Chapter 4: She belongs to me
1488 Words
Lucian's POV:
I don't remember when I started hating everything.
Maybe I was born this way.
Mother tells me I'm special. Father tells me I'm gifted. The servants tell me I'm magnificent.
They're all liars.
"Your Highness, you're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," one noblewoman whispered at a banquet once, eyes glazed with desire.
"Prince Lucian's aim is supernatural," the weapons master declared. "A gift from the Moon Goddess herself."
"A born ruler," Father announced at council meetings. "My son will surpass even me."
I see through every word. Every praise. Every honeyed lie.
Mother wants status. Father wants an obedient heir. The servants want to stay alive. The noblewomen want power through my bed.
No one sees me. They see what I can give them.
It's exhausting.
The world is gray. Tasteless. A performance I'm forced to watch but never believe.
Women throw themselves at me. Beautiful wolves with perfect faces and empty eyes. They bat their lashes. Whisper sweet nothings. Press their bodies against mine like I'm supposed to care.
"Your hair is like spun gold," they coo.
"Your eyes are the color of amethyst dreams."
"You're perfect. Absolutely perfect."
I don't care.
They bore me within minutes. All the same. All predictable.
Even my talents feel hollow. Yes, I can shoot an arrow through a man's eye from impossible distances.
So what?
Mother's ambition suffocates me. Every conversation circles back to my future as Alpha. "You deserve it, my darling. You're better than Ethan. Stronger. Smarter. More beautiful. A natural leader."
She's wrong. Ethan's stronger. Everyone knows it. They just pretend otherwise because Mother demands it.
Father's a coward. He let Mother walk all over him. Let her poison his first wife. Let her steal everything that belonged to Ethan's mother.
And now he pretends it's love.
Pathetic.
I stopped feeling anything years ago. Stopped caring. Stopped trying.
Until I saw her.
The rogue trader brought six girls. All kidnapped. All terrified.
"Prime stock, my lord," he said, grinning with half his teeth missing. "Young. Healthy. Some even pure."
I barely glanced at them. Another transaction. Another disappointment waiting to happen.
Then I saw her.
Small. Delicate. Trembling in the corner with her hands bound.
But her eyes.
Blue. Clear. Fierce beneath the fear.
She looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw something I'd never seen before.
Defiance.
Not the fake kind women use to seem interesting. Real defiance. The kind that costs something.
"That one," I said, pointing.
The trader grinned. "Ah, excellent choice, my lord. She's a fighter. Bit me twice already."
My little bird.
I paid triple what she was worth. Didn't care. Couldn't look away.
I expected her to break immediately.
Most do. One look at my face, my status, my power—they crumble. Start begging or seducing. Whatever they think will save them.
She did neither.
The first night, I brought her to my chambers. Silk sheets. Candlelight. Everything perfect.
Those blue eyes met mine. No tears. No pleading.
Just cold, burning hatred.
I smiled.
'Finally. Something real.'
"You're beautiful," I told her.
"I'm engaged."
The words should have annoyed me. Instead, they made me laugh.
"Not anymore."
"My family will come for me."
"They won't."
"My fiancé—"
"Doesn't deserve you." I stepped closer. She flinched but didn't run. "Do you know what you are, Emma? Do you understand your value?"
"I'm a person," she spat. "Not property."
"Wrong." I reached for her face. She jerked back. The defiance flared hotter. "You're a diamond someone tried to give to a pig. Your fiancé—what's his name? Evan?—he's weak. Soft. He doesn't know what to do with a girl like you."
"And you do?"
"Yes."
I kissed her. She bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
I laughed against her mouth.
'Perfect. Absolutely perfect.'
That first night, I took her.
She fought. Scratched. Screamed. Called me every name she could think of.
I didn't stop.
When I finally pulled away, she was crying. Blood on the sheets. Her blood.
I should have felt something. Guilt. Remorse. Anything.
Instead, I felt triumph.
