Ariana POV
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
The air between the three of us pulsed like something alive heavy, electric, and too intimate to make sense. My chest tightened, not with fear, but with something I couldn't name.
Lucien's jaw flexed. "Get out," he ordered his brother quietly.
Lysander didn't move. He just leaned against the doorway, his mouth curved in something that looked too much like amusement. "You shouldn't have come here alone," he said, his voice smooth as sin. "You know what happens when we find her."
"Enough," Lucien growled, stepping between us.
My pulse tripped over itself. Her? What did that even mean?
I didn't wait to find out. I slipped sideways, grabbed the scalpel off the counter, and pointed it at both of them. "I don't know who the hell you are or what game you're playing, but you're both leaving."
Lysander's gaze dropped to the blade. He smiled faintly. "A scalpel. How poetic."
"I've opened throats with less," I said, and it wasn't an empty threat.
Lucien's silver eyes flicked from the knife to my face. For a moment, I thought he'd take it from me, but he didn't. He just watched, calm and deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of me.
"You shouldn't provoke him," Lucien said softly, still facing his brother. "He's not as patient as I am."
That earned a quiet laugh from Lysander. "Oh, brother, don't pretend you're any better. You've been circling her like prey since the night of the shooting."
"Because she's mine," Lucien snapped.
The word hung between them like a spark in dry air.
My grip on the scalpel tightened. "Excuse me?"
Both their gazes swung toward me, and for the first time, I saw it clearly the way their pupils dilated, how the faintest shimmer of gold rimmed the silver in their eyes. It wasn't human. None of it was.
Lucien took a careful step forward, voice low and steady. "You feel it too, don't you, Ariana? The pull."
"I feel like calling the cops," I shot back.
Lysander chuckled. "Oh, she's going to be fun."
Lucien's hand shot out, catching his brother's shoulder. "Enough."
"You're lying to yourself," Lysander said, his tone soft but cutting. "She's ours. You can feel it."
Ours.
The word sent a jolt down my spine that had nothing to do with logic.
Something deep in my gut twisted, heat flickering beneath my skin like I'd stepped too close to fire. My body didn't feel like my own. My breath came shallow, my pulse syncing with theirs two distinct rhythms, somehow merging into one.
I dropped the scalpel before I realized it. It clattered against the tile.
Lucien's eyes darkened. "Ariana"
"Don't," I warned, stepping back until I hit the wall again. "Whatever this is, stop it."
He looked genuinely pained for the first time. "I can't."
Lysander tilted his head, his smile fading into something deeper, hungrier. "Neither can I."
The room felt smaller. The storm outside thundered so hard it rattled the windows. And then, for a fraction of a second, I heard it a growl, low and unearthly, rolling from both of them. The kind of sound that vibrated in bone, that belonged to something wild.
"What the hell are you?" I whispered.
Lucien's gaze softened, almost gentle. "The only thing standing between you and everything that hunts in the dark."
My breath hitched. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters tonight."
He stepped forward again, slowly this time, giving me every chance to pull away.
But I didn't move.
Couldn't.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing the side of my throat light, reverent, but enough to feel the tremor beneath my skin. "Your pulse," he murmured, "it calls to us."
"To us?" I echoed, my voice cracking on the word.
Lysander's eyes caught the lamplight brighter now, gold bleeding through silver. He moved closer, until I could feel his warmth too. Their energy surrounded me, different but connected, like two sides of the same storm.
Lucien's heat was steady, controlled, commanding.
Lysander's was sharp, cold fire, a challenge waiting to be met.
And caught between them, I felt like I might break apart.
"This is wrong," I whispered. "Whatever this is, it's wrong."
Lucien's hand lingered near my face, his thumb tracing my jaw. "Maybe," he said softly. "But fate doesn't care about right or wrong."
His words sank in deep, stealing air from my lungs.
Fate. The word felt dangerous in his mouth.
Lysander leaned in just enough that I could feel his breath against my ear. "We didn't choose this, sweetheart. But neither did you."
The sound of it sweetheart sent a violent shiver down my spine. My instincts screamed to run. My body stayed rooted, drawn to the chaos like a moth to flame.
Lucien finally stepped back, his control snapping back into place. "Go home, Ariana," he said quietly. "Lock your doors. Don't go out at night. Not until I say it's safe."
"I don't take orders from you," I said, though my voice trembled.
He smiled faintly, like he pitied me for believing that. "You will."
And with that, both men turned and left, the door slamming behind them. The storm swallowed their footsteps, leaving only silence in their wake.
I sank onto the floor, heart racing, mind spinning.
Two men. Identical faces. Impossible eyes.
The same pull I couldn't explain.
When I closed my eyes, I could still feel it the heat of Lucien's touch on my jaw, the ghost of Lysander's voice in my ear.
I'd spent years avoiding danger, avoiding love, avoiding anything that could break me again.
And in one night, I'd met two men who could do all three.