02: Branded Mark

Chapter 2

Elena’s POV

“Lucien! It is not what you think!”

Samantha’s shrill voice cracked through the tension in the hall like a whip, quickly collecting herself. I barely had time to process the name before she launched herself toward him like a she-wolf in heat. A guard stepped forward to stop her from reaching him, his eyes hard as steel. 

So that was his name. Lucien.

Even his name felt dangerous.

Everything about him—the dark suit that clung to his tall frame, the way the air seemed to pause around him—commanded attention. The entire room had quieted the moment he spoke, like every wolf instinctively recognized something… dominant. Higher.

And yet, Samantha—always oblivious to anything beyond her own reflection—was now trying to wrap herself around him like a silk ribbon.

“Oh, Lucien,” She gushed, flashing a smile too wide to be sincere, her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I had no idea you’d be attending! What a surprise!” Her tone dripped with fake warmth. “I hope you weren’t too shocked by that little misunderstanding earlier. You know how things can be in packs—miscommunication, stress… low-born drama.”

I could feel her eyes trying to drag me into the dirt again. Lucien didn’t respond. His gaze hadn’t moved from me. Not once. I swallowed hard, refusing to cower.

Samantha’s smile faltered when she noticed he was not acknowledging her. 

Trying to salvage her moment, she suddenly bent and reached a hand down to me, pretending like she hadn’t just ordered my dignity ripped away moments ago. “Come on, Elena,” she said, voice honeyed and condescending. “Let me help you up.”

I knew if I was opened to the pack mind link, she would have ordered me to obey her. 

I looked at her hand. Long, manicured nails. The same fingers that had pointed me out like prey. Same finger that almost killed me. She was trying to save face in front of Lucien, but I wasn’t playing along.

Instead, I grabbed her wrist and yanked.

Her eyes widened as she stumbled forward, completely unprepared. Her heel caught on her gown, and she tumbled hard—falling flat on her knees with a loud thud, face-first into the folds of her satin skirt.

Gasps and muffled laughter rippled through the room.

For a moment, Samantha flailed like a fish in netting, trying to untangle herself from her own dress. She couldn’t even stand up without assistance. A few guests couldn’t help but chuckle. Others turned away, hiding their amusement behind glasses of wine.

Her cheeks flushed bright red, but with Lucien watching, she forced a smile and stayed silent.

Good. Let her taste what she served.

I stood slowly, trying to clutch the torn edges of my dress around me but wasn't quick enough. My eyes went wide, even time slowed as I watched one of the straps fall free from my trembling hands but it didn't. It took a few seconds to realize that someone else was holding it in place for me.

Slowly, painfully slow, I lifted my gaze up to meet his deep green eyes and that was when the sparks from the place he was touching registered in my head. For some minutes, we stood there, captivated by each other and the entire world tuned out. 

“I should help you with this,” His thick voice reverberated through me, causing me to blink more than once. 

Swallowing hard, I took the strap from him. He must have said something because I didn't get it all because of the haze in my mind. 

“Do you have a spare dress somewhere?” He asked again, quirking one of his thick brows, his eyes holding something akin to amusement. 

“Your—” He cut a glance at the guard who tried to stop him. The guard stepped aside for him to pass. 

“Hmm, no but…” He didn't let me finish speaking as he led me out of the hall. I could faintly hear Samantha throw tantrums behind us but I didn't cast a glance back, all because I was enraptured by this handsome stranger. 

I didn’t even realize we’d left the main hall until the cold marble beneath my feet turned to plush carpet. My mind was still reeling—not just from the embarrassment, but from him. From Lucien. From the way his fingers had brushed my skin. From the way he hadn’t looked at me like I was broken.

He opened a tall door at the end of the corridor and stepped aside.

“In here,” he said.

It was a guest suite, but nothing about it felt temporary. Soft golden lighting, velvet armchairs, a wide fireplace flickering low in the corner. It smelled faintly of pinewood and something darker—him.

Lucien closed the door behind us and walked straight to a closet, pulling out what looked like a long black shirt. “This should cover you for now,” he said, offering it without looking too closely.

