can feel you trembling. Across the fortress. I feel your fear. Your confusion."
"And?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
He crossed the room slowly, stopping at the foot of her bed. "And it's driving me mad."
The tension snapped.
He reached for her—gently, reverently—as if she were made of starlight. His fingers brushed her cheek. Her breath caught. Every nerve lit like fire.
"I told myself I'd wait," he murmured. "That I'd let you come to me. But your scent… it's like war in my blood. You're not just my Omega. You're my mate."
Elira's heart pounded. "You're dangerous."
"So are you," he whispered. "You just haven't seen it yet."
Then he kissed her.
Not softly.
Not sweetly.
But with centuries of hunger, centuries of silence finally broken. His mouth devoured hers like salvation and sin. She melted into him, her hands in his hair, her soul screaming that this was wrong—this was too fast—this was fate.
The magic between them surged.
Glowing marks bloomed across her skin—runic symbols of old, lighting up her shoulders, her back, her thighs. The same marks shimmered faintly on Lucien's chest, circling his heart like a crown of flame.
They were bonded.
And the bond was alive.
Lucien pulled back just enough to whisper, breathless, "I'll never let you go."
Tears slipped down Elira's cheeks.
Because deep down, some part of her—buried under fear and doubt—didn't want him to.
Let's see what happens next.