Chapter 136: Hurting me.

Chapter 136

Lucian didn’t pull away from Isabella; instead, he seemed to cave inward, his massive frame collapsing toward her as his arms tightened around her waist with crushing strength that stole the air from her lungs.

He moved as if possessed by a force older than his own memory, taking a deep, shuddering inhale against the sensitive crook of her neck.

He held her there, his nose brushing the delicate, heated skin where her pulse hammered frantically.

It was a fatal mistake—a momentary lapse in his iron-clad discipline. The scent of her sweetness that was uniquely hers, hit his heightened senses.

In an instant, the dull aching in his gums intensified. The ache in his fangs, pushed by an ancient instinct far beyond his ability to command, slid downward with lethal precision.

He no longer seemed to care about the weeping silver-burn wound in his chest or the dampness of his fresh shirt.

All physical pain was being swallowed whole by a much larger, darker, and more primal necessity that roared in his ears.

Isabella felt the shift instantly. The embrace was no longer a romantic, protective hold; it was getting tighter by the second, the strength in his arms bordering on the supernatural as he pressed her back against the cool, unyielding composite stone of the kitchen island.

She could feel the tremors wracking his massive frame, a violent shivering that spoke of a man losing a war with himself.

“Lucian?” she whispered, her voice growing in an alarm that she couldn’t suppress. “You’re… you’re hurting me a little.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. The entire world had narrowed down to the vibrating thrum of the jugular beneath his lips.

He leaned in further, his mouth grazing her skin in what felt like two ghost-like kisses against the side of her neck, right where the fading mark of their bond sat.

Isabella let out a sharp, involuntary gasp at the contact, her head falling back as a wave of intoxicating heat and cold dread washed over her all at once.

She could feel a terrifying sharpness radiating from him. “Lucian!”

A voice sliced through the stagnant atmosphere like a silver blade. Clara stood at the kitchen doorway, her face ghostly pale in the dim light but her expression as firm and unyielding as granite.

She didn’t move toward them, but her presence alone acted as a physical barrier that demanded his immediate attention.

The sound of his name, spoken with such biting authority, acted like a bucket of ice water over Lucian’s feverish, blood-addled mind.

He jolted as if struck, his eyes snapping open—revealing not the stormy, liquid gray that had been there before they kissed, but a vibrant, terrifying shade of red.

Isabella’s eyes went to Clara first, her face instantly flushing with an embarrassed crimson as the reality of their position crashed down on her.

They were pinned together in the dark kitchen, a scene of raw, untamed hunger that felt far too private for witnesses.

But as the haze cleared from her mind, she felt Lucian’s grip suddenly slacken. His fingers were trembling as he practically shoved himself away from her, stumbling back until he hit the opposite counter.

He kept his head down, his chest heaving in desperate bursts as he fought with everything he had to force the monster back into its cage.

The red in his eyes was agonizingly slow to recede, leaving him looking shattered, raw, and dangerously close to the edge.

“Marco spotted a car coming, and it looks like one of those councilors,” Clara said quietly, her eyes moving between the two of them with a knowing, heavy sadness.

She didn’t comment on the visible fangs or the predatory frenzy that had nearly consumed the room, but her gaze lingered heavily on Lucian’s trembling hand before finally landing on Isabella.

“Isabella,” Clara’s voice was softer now, though it carried an unmistakable, urgent edge. “The lights in the foyer are already being dimmed. Marco is stalling them at the gate for as long as he can, but you cannot be seen here. Come, let’s go to the master suite.”

Isabella stood frozen by the island, her own chest heaving as she tried to reconcile the man who had just made her laugh with the predator who had nearly tasted her skin.

She turned her gaze toward Lucian, searching for any sign of the “grumpy dinosaur” she had poked fun at only minutes ago.

He wasn’t meeting her eyes. He stood with his back partially turned, his large hands gripping the edge of the counter so hard the stone seemed to groan and crack under the immense pressure.

His head was bowed low, his dark, long hair falling over his forehead in a chaotic curtain, hiding the flickering remnants of that terrifying, inhuman red.

“Lucian?” she whispered, the name sounding like a fragile, broken question in the heavy air.

“Go,” he managed to rasp but still, he wouldn’t look at her, his entire frame vibrating with the sheer, agonizing force of his restraint.

“Go with Clara, Isabella. I… I will go meet you when I am done here.”

Isabella swallowed hard, the flush on her face deepening from a volatile mix of embarrassment and a lingering, thrumming heat that refused to die down. She didn’t argue.

She knew the drill; she had spent enough nights hiding in the shadows of this sprawling mansion whenever the council members made their unannounced, intrusive visits.

Lucian was fiercely protective of his secrets, and she and Clara were undoubtedly the biggest secrets he held within these walls.

Besides, the way he was breathing—heavy, jagged, and full of a dark hunger she didn’t fully understand—made her realize that staying in this kitchen was a dangerous gamble for them both.

“Okay,” her voice was small as she muttered the word, casting one last, lingering look at the tension in his broad, powerful shoulders before finally turning toward the doorway.

Clara placed a steadying hand on Isabella’s arm “This way,” the older woman whispered, guiding her toward the back stairs to avoid the main foyer where the councilor would likely enter with their prying eyes and sharp questions.

As they ascended the narrow stairs in the dim, flickering light, Isabella couldn’t shake the feeling of his lips on her neck.

It hadn’t felt like a threat at first; it had felt like a claim, a deep and ancient recognition. When those lips had first touched her there, Isabella hadn’t even thought much about the danger.

But the way Clara had looked at them—the profound, weary sadness in her eyes—told Isabella that the line between a mate’s kiss and a vampire’s bite was much thinner, and much more treacherous, than she had ever realized.

They reached the ornate doors of the master suite, and Clara ushered her inside with a sense of practiced secrecy.

“Stay here, Isabella,” Clara spoke, her voice hushed but firm. “I will be back as soon as I try getting rid of our smell with my magic, okay?”

Isabella nodded silently, walking over to the large, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the darkened, sprawling grounds.

She didn’t see any car at the driveway yet, but she wasn’t going to take a foolish guess by going back outside.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, the silk of the shirt she wore still smelling intoxicatingly of Lucian and a creeping darkness that was slowly becoming her entire world.

Clara cast one last, lingering glance at Isabella before closing the door with a soft, final click. But Clara didn’t just stand there. She quickly began walking down the stairs, her pace increasing as she headed back toward the kitchen doors.

She wasn’t going to just “clear the air of their smell.” She was going back to have a very different, much more serious talk with Lucian.

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