'I'm her first. Her first man. The first to touch her. The first to claim her. The only one who ever will.'
My heart hammered. Not from exertion. From pure, electric joy.
'She's mine now. Completely mine. That pathetic fiancé never touched her. Never had her. I'm the one who took her innocence. I'm the one she'll remember forever.'
The thought made me want to laugh. To shout. To mark her again and again until there's no doubt who she belongs to.
'First and last. I'll be her first and her last. No one else gets to have her.'
For the first time in years, I felt something other than gray nothingness.
I felt alive.
She curled into herself. Sobbed. Refused to look at me.
"You'll understand eventually," I told her, my voice rough with satisfaction. "This is love. Real love. Not the sanitized version that coward promised you."
She didn't answer.
I left her there. Went to bed satisfied. Victorious.
'She's mine now. Finally, something worth keeping. Something that's completely, utterly, permanently mine.'
The next few months were fascinating.
She stopped bathing. Stopped eating properly. Made herself as disgusting as possible.
It didn't work.
I found her filthy and still wanted her. Dragged her to the bath myself. Washed her hair while she trembled with rage.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered once.
"Because you're mine."
"I'll never be yours."
"You already are." I tilted her chin up. "I was your first. That means something. That means everything."
Her eyes filled with tears. Hatred. Despair.
Beautiful.
She mentioned her fiancé constantly. Evan this. Evan that.
It made me want to hunt him down and put an arrow through his skull.
'That weak little Alpha's son. That spineless coward. He doesn't deserve to speak her name. He never even touched her. Never claimed her. She was never his.'
"He'll come for me," she said once. Desperate. "He loves me."
"If he loved you, he would have already come." I forced her to meet my eyes. "Face it, little bird. No one's coming. You are not worth him provoking the most powerful pack——I only need to deploy one army to wipe out your entire tribe."
Her face crumpled.
Good. Let her see the truth. Let her understand that I'm the only one who truly wants her.
She didn't know. My poor, stupid little bird didn't know what I was planning.
In six months, I turn twenty-one. Father promised me the Alpha title. A formality—everyone knows I'm his chosen heir.
The moment I become Alpha, I'll make Emma my Luna.
Not a mistress. Not a captive. My equal. My partner. My mate.
I don’t care if she was the one chosen by the Moon Goddess or not.
The idea of fated mates is nonsense; only the person I choose is my fated mate.
I had it all planned. The ceremony. The announcement. I was going to give her everything. Everything. And she'd have no choice but to love me back. She'd see that no one else could give her what I can. That no one else deserves her.
She'd finally understand. Finally see that this wasn't cruelty. It was destiny.
'Why couldn't she see it? Why couldn't she understand that this is love? Real love. Not the pathetic gentleness that makes you weak. But the kind that owns you. Consumes you. The kind that never lets go.'
But no. She ran.
Ungrateful. Stupid. Blind.
'I gave her everything. My attention. My time. My desire. And this is how she repays me? By throwing herself off a cliff like I'm some monster?'
I'm not a monster. I'm the only one who sees her value. The only one who'll never let anyone hurt her.
The guards still haven't found her body.
Part of me is furious. How dare they fail me?
Part of me is relieved.
'She's not dead. She can't be dead.'
I'd know. I'd feel it. The universe couldn't take her from me. Not her. Not my little bird.
Someone saved her. Someone took her.
The thought makes my vision go red.
'Who? Who dared touch what's mine?'
"Let's go! To the Silver Moon Pack." I ordered my subordinates. I can’t wait to see if that little bird had flown back to its old nest.
If not, then I'll turn over every stone on this continent, I'll question every wolf. I'll burn down every pack that shelters you.
I'll find out. I'll hunt them down. I'll make them pay.
And when I find her—and I will find her—I'll make sure she never runs again.
She belongs to me.
She always has.
She always will.
And nothing—not distance, not time, not even death—will change that.
- Writer
