Bloodlines and Oaths
The safehouse was eerily silent after the chaos, broken only by Isabella's soft hiccuped sobs. Lucian held Elena tightly, but he felt the tremor running through her body, the weight of secrets pressing against her lips.
"Elena," he said gently, his thumb brushing away a tear on her cheek. "No more running. Tell me everything."
Her eyes lifted to his—stormy, terrified, but resolute. She drew a shaky breath.
"My father… Adrian Nightshade. You've heard the name."
Lucian's expression darkened instantly. He had. Everyone in the underworld had. A man whispered about in shadows—a Beta who had betrayed his pack and vanished, leaving chaos in his wake.
"He wasn't the coward they said he was," Elena whispered. "He was framed. He died protecting me. But his enemies… they swore his bloodline would never find peace. That curse… it's me, Lucian. I'm the last Nightshade. And now they've found me."
Her voice broke, her hands clutching his shirt as though she feared he'd pull away. "You don't understand. Being with me puts Isabella in danger. It puts you in danger. They won't stop until they erase us all."
Lucian's jaw clenched. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he tilted her chin up, his eyes burning with unshakable fire.
"Good," he said, his voice like thunder. "Let them come. I'll show them what happens when they touch what's mine."
Her breath hitched. "Lucian—"
He kissed her then, fierce and consuming, a vow in the way his lips claimed hers. When he pulled back, his words were a blade.
"They think you're cursed. But you're not. You're my salvation. And I'll burn the world before I let anyone take you from me."
---
Later that night…
Marco entered the room, his face grim. "Boss. We've traced the intruder. He wasn't Valdez. He belonged to a syndicate older than the cartels. Old blood families. And Nightshade's name keeps showing up."
Lucian's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around Elena's. "Names. Give me names."
Marco hesitated. "It won't be easy. They're hidden, powerful. Some of them sit in governments, banks, even inside the Mafia itself."
Lucian smirked coldly, his devil's mask sliding into place. "Then I'll rip the world apart until I drag them into the light."
---
In the dark of her room, Elena tucked Isabella into bed, but her heart was heavy. For the first time, her curse was no longer a shadow—it had a face, a history, a target painted on her back.
But when she stepped out, Lucian was waiting, leaning against the wall with his gun in hand, his eyes on her.
"You're not alone anymore," he said quietly. "Not ever again."
And though fear still gnawed at her soul, Elena realized something she had never dared believe before: maybe love could be stronger than curses.