The moon was now pale, no longer red, but her blood still burned. She held onto that feeling fiercely. could still feel him—the way the air had thickened when Darius appeared, the way his voice wrapped around her heart like silk and chains.
Lucian paced the room. "You must not let him inside your thoughts," he warned. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, but his eyes betrayed something softer—fear, and something else, something more fragile.
"I don't understand," Elena whispered. "He said I was his child. His heir. How can that be true?"
Lucian stopped, his golden eyes fixed on her. "Because it is. He is not only your ancestor. He created your bloodline. You are more than his descendant—you are his legacy."
The words struck her like a blow. "And you? Why do you protect me if I'm cursed?"
For a moment, Lucian was silent. Then he stepped closer, his voice low. "Because you are not him. You are Elena. And I…" His voice faltered. "I would rather die than see him claim you."
Elena's chest tightened. She should have pulled away, but instead she leaned closer, caught in the fire of his gaze. The space between them grew thin, fragile, trembling until the sound of a whisper broke it apart.
"Elena…"
The voice drifted through the window like smoke, curling around her name. Lucian cursed and drew his sword, but when he looked, only the wind stirred the trees.
Darius was gone, but his presence remained. Watching. Waiting.