Lucien Vale – Zone Nine, Syndicate Fight Ring
The glass above the pit was supposed to protect him from the filth below.
Lucien Vale stood still, hands in his coat pockets, observing the fight in silence. Guards stood at attention behind him. Firelight danced along the high walls of the room. He hardly saw.
The crowd outside was wild — screaming, drunk, and desperate. They came to see blood. To forget the cold city above. To gamble their paychecks and lives. But Lucien wasn't here for blood.
He was watching him.
Within the cage, the fighter "The Omega Ghost" moved like he was not part of this world. He was hooded and barefoot. He was quick, really quick. Each punch was clean and crisp. Each dodge was precise.
He didn't fight like someone trying to win. He fought like someone who couldn't afford to lose.
Lucien frowned. He would not be staying long. He never did. The Syndicate ran this ring — one of dozens located in the outer territories — and Lucien typically left matters to his enforcers.
But tonight, something pulled him to the pit.
Now he understood why.
"Kai," he said softly, tasting the name. "That's what they call him."
Behind him, Theron — tall, lean, cocky as always — gave a half-smile. "Street name. No pack. No record. He's a ghost. But he's good. You don't often come down here, boss. He must've really caught your eye."
Lucien said nothing. His head was already figuring it out — putting it all together, everything he knew.
Lucien Vale, heir to House Vale, was more than just another Alpha. He had been raised on power and blood — born into one of the oldest Syndicates in the city, ruling from glass towers and shadowed alleys both. His father, the old Alpha, had ruled with fear. And Lucien had learned fast that fear wasn't enough.
When his father died suddenly — a night of shrieks, flames, and shattered walls — Lucien stepped in. The cover story offered to the world at large was easy: heart attack, bad genes.
The truth?
The curse woke that night.
Each Vale heir understood the legend: Your partner will seek you out in fire. Your love will destroy you before it can bind you.
Lucien had never considered so.
Not until his powers changed. Not until the fire inside him stopped obeying.
He hadn't touched anyone since.
Until tonight — when a glance from a combatant in the pit made his heart go slowly, and then race.
Lucien watched Kai throw his final punch. A crack echoed through the pit as his opponent collapsed. Blood on the floor. Firelight on his skin.
And then it happened.
Kai looked up. Straight at him. Through the glass. Past the crowd. Like he felt him.
For a moment, there was silence.
Lucien couldn't breathe.
A street omega shouldn't have that type of power. A street individual shouldn't have him feeling this way on the inside. But something deep and ancient inside of him changed — something he couldn't define.
"Power called to power"
"Curse to curse"
Theron let out a low whistle. "He saw you. Shit. You sure he's not Syndicate-born?"
"No," Lucien said. "He's different."
Theron stepped forward. "What do you want me to do?"
Lucien's voice was calm but sharp. "Find out where he sleeps. Who he trusts. If anyone's claimed him."
"And if no one has?" Theron asked, watching him carefully.
Lucien's silver-blue eyes didn't blink.
"Then he belongs to me."