Celeste didn't sleep.
How could she?
The ghost of his breath still lingered on her skin, that maddening almost kiss seared into her memory like the mark on her wrist. She sat curled on the edge of the luxurious bed, staring at the city lights through the massive windows. Somewhere out there, her brother was alive because of Lucien. Because of the deal. But the way Lucien looked at her… the way he touched her…
It was more than a deal.
It was possession.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the silk robe he had given her. Even that felt like his expensive, smooth, heavy with something unspoken. Everything in this penthouse reeked of power. Of him.
And now, so did she.
She rubbed at the mark, as if she could scrub it away. But it pulsed in response, warm, alive, like it had a heartbeat of its own.
What the hell had she done?
A knock at the door snapped her back to reality. Not hard, just two soft raps as if whoever stood outside already knew she would not be sleeping.
She opened it without a word.
Lucien stood there, dressed now in black lounge clothes that made him look somehow even more lethal. Barefoot. Calm. His hair slightly tousled like he, too, had not slept. But it was his eyes ,those gold flecked eyes that held her still.
He held out a steaming mug. "Chamomile. Helps with nightmares."
Celeste took it slowly, wary. "Did you give me the nightmares too?"
Lucien's lips quirked. "Not this time."
She stepped aside without inviting him in, but he entered anyway. Of course he did. The contract did not care about personal space.
She watched as he moved to the window, hands behind his back, like a prince surveying his kingdom.
"I know you have questions," he said.
She stared into the mug. "Only about a thousand."
"Ask."
Celeste took a breath. "You said I'm not… ordinary. What did you mean?"
He turned. "You weren't chosen by chance. The contract doesn't bind to just anyone. Your bloodline, your soul is something… ancient."
"Ancient?" she scoffed. "I'm a med student from Holloway. My biggest secret used to be sneaking tequila into anatomy lab."
"You've felt it already," he said, stepping closer. "The strength. The heat. The way the world bends when you feel threatened. That isn't fear. That's awakening."
"I didn't ask for any of this."
"No one ever does."
Their eyes locked. Something electric passed between them again, like their souls brushed just by meeting each other's gaze. Her pulse raced.
"I want answers, Lucien. Real ones. No riddles. No cryptic half-truths."
He nodded, voice soft. "Then tomorrow, I'll take you to someone who can tell you what I cannot."
"Why not now?"
"Because if I bring you before the Council tonight, they'll see the bond. They'll feel it. And once they do…" He trailed off, jaw tightening. "They'll want you for themselves."
A chill crept up her spine. "You're saying I'm in danger?"
Lucien turned back to the window. "You've always been in danger, Celeste. You just didn't know it."
She stood in silence, the warmth of the mug fading against her fingers. Her mind swirled with fragments flashes of fire from the dream, the voice that called her name, the mark that pulsed like it was alive. None of this made sense. And yet, it all fit. Somehow.
"Why me?" she whispered.
Lucien's voice came low and certain. "Because you are not like the others. Because your soul is marked. Even before the contract."
Celeste shook her head slowly. "This… bond. What is it really? Is it just magic? A trick? Or is it…"
She could not say the word. Soulmate. It felt too dangerous.
Lucien moved closer, slow and deliberate. "It is older than the word soulmate. Deeper than magic. It is a tether. Once formed, it cannot be broken. Not even by death."
Her heart pounded. "So what does that mean for me? That I belong to you now?"
His jaw clenched. "It means you are mine to protect. Mine to fight for."
"But not mine to choose," she said bitterly.
Lucien's gaze softened. "The choice was made when you called on me. I answered because your soul echoed mine."
She wanted to throw the mug. She wanted to scream. But more than anything, she wanted to run not from him, but from what she felt when he said those words.
"I should get some sleep," she said flatly, though she knew sleep would never come.
Lucien did not argue. He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "Celeste. If you ever feel the fire rising don't fight it. Let it guide you. That's how you'll survive what's coming."
Then he was gone.
She sat in the quiet for a long time, the lights of the city painting her in hues of silver and gold. The night stretched long, and somewhere far below, the world kept moving. But up here, wrapped in silence and heat and things she did not understand, Celeste felt the change within her take root.
And deep in her chest, something stirred. Not fear. Not confusion.
Power.