Lucien~

The scent of fire and blood still lingers in my memory thick like smoke in my lungs.

The hall had been glowing that night. Banners high, torches burning. My brother stood on the raised dais, his head held high, shoulders squared like the born Alpha he was. He wore the black crest of our family with pride, the Valentini bloodline, which had never been challenged. Until that night.

I remember watching him from the crowd. I was sixteen. Young, hot-blooded, full of admiration. Matteo had always made leadership look effortless whether with strength, control, charm. He had the title in his veins and the loyalty of the pack in his hands, they loved him, he made them feel safe and yet was murdered in cold blood.

He should’ve been Alpha. The next Don.

He should’ve lived.

But nine years ago, on the night of his coronation, blood soaked the marble floors of this very room.

And it started with a name. Rune.

I hadn’t noticed it at first. The way Vincent Rune, previously better and second in command, looked when my father ordered him not to accompany Matteo to the ceremony grounds. He hesitated though not outwardly. I had brushed it off then, thinking it was politics. Our father was always overly cautious especially as our family had many Don and Alpha rivals.

But the attack had been from within, no rivals or enemies, only our very own people. He’d betrayed us.

I remember the gunfire then screams. Bodies falling in chaos. One moment Matteo was taking his oath and the next, he was fighting three rouges yelling at me to stay back. And I remember the way his body slammed to the ground—blood pooling beneath him, staining the ceremonial robe he hadn’t even worn for more than an hour.

I didn’t even hear myself scream. But when I got to fathers ro alert him it was too late. Vincent's hands had been soaked with blood and my father, lying dead beneath him.

I didn’t stop to think or ask why, I’d shifted on instinct, tearing through him until he stopped screaming. His blood stained my arms, he was dead. My first kill and it was vengeance.

When the smoke cleared the rest of them had vanished, dead except her, she was no older than five. She should’ve died with them. She should’ve burned like the rest of their treachery. And yet she didn’t. Somehow, she lived.

There was no coronation after that. Just a funeral, ash, pain and silence , standing over two coffins and a coronation that wasn’t meant for me.

I tightened my grip roughly around her chin. She yelped, her eyes widened. The same spark that flickered in my chest when our skin brushed back in the forest when I saved her without knowing who she was.

It disgusted me now. I hated that my wolf stirred for her.

She had looked at me like I was her salvation. Like I was the one thing that could pull her out of whatever hell she’d been drowning in. But that was the thing about fate, the moon goddess didn't care who it affected . It only cared about balance. And I would be her retribution.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to cry. To break. To feel just a sliver of what I felt the night I lost everything. Why did she get to live when my family couldn’t.

So I leaned in close, until my breath brushed her cheek. My voice dropped to a venomous whisper.

“You’ll carry the burden for every drop of blood they spilled, you’ll bleed in return. I will hate you. I will ruin you. And you will suffer for wearing the Rune name.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t pull away. Not because she was brave, but because she was too stunned to move. I could feel the confusion, the flicker of something deeper crawling through her veins. She didn’t know. Or maybe she had spent so long pretending she didn’t, that even now her body was in shock.

She was still that same little girl, wasn’t she? The one I saw being dragged through the smoke, bloodstained and clinging to life. A child was spared while my brother gasped his final breath beside me.

My fingers flexed at my side. I wanted to scream at the gods, at fate, at whatever cursed bond had tied her to me. Out of every living soul in the world, why her? Why the daughter of a traitor?

“You don’t deserve this mark,” I growled low, my eyes drifting to the faint shimmer of the mating bond already threading around her wrist. “You don’t deserve the mate bond. You don’t deserve mercy.”

The bond shimmered faintly again, a reminder of what fate had tied us into. I wanted to claw it off her wrist, burn it off my skin, erase it from existence.

“I didn’t choose this,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like broken glass. “I don’t want this please.”

The worst part? A small part of me believed her. But truth didn’t matter.

I stepped back, breaking the contact between us, needing distance before the rage consumed me. Her scent clung to my skin

“Disgusting. You were born from betrayal,” I said, eyes narrowing. “And every breath you take now is borrowed.”

She flinched, her shoulders curling inward like she was trying to disappear. But I wouldn’t let her. Though she didn’t speak or beg again , it didn't change anything. Whether or not she had no hand in their betrayal was none of my business.I hated how small she looked. How fragile. As if the world had already taken too much from her. That should’ve made it easier. But instead, it made everything harder. Rage and something else churned inside me. Something dangerously close to mercy. I crushed it.

“Welcome to my world, little Rune,” I said coldly. “You’re not a guest here. You’re a prisoner.”

I turned, ignoring the burn in my chest that pulsed where our bond now lived.

Let it burn, let it choke me.

I would smother it in hate and tear this bond apart with my bare hands before I let it become anything more. She was mine only because fate said so. But I would be her punishment.

She was here because I let her live.Because I didn’t finish what I started nine years ago. But mercy had a cost, and she would pay it in full. With every breath.Every tear. And every broken hope that dared to rise in her chest.