The world above the ruined temple trembled. Smoke curled like fingers from the shattered ceiling. A storm had risen, unnatural in its force, clouds spiraling in a shape that mirrored the runes on Lucian's back. The bloodline had been awakened—and now, it demanded recognition.
Lucian stood in the center of it all, the flames from the under-temple licking at his ankles, not with heat, but with reverence. They knew him. The fire did not consume. It bowed.
Behind him, Kyrell held his breath. Something ancient moved in Lucian now—something more than vampire, more than royal. Something both terrifying and beautiful.
"I felt it," Kyrell said quietly. "When you marked me. When I gave myself to you."
Lucian turned slowly. The glow behind his irises had not faded since the bond was sealed. "Felt what?"
"You," Kyrell whispered. "The crown. The king. The ruin. All of it."
Lucian approached him, slow and deliberate. "You're not afraid?"
Kyrell's lips curved. "No. I've already given myself to it."
Their bodies collided again—not from hunger alone, but from the knowledge that every kiss now echoed in prophecy. Lucian lifted Kyrell off his feet, pressing him against the nearest blackened wall of the temple, lips claiming his with bruising need.
The bond flared hot, a coil of magic and arousal, ancient and carnal. Kyrell moaned into the kiss, legs wrapping tightly around Lucian's waist. The sensation was overwhelming—Lucian's fangs grazing skin, Kyrell's breath catching with each thrust of hips against hips.
"You don't belong to them," Kyrell gasped. "You never did."
"I belong to you," Lucian said, voice rough. "I always have."
He sank lower, tongue trailing down Kyrell's chest, worshipping him with reverent, fevered kisses. Kyrell arched, his body trembling, raw and bare in his desire. The sound of his moans echoed through the burning halls like a hymn.
Lucian took his time. Worshipped. Bit. Licked. Made Kyrell unravel beneath his mouth, trembling and breathless. When Kyrell came apart in his arms, it wasn't from lust alone—it was surrender.
And Lucian marked him again, lower this time. With tongue and teeth. With groans of reverence. With fire.
Afterward, when their bodies cooled and the temple stilled again, Kyrell lay against Lucian's chest, panting, lips swollen.
"I'm yours," he whispered.
"And I'll destroy kingdoms to keep it that way," Lucian replied.
But deep below them, where fire still glowed and stone still shifted, the ancient crown—the one Silas once buried—rose from the ashes.
Waiting.
Not just for a king.
For a monster in love.
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