Chapter 8: Blood on Stone

The first scream tore through Nightfall just before dusk.

Seraphine felt it before she heard it a ripple through the mountain, a violent shudder beneath her bare feet. The cage vibrated. Dust rained from the ceiling. Somewhere far above, wolves howled not in challenge, but in alarm.

She rose slowly, chains whispering against her wrists.

This wasn’t training.

This was war.

Moments later, the scent hit her blood. Hot, metallic, thick enough to taste. Her pulse jumped, sharp and sudden, answering something deep in her veins that she hated acknowledging.

Lucien.

Boots thundered past her cell. Voices barked orders. Steel rang against stone. The Nightfall Pack was under attack.

Seraphine moved to the bars, fingers curling around the cold iron. Her heart should have been steady. Calculating. Detached.

Instead, it slammed hard enough to ache.

She told herself it was instinct. Opportunity. Chaos always created openings.

Then she felt it.

A tearing sensation low in her chest, vicious and wrong like something vital had been ripped open.

Her breath caught.

“No,” she whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

The immortal Alpha had been injured.

Minutes or hours later, the doors at the end of the corridor blew open.

Lucien staggered into view.

He was drenched in blood.

Not all of it was his but enough was.

One arm hung limp at his side, claw marks raked deep across his chest, flesh torn open to the bone. Dark blood soaked his shirt, dripped steadily onto the stone floor, pooling beneath his boots.

And the worst part?

The wound wasn’t closing.

His guards flanked him, panicked now, their usual confidence shattered.

“It should have healed,” one of them said, voice tight. “Alpha, it should have”

“Enough,” Lucien snapped, but the word came out strained.

His golden eyes lifted.

Locked onto her.

The moment stretched.

Everything inside Seraphine went still.

Lucien’s steps slowed as he approached her cage, each one heavier than the last. His breathing was labored now, rough and uneven, like his body was fighting a losing battle.

“You,” he growled.

She swallowed. “You’re bleeding.”

His mouth twisted, somewhere between a smile and a snarl. “I’ve noticed.”

He reached the bars and braced a hand against them. Blood smeared the iron. His knees bent slightly just a fraction but she saw it.

The Alpha of Nightfall was struggling to remain upright.

The guards shifted uneasily. “Alpha, we should”

“Leave,” Lucien said.

They hesitated.

“Now.”

Reluctantly, they withdrew, sealing the corridor once more. Silence rushed in, thick and heavy, broken only by the drip of blood hitting stone.

Lucien’s gaze never left her.

“You did this,” he said quietly.

Her jaw clenched. “I was in a cage.”

“You are the reason,” he corrected. “My wolf is tearing itself apart.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as another tremor passed through him. His hand slid lower on the bars, fingers curling as if they were the only thing keeping him upright.

Seraphine’s body moved before her mind could catch up.

She stepped closer.

The air between them charged instantly—hot, electric, dangerous. His scent wrapped around her, pain and power tangled together, and beneath it all… something raw. Exposed.

“You’re dying,” she said.

His eyes darkened. “I don’t die.”

“You will,” she shot back. “If this keeps spreading.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, Lucien held out his injured arm—through the bars.

“Touch me.”

Her breath hitched.

“That’s an order,” he added, voice roughened by more than pain.

Every instinct screamed no. This was reckless. Uncontrolled. Whatever she was—it wasn’t meant to be used like this.

But she could feel it now, undeniable.

Her blood was reacting.

She reached for him.

The instant her fingers brushed his skin, everything changed.

Lucien gasped—an unrestrained, broken sound that echoed through the corridor. His head fell forward, forehead pressing against the bars as a violent shudder tore through his body.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Golden light flared beneath his skin, racing along his veins from the point of contact. The torn flesh on his chest twitched—then slowly, impossibly, began to knit together.

Seraphine froze.

Her pulse thundered. Heat surged up her arm, spreading through her chest, her stomach, curling low and tight between her thighs. She’d never felt anything like this—like her blood was alive, responding to him.

Lucien lifted his head, eyes blazing.

“What are you?” he demanded.

She tried to pull back.

He caught her wrist instantly, grip desperate, shaking.

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Not yet.”

His thumb brushed her pulse point.

The contact sent a shock through them both.

Seraphine sucked in a breath as the suppression cuffs burned hot against her skin. Her knees weakened. She braced herself against the bars, suddenly too aware of how close he was—how his scent wrapped around her, how his gaze dropped to her mouth before snapping back to her eyes.

His wound sealed fully with a final shimmer of light.

Lucien stared down at his healed skin, then back at her, disbelief etched into every sharp line of his face.

“You closed it,” he said.

Her voice came out hoarse. “I didn’t mean to.”

Slowly, deliberately, he released her wrist.

The loss of contact felt like something snapping.

Lucien stepped back, running a hand through his blood-soaked hair. His breathing was still uneven—not from pain anymore, but something far more dangerous.

Desire.

Obsession.

Fear.

“My immortality,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “It bends to you.”

Seraphine’s chest tightened. “I don’t know why.”

He looked at her again, and this time there was no mercy in his eyes.

Only need.

“You’re not leaving that cage,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

She met his gaze, heart pounding.

“You think this makes me yours?”

A slow, dark smile curved his mouth.

“No,” he said. “I think it makes you necessary.”

He turned to leave, blood drying on his skin, power restored but something vital missing.

At the threshold, he paused.

“If anyone touches you,” he said without looking back, “I will kill them.”

The door slammed shut.

Seraphine sank to the cold stone floor, shaking.

Because now she knew the truth.

She wasn’t just a weapon.

She was the only thing keeping an immortal Alpha alive.

And the way Lucien Blackthorn had looked at her—

He knew it too. 🩸🔥