LUCIUS POV
"She's mine," Marcus says it like a declaration—flat, stubborn, as if saying it aloud will stitch whatever thread binds them back together. I already knew. I smelled it in him the moment his bond flared, heard it in the ragged way his voice trembled between pain and hope. But hearing him say it—watching the words push out of his mouth as if they truly belonged to him—that galls me.
Why must fate be so bias as to hand my beloved to my brother like a second helping?Why must I share her? Why does fate hand my beloved to my brother as if this is some charity? Maria is gone—God knows the price we paid for that—but that doesn't mean Marcus gets a second turn at what was mine. Not my mate. Not my Rosa. Marcus getting another chance feels like theft. And not just anyone—her. My Rosa.
I don't waste words. I move.
