Lucien sat on the edge of the obsidian throne in the center of the Bloodwell Sanctum, his fingers gripping the armrests until his knuckles went white. The Blood Crown pulsed atop his head with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat—slow, deliberate, hypnotic. The chamber had grown eerily quiet ever since the feast ended hours ago. Bodies had been dragged away by silent servants, the noble guests either passed out in drugged stupors or basking in the afterglow of forbidden pleasures. The air still carried the metallic scent of spilled blood and the musk of satisfied desires.
But not Lucien. He remained wide awake, his eyes glowing with faint red embers that cast dancing shadows across his sharp features.
He had tasted something darker tonight. Something that went beyond the usual pleasures of flesh and blood.
Power. Raw, intoxicating power that had flowed between them like liquid fire.
