Chapter 4

Juliette's Point of View

He walked toward me.

Each step made my heart pound harder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like a drum someone was beating inside my chest.

Up close, the age difference was obvious. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The silver threading through his dark hair. The way he carried himself, steady and sure, like a man who'd seen enough of the world to stop being surprised by it.

Thirteen years older. Old enough to have lived an entire life before I even existed.

And yet.

There was something magnetic about it. The maturity. The control. Caleb had always felt like a boy playing at being a man. Lucian was the real thing.

He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

My breath caught.

Then he reached out and patted my head.

Like I was a child.

"Get some sleep," he said, voice low. "It's been a long day."

I blinked. "What?"

"Sleep." He was already turning away, walking toward the door. "I'll take one of the guest rooms tonight."

The disappointment hit me like a punch to the gut.

Which was stupid. Completely stupid. I'd just heard rumors that he couldn't even perform. Why would I be disappointed that he wasn't staying?

But I was.

My wolf whined inside me, frustrated and confused.

"Wait."

Lucian paused, hand on the doorknob. He glanced back over his shoulder.

"You're leaving?"

"That was the plan."

Something hot and stubborn flared in my chest. "You're my husband."

His eyebrow lifted. Just slightly. "I'm aware."

"Then you should sleep here." I crossed my arms, trying to look more confident than I felt. "With me."

Silence.

He turned fully, leaning against the doorframe. Those gray eyes studied me, unreadable as always.

"Juliette."

"What?"

"Do you know why I adopted Caleb?"

The question caught me off guard. "What does that have to do with—"

"Answer the question."

I hesitated. "Because... he's from the Thornwood bloodline. And he was capable. You saw potential in him."

"Partially true." Lucian's voice was flat. Careful. "He looked the most like me out of all the options. Smart. Strong. Easy to train. And I needed an heir because I couldn't produce one myself."

There it was. Out in the open.

The rumors were true.

I didn't know what to say. What was the right response to your husband casually admitting he was impotent on your wedding night?

"I know," I heard myself say.

His eyes sharpened. "You know."

"I heard things. Rumors." I lifted my chin, refusing to look away. "It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?"

"We're already married. The ceremony is done. Whether you can... or can't..." I fumbled for words that didn't sound awful. "It doesn't change anything. You're still my husband. And if we sleep in separate rooms on our wedding night, people will talk."

Lucian was silent.

"They're already talking," I pressed on. "About me. About this marriage. About how crazy I must be to choose you. If they find out we're not even sharing a bed, it'll only make things worse. They'll say you rejected me. That even after everything, I still wasn't good enough."

Something flickered across his face. Too fast to read.

"The pack respects you," I continued. "But they'll wonder. They'll whisper. And every whisper weakens us both." I took a breath. "So just... stay. Sleep here. We don't have to do anything. Just be here."

The silence stretched between us.

Then Lucian laughed. Low and quiet, more breath than sound.

"You're something else, you know that?"

I didn't know if that was a compliment or an insult.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked back toward me. Past me. To the other side of the bed.

"Fine," he said. "You make a valid point."

My heart stuttered.

He was staying.

Then his hands went to his shirt.

I watched, frozen, as he undid the remaining buttons. One by one. Slow. Deliberate. The fabric parted, revealing tanned skin underneath. Hard muscle. A chest that looked like it had been carved from stone.

My face burned.

He shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor.

Goddess above.

Whatever injury had taken away his ability clearly hadn't touched the rest of him. His body was ridiculous. Shoulders broad enough to block out the light. Abs that looked like they belonged on a sculpture. A trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.

I spun around, facing the wall.

"Shy?" His voice was amused.

"Just... getting ready for bed," I lied, my voice coming out strangled.

I heard the clink of his belt. The rustle of fabric. My imagination filled in the blanks, and I wanted to scream at my own brain to shut up.

"I'm going to shower," he said.

Footsteps. The bathroom door opening and closing.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

Get it together, Juliette.

I turned back around, staring at the empty space where he'd been standing. His clothes were piled on a chair. His scent lingered in the air. Something woodsy and masculine that made my wolf purr despite everything.

Such a waste.

The thought came unbidden. A man like that. Built like that. And he couldn't...

I shook my head, guilt mixing with the disappointment.

I changed quickly, stripping off the heavy wedding gown and pulling on a silk nightdress that someone had laid out on the bed. It was shorter than I would have liked. More revealing.

Too late to find something else.

I crawled under the covers, pulling them up to my chin like armor. The sheets were cool against my skin, expensive and soft. Everything in this room screamed wealth. Power. A life completely different from anything I'd known in Ashvale.

This was my life now. For better or worse.

The shower ran for what felt like forever. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the water, trying not to think about what he looked like under it.

Stop. Thinking.

My eyelids grew heavy. The exhaustion from the day finally catching up. The adrenaline crash hitting hard.

I blinked. Blinked again.

The shower turned off.

I should stay awake. Should be alert when he came out. Should...

My eyes closed.

Somewhere in the fog of half-sleep, I felt the mattress dip. The covers shifted. Warmth beside me.

He smelled good. Clean. Safe.

My body moved on instinct, seeking heat like a moth to flame. I rolled toward him, curling against his side, my arm draping across his chest.

Warm. Solid. Real.

In my drowsy haze, I registered the way his body went rigid. The sharp intake of breath.

Then slowly, carefully, a hand came to rest on my hair.

I nuzzled closer, using him like a pillow, and sank deeper into sleep.

The last thing I heard was his voice, low and rough in the darkness.

"What am I going to do with you?"