Chapter 12

Lucian’s POV

He didn’t understand.

Not the room that had gone quiet at my command.

Not the weight of my fury, nor the restraint it took not to tear Gunner limb from limb.

And certainly not the way his trembling defiance made something inside me fracture dangerously.

I should have been satisfied. I’d won. No price, no threat, no king could take him from me. He was mine.

But his voice

That cracked whisper, “I’m not a possession.”

It echoed in my skull like a curse I couldn’t silence.

And for the first time in years, I felt something other than rage.

It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t pity.

It was something darker. Something uncontrollable.

Because the bond had snapped into place the moment I saw him.

The mate pull—unmistakable. Violent.

But it didn’t make sense.

He was supposed to be a boy. A slave. Nothing.

And yet, everything in me screamed mine.

Every breath he took burned in my lungs.

Every word out of his mouth made my control slip further.

And that scent—gods, that scent—it was driving me mad.

It shouldn’t be possible.

It couldn’t be.

And yet, here I was.

Dragging him out of that godforsaken room like a feral beast, torn between ripping him apart and falling to my knees.

I could still feel the heat of their eyes on my back.

The silence. The fear. The weight of Gunner’s offer—like a stain I couldn’t wash off.

Fifty thousand. Then Seventy-five.

As if he was a thing.

As if what was mine could be bought, counted in talons and weighed in gold.

I clenched my jaw as I stalked down the corridor, his small body slung over my shoulder.

He wasn’t fighting anymore. Maybe out of shock. Maybe fear.

But that didn’t calm me.

It made it worse.

Because deep inside, beneath all the fury and power and dominance

I was confused.

Angry at him. Angry at myself.

And gods, I hated the way he made me feel.

I should’ve let Gunner have him. That had been the plan.

Let that bastard Gale touch him.

Let him taste what didn’t belong to him.

It was supposed to be a lesson. A punishment.

Because no one defied me.

No one looked me in the eye and told me no.

And now…he had.

Again and again.

And I—

I let him.

I told myself it was to teach him something.

To remind him what happens when you challenge a predator.

But then I saw Gale smile.

Saw him look at the boy I’d claimed with something that wasn’t fear.

And my chest burned.

I nearly killed him on the spot. Not because I cared.

Not because I felt anything.

But because the idea of anyone else touching him made something inside me snap.

He was a slave. A boy. Mine.

That was all.

So why did the thought of handing him over make my stomach twist?

Why did every breath he took feel like it belonged to me?

Why the hell couldn’t I hurt him?

I tightened my grip. His body was warm against mine, and I hated how aware I was of it.

Hated how my claws had come out without warning.

How I’d nearly slaughtered a room full of royals because of him.

He was supposed to be weak. Powerless.

But instead, he made me feel powerless.

And worst of all—when Gunner made that offer, and the room turned to me for an answer

He looked at me with those eyes. Like he hated me.

Like I was no better than the monsters he feared.

I could’ve torn the whole place apart.

But I walked out.

With him.

Because no matter how much I wanted to silence him, to make him bend, to teach him what it meant to belong to me—

I couldn’t break him.

Something inside me wouldn’t let me.

And I hated him for it.

He didn’t know it yet.

Didn’t know what he was to me.

The place stretched before me in a blur of stone and firelight, but I didn’t stop; my boots hit the floor with thunder, and his body was still slung over my shoulder—light, too light, and far too quiet. Not a word. Not a kick. Just silence. I hated that. I hated how my chest ached like a bruise with every step, and hated the memory of his voice cracking in that damn room.

He didn’t get to say that. Not when he was the one who’d invaded my privacy, not when I’d spared his life, not when he wore my chains.

The guards watched me pass, none daring to breathe wrong.

I reached the chamber and kicked the door open hard; the sound slammed against the silence, echoing like a war drum. I stepped inside, yanked him off my shoulder, and shoved him forward. He stumbled and hit the floor with a thud, palms scraping against stone as his breath caught, shaky and fragile, then he turned, his eyes glassy and wet.

Tears.

Real ones.

That look—gods—that look.

And before I could say anything, before I could gather the storm that had been building inside me, he exploded first.

