The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears as I closed the door to my room that night.
Lucien's eyes haunted me—their unnatural sharpness, the quiet intensity. There was something ancient about him now. Something untamed. It wasn't just the fact that he'd filled out into a man since I'd last seen him. No. It was deeper than that. He carried a silence that vibrated with purpose, like he was always on the edge of shifting into something else. Something more.
I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to calm the sudden flutter beneath my skin.
I'd shaken his hand for what, maybe five seconds? And yet it felt like I'd touched a live wire. The kind of jolt that travels up your arm and burns a mark inside you. I'd tried to tell myself it was nerves, maybe a flicker of nostalgia. But that wasn't it.
I couldn't sleep.
Not even the steady patter of the rain tapping at the window could lull me tonight.
So I did what I always did when I couldn't quiet my mind: I wrote.
⸻
12:23 a.m. - Journal Entry
It's him. Lucien Thorne.
Same cold eyes, same sharp jaw, same quiet intensity. But different too. Taller. Stronger. Like the years made him even more… feral.
I swear I felt something when we touched. Not just attraction—though that was definitely there. No, this was something deeper. Primal. Like my bones remembered him before my mind did.
And then, there's the way he looked at me.
Like he knew something I didn't.
⸻
I closed my journal and stared at the ceiling. That look… it hadn't been longing. It had been pain. Like being near me hurt him. I felt it deep in my gut.
But why?
When I woke up the next morning, the sun was already stretching long shadows across the wooden floorboards. I stumbled into the kitchen in leggings and an oversized hoodie, drawn by the scent of fresh coffee and something sweet.
Grant was at the counter flipping pancakes. He looked up with a grin.
"Morning, sleepyhead. Thought you might hibernate through your sabbatical."
I mumbled a half-laugh and reached for a mug. "You bake. You make pancakes. Are you sure you're my brother and not some domestic changeling?"
He winked. "Lucien dropped off those pastries you love from Rosa's Bakery this morning."
My hand froze mid-pour. "He did?"
"Mmhmm," Grant said, not looking up from the pan. "He was out early—said he had business in the city but wanted to welcome you home properly."
That pull deep in my chest tightened again.
"I… should probably thank him," I muttered.
"You should," Grant said. "He might be cold to most people, but for you? He always softened. You never noticed, did you?"
"Not really." I tried to keep my voice neutral, but Grant had always been perceptive.
He flipped a pancake and smirked. "Well, you were the only person he ever let win at chess."
That made me pause. "He let me win?"
Grant raised an eyebrow. "You thought you beat him? Lucien Thorne? He's a literal genius, Aria."
That jolt in my chest again.
I turned away and sipped my coffee, watching sunlight spill across the kitchen tiles. I needed air. Perspective.
⸻
I spent the afternoon wandering through the forest paths behind our house. The trees here whispered memories—of summer days chasing dragonflies, of reading fantasy novels in the crook of an old oak, of hearing howls in the distance and pretending they were nothing but coyotes.
The wind picked up as I reached the clearing. The grass here was a little taller, the air a little heavier.
And then, I felt it again.
The pull.
Like something unseen had turned its gaze directly on me.
I spun around.
Empty woods.
But the feeling didn't leave. If anything, it grew stronger. My skin prickled, as though watched from all sides. The air hummed, not with fear… but awareness.
I pressed my hand against my chest.
Something is happening to me.
⸻
Later that evening, Grant invited me out for dinner with some of his friends. I almost declined—still rattled by whatever that moment in the woods had been—but I knew I'd regret hiding away. So I agreed.
When we arrived at the restaurant, Lucien was already seated.
God.
He looked like sin in a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar unbuttoned just enough to reveal the hint of a tattoo curling along his collarbone. His dark hair was pushed back, and his expression unreadable as he watched me walk in.
My pulse kicked up.
I sat across from him, trying not to feel the heat in my face. But it was impossible not to notice the way his gaze lingered—slow, deliberate, and hungry in a way that made my skin flush.
"Aria," he said, voice velvet and shadow.
"Lucien," I replied, quieter than I intended.
He inclined his head. "How was your walk today?"
I blinked. "How'd you know I went walking?"
His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. "Lucky guess."
I frowned.
No one else had known.
But before I could press him, Grant called the server over and conversation shifted.
Dinner was loud, full of laughter and stories from childhood I half-remembered. But I couldn't focus. Not with Lucien so close. Not with the way he barely spoke, but every time I glanced at him, his eyes were already on me.
Watching.
Burning.
Claiming.
After dinner, as we exited the restaurant into the cool night, I felt a presence beside me. Lucien.
"Walk with me," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I hesitated, then nodded.
We walked in silence for a while, the moon casting silver across the cobbled streets. When we reached the small bridge over Hollow Creek, he stopped and leaned on the railing, looking out.
"Why didn't you ever come back?" he asked softly.
I swallowed. "I guess I didn't know how to. Portwood felt… distant. Like it belonged to a version of me I'd outgrown."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I missed you."
That pulled me up short.
I turned to him. "You did?"
He nodded once. "More than I should have."
The words fell heavy between us. I couldn't look away from him.
"What changed?" I asked.
He turned to face me fully. "You did."
A chill swept through me, but not from the cold.
His gaze held mine, something primal flickering in its depths.
"I shouldn't be near you," he said finally, stepping back. "But I can't stay away."
And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows like he was made of them.
I stood there under the moon, my heart pounding in my chest, wondering what it was I had just stepped into.
Whatever this was, it wasn't ordinary.
It felt fated.
And it was only beginning.