I hesitated, holding my torn dress in place.

He noticed and turned his back. “You’re safe here, Elena.”

My heart stuttered again when he said my name. I didn’t know why it sounded different coming from him. Realer. Like it belonged.

Once I had the shirt on—it was huge on me, falling to mid-thigh—I cleared my throat. “Okay.”

He turned around. His gaze flickered for the briefest moment—taking in my bare legs, my tangled hair—but then settled on my eyes. Always my eyes.

“I don’t usually end up in a stranger’s bedroom like this,” I said, trying for lightness.

“You think this is normal for me?” Lucien asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I don’t go around picking up half-dressed women from abusive wedding parties.”

I let out a breath of laughter. “You make it sound so glamorous.”

His smile deepened.

He moved toward the fireplace and poured two glasses of water from a crystal pitcher. I accepted mine with trembling fingers. For a few seconds, we just stood there—me in a stranger’s shirt, him still half-buttoned and unreadable.

“Thank you,” I finally said.

“You shouldn’t have needed rescuing,” he said. “That kind of cruelty doesn’t belong in any pack.”

“That’s just Samantha,” I muttered. “Always the star of her own tragedy.”

“She’s not the star tonight,” he said quietly. “You are.”

I blinked at him. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I matter.”

He stepped closer. “Because you do.” My heart skipped. This big scary man and saying sweet words were two things I never thought I would experience tonight. 

I stared at him, throat tight. “You don’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”

The air between us thickened. My skin buzzed again—right where his fingers had grazed my shoulder earlier. It was still tingling. Still humming.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I whispered, suddenly afraid of how exposed I felt—not physically, but emotionally.

Lucien’s voice dropped. “Why?”

“Because people don’t look at me like that. Not anymore. Not after what Damien did. Not after he threw me away.”

His jaw tensed, but his voice remained calm. “Then maybe it’s time someone did.”

The silence that followed was electric.

I looked at him then—not just at his face, but his presence. The way he stood like he carried entire kingdoms behind his shoulders. And yet, he was here. With me. Like I was something worth protecting.

“Lucien…” I said softly.

He took the glass from my hands and set it aside.

“If you want me to stop, say it now.”

But I didn’t.

Instead, I reached up and touched his collar, fingers trembling as they brushed the open edge of his shirt.

He leaned in slowly, his forehead brushing mine. “You deserve to be touched like you’re not made of pain,” he murmured, lips just grazing my skin. “You deserve to be kissed like it’s a vow.”

I swallowed hard. “Then kiss me.”

And he did.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was molten.

His lips moved with purpose, learning every corner of mine like a secret. His hands were slow, reverent, sliding down my waist and anchoring me to him. I felt the shirt ride higher on my thighs, felt his chest pressing into mine. My body responded like it had been waiting for this—for him.

The need was there, yes. But it wasn’t just lust. It was that aching kind of touch—the one that sees, that claims, that cherishes. Like he wasn’t just undressing my body, but my wounds.

He laid me down on the bed, his mouth trailing kisses along my neck, his breath hot on my skin. Every brush of his lips made the tingling in my mark intensify—like my body already knew what my heart refused to admit.

I wanted him.

God, I wanted him like I’d never wanted anything.

And I let him have me.

For one night—I wasn’t the girl who got rejected. I wasn’t an orphan or the outcast.

I was Elena whom Lucien worshipped like I was his goddess. 

***

The morning light bled through the sheer curtains, soft and golden.

I rolled over, groggy and sore, only to find the bed beside me empty.

Panic flared through me and I jolted up. I glanced through the room and it was the same as it was yesterday night. I sat still, expecting that my handsome stranger would burst out of the bathroom but no, there was no other life than me in this room. 

He left?

My fingers reached up to my neck, brushing the skin just above my collarbone. That’s when I felt it.

Warm.

Tingling.

Branded.

A mark.

Lucien’s mark.

He was gone.

And I had been claimed by someone… I didn't even know what he was. Where he came from.