CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

Elias woke with a start, heart pounding. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. He remembered the blood, the silver-eyed man—Lucian. And now…he was alone.

Good. He needed to leave.

He threw off the heavy blanket covering him, shivering as the cold bit into his skin. Every muscle protested, but he stumbled to his feet, stubbornness pushing him onward. He wasn’t going to stay with a murderer, even if he’d been the one saved.

Quietly, he padded toward the door. It creaked as he opened it, but the dark hallway beyond was empty. Holding his breath, he crept forward, each step careful, deliberate.

The front door came into view.

Almost there.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Lucian’s voice cracked like a whip through the silence.

Elias flinched violently, spinning around. Lucian stood in the shadows, arms crossed, silver eyes burning.

"Away from you!" Elias snapped, hating how his voice shook. "I'd rather take my chances with the monsters in the woods than stay here with some…some bloodthirsty freak!"

For a moment, Lucian said nothing. His face remained stone, but something flickered in his eyes—something raw. Hurt?

No. Couldn't be.

"Then go," Lucian said finally, voice low. "Get the hell out."

Elias hesitated, but pride shoved him forward. He yanked the door open and stormed into the night.

The woods swallowed him instantly, the chill air biting into his skin. His heart thundered in his chest as he stumbled over roots and ducked under low branches.

Stupid, stupid, he cursed himself. But he couldn't go back.

Minutes turned into an hour, maybe more. The woods felt endless, alien. Every shadow seemed to watch him.

A low growl vibrated through the night air.

Elias froze.

Out of the darkness, shapes emerged—men twisted by hunger and madness. Rogues.

"Fresh meat," one of them hissed, grinning to reveal jagged teeth.

"P-please," Elias stammered, backing away. "I don't want any trouble."

They laughed, a sick, broken sound.

One lunged.

Before Elias could scream, a blur of black slammed into the rogue, tearing him away. Another growl—deeper, angrier—ripped through the night.

Lucian.

Blood painted the trees. Screams echoed, then fell silent.

When it was over, Lucian stood panting, his clothes torn, his fists dripping red.

Elias collapsed to his knees, trembling. "T-thank you," he choked out, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Lucian didn't answer. He just stared at Elias, something almost feral in his gaze.

Slowly, Lucian approached, crouching in front of him.

"You’re lucky I followed you," he said, voice rough. "You’re lucky you’re still breathing."

Elias nodded shakily.

Lucian straightened, then held out a hand.

Elias hesitated, but took it. His fingers were so small in Lucian’s.

They walked in silence through the woods, the moonlight bathing everything in ghostly silver.

After a while, Elias glanced up at him. "What's your name?" he asked, voice small.

Lucian huffed a soft laugh. "Lucian."

"Why are you out here alone? You don't have friends?" Elias pressed, needing to fill the silence.

Lucian’s mouth twitched. "I have friends."

"And family?" Elias asked.

Lucian didn’t respond.

The silence stretched painfully long. Elias swallowed hard, feeling the sadness radiating from him like a second skin.

Before he could apologize or say something—anything—Lucian scooped him into his arms.

"Hey—!" Elias protested, squirming.

"You're half-dead and can barely walk," Lucian said dryly. "Shut up."

And then the world blurred.

Lucian moved impossibly fast, trees flashing past like shadows. Elias clutched at him instinctively, burying his face in Lucian’s chest, breathing in the scent of him.

Before he knew it, they were back.

Lucian pushed open the door with a boot and carried Elias inside.

The bed was still rumpled from before. Lucian laid him down carefully, pulling the blanket up over him.

Elias, half-asleep, watched through heavy lids as Lucian’s hands tucked the edges around him.

"Rest," Lucian murmured, voice almost tender.

Elias wanted to say something, but sleep pulled him under before he could.

Lucian stood over him for a long time after that, watching the fragile rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks.

Something unfamiliar twisted in Lucian’s chest—a violent, aching need to protect.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to step back.

Why was he feeling like this?