“I’m not a killer!” Jules screamed, his voice cracking wide open. “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone—you know that! You’ve always known that, so tell me  why I’m still here!” He was shaking, chest heaving. “Give me a reason! Give me a single damn reason why I’m your prisoner!”

The room felt too hot and my claws itched beneath my skin as I took a step forward. “Because you lied.”

His breath caught again.

“Because you walked into my space with secrets in your eyes and a knife in your belt. And because I don’t take kindly to games.”

“You told me to perform! You said if I didn’t, I’d be fed to your hounds”

“And you played the role so well,” I cut in sharply. “What, are you begging for praise now? A round of applause for the slave-boy who danced his way out of a death sentence?”

His face crumbled—but I wasn’t done.

“You want a reason why you're here?” I snarled, stalking closer. “Because you looked me in the eye and dared to challenge me. You pushed. And now you're going to learn what happens when someone pushes back.”

“I’m not your toy,” he whispered.

I crouched beside him, close enough to see the shimmer of tears threatening to fall again. “No,” I said softly, “you’re worse. You’re my slave.”

His tears fell, and god's help me, I hated the way my chest squeezed at the sight.

“You’re cruel,” he choked out, blinking hard. “Wicked. A beast in disguise, pretending to care while delighting in my pain.”

I froze.

“You don’t want the truth. You just want control,” he said, and there it was—pure, naked pain.

But I didn’t back away.

I leaned in, voice low and brutal. “There’s no escaping me, Jules. Once you're in, you don’t get out. The only way out is death.”

He flinched.

And for a second—I hesitated.

Then I turned on my heel and walked out, slamming the door behind me, because if I’d stayed one second longer, I might’ve done something worse.

Like begging him not to cry.

*************

The fire in my room had long burned low, but the scent of spiced liquor clung to the air like smoke. I sat slouched in the leather chair near the hearth, a half-empty bottle in my hand, and another already shattered on the floor. The sharp sting of alcohol did little to dull the ache in my chest—or the storm in my veins.

I didn’t even remember how many drinks I’d had at the banquet. The afterparty was a blur of flashing lights and clinking glasses, and now, hours later, everything just felt too loud inside me. My jaw ached from how hard I’d been clenching it, and my claws had come out more than once without warning.

I took another long swig, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The warmth hit my gut, but it didn’t help. It never helped.

“Moon goddess,” I muttered, voice thick. “You must be laughing, wherever the hell you are.”

I dragged my hand down my face, vision blurring as I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “You really thought this was funny, didn’t you? Binding me to a boy?” I snorted, bitter.

“Do I look like I want a mate? Do I look like I’d fall for someone like him?”

He was a liar. A slave. A pain in the ass.

And yet—gods, that scent. That pull. It had only gotten worse since I touched him. Since I carried him. Since I looked into his damn eyes and saw more than fear—I saw fire. Defiance. And something else I didn’t want to name.

I poured another drink with a shaky hand.

The bond was clawing under my skin, growing tighter, louder. A constant scream. Like something ancient in me was awakening—something hungry.

I wasn’t just an Alpha.

I was cursed.

The kind of curse that was written in blood and carved into bone. A power that made the ground quake when I lost control. And tonight, I felt it creeping in again—coiling around my spine, crawling beneath my skin like fire ants, whispering things I didn’t want to hear.

Take. Claim. Destroy.

I downed the drink in one gulp and threw the glass into the wall. It shattered into a thousand sharp pieces, but the ache didn’t leave. It only grew.

I hated this.

Hated how Jules made me feel. Weak. Confused.

I was supposed to be stronger than this. I was stronger than this. But every time I looked at him, I saw something I couldn’t control. And I didn't like not being in control.

No. I needed to end this.

I stood, stumbling slightly. The liquor had settled into my limbs, making me sluggish, but I didn’t care. If I didn’t do something now—if I didn’t stop this—I’d lose everything.

“This ends tonight,” I muttered, pacing toward the door. “He’s asleep. I’ll make it quick. No more questions. No more pulling. No more... weakness.”

My hand tightened around the doorknob.

“I’ll kill him,” I whispered, voice low and firm. “And maybe then—maybe I’ll finally feel like me again.”

I opened the door.

And stepped out.

Straight toward Jules' room.