I’ve known Crave for two centuries. I’ve seen him in war councils, in executions, in the moment before he tears out a throat. I know all his faces. And the one he’s wearing right now—blank, still, unreadable as carved stone—is the one that comes before something gets decided.
He’s not angry.
He’s not betrayed.
He’s calculating.
The kind of calculating a millennia-old vampire does when he’s weighing how much rope to hand a brother before the rope becomes a noose. I feel it through what’s left of our bond, not his emotions but the absence of them, the door pulled carefully shut while he thinks.
Whatever he decides, he’s not sharing it yet.
For over two centuries, I’ve been Lucien the lycan.
Rogue the VP.
Crave’s Bloodguard.
His brother.
His shield.
My entire identity is built around protectinghim.
But now…
I glance down at Charlotte in my arms,my fated mate, this impossibility the universe decided to drop at my feet.
Now I don’t know what the hell I am anymore.
And the terrifying part?
I don’t think I care.
Because every instinct I have, every cell in my lycan body, every beat of my ancient heart is screaming the same thing…
Protecther.
Guardher.
Keephersafe at all costs.
Even if it means letting go of everything I thought I was.
Even if it means my bond with Crave will never be the same.
Even if it means breaking every rule my bloodline has upheld since the First Vampire rose from darkness.
She ismine.
And I amhers.
And everything else…
Everything else can just go to fucking hell.
If the universe thinks this is a mistake, it’s welcome to try and stop me.
I willnotlet go of what’smine.
