Lysandra needed to breathe—to forget him, even just for a while.
The city buzzed beneath the summer sun, and for once, she let herself enjoy it. With her girlfriends, she wandered through boutiques, laughed at silly accessories, and sipped chilled cocktails at a rooftop bar. The warmth in her chest had nothing to do with the alcohol—it was freedom. Or something like it.
She smiled. She almost forgot.
But the moment she opened the door to her apartment, the air turned heavy.
He was there.
Sitting calmly on her couch like he owned every inch of her world.
Caveen.
Her heart dropped.
She froze, stunned, unable to process how he got in, how she hadn't sensed him. Maybe the drinks dulled her aura. Maybe… part of her didn't want to sense him.
"Caveen…" she breathed, her voice a fragile thread.
He stood with slow, deliberate movements, eyes fixed on her like a predator who'd finally cornered his prey.
She turned to flee, but in an instant, he was there—his hand slammed the door shut behind her, his body pressing close. His scent wrapped around her like dark smoke, intoxicating and far too familiar.
"You can run," he murmured, voice deep and laced with hunger, "but you can't hide from me, Lysandra."
Before she could reply, his lips were on hers.
It was fierce. Desperate.
Her hands pushed against his chest, but he didn't stop—not yet. And with each passing second, the fight inside her crumbled.
Because the truth was, she missed him.
His touch, his fire, the pain and the pleasure he carved into her soul.
Her knees weakened, and her hands gripped his shoulders. Caveen felt it—the moment her resistance turned to yearning. He pulled back slightly, his breath brushing her skin.
"I like your new apartment," he whispered. "Your scent is the only one that lingers."
The words shattered the fragile peace in her chest.
Slap!
Her palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing sound. His head tilted to the side, stunned by the force—not just of her hand, but of her fury.
"Don't come here again," she snapped. "You're engaged, Caveen. You don't get to kiss me like that."
She turned away, pushing at his chest, trying to create distance—but it only stoked the flames in him.
In the next breath, he caught her again.
This time, his kiss was raw. Untamed. A storm crashing through everything.
Her hands beat at his chest once more, but his grip held her like chains—warm, unrelenting chains she once craved. She trembled as he unzipped her dress, the fabric sliding against her skin.
"Stop…" she whispered, but her voice wavered.
He paused for a second—just one—but the war inside him was already lost.
Caveen was no longer the composed heir of a bloodline. He was a man drowning in the chaos of wanting.
And she—she was the storm he couldn't survive.
Lysandra's struggle faded, her hands moved from protest to need. She clung to him, her body betraying the ache she carried for so long.
Their passion ignited like dry leaves kissed by fire.
Clothes fell. Words disappeared. The only sounds were breathless moans and the whisper of skin meeting skin.
They ended tangled in her sheets, the night devouring their hesitation. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't perfect. But it was real—achingly real.
By the time dawn touched the horizon, Caveen was gone.
Lysandra stirred in her sleep, the sunlight gently caressing her bare shoulder. She reached for him instinctively—but found nothing.
On the dresser, a single note in his scrawled handwriting read:
"You will only be mine."
Her fingers trembled as she held the note.
And though her lips remembered his kiss, her heart remembered the pain.
Lysandra stood beneath the cold stream of her morning shower, her eyes shut tight, but sleep still clung to her limbs like cobwebs.
Her body ached—not just from last night, but from everything he had left behind.
Her heart.
Her pride.
And the echo of his final words.
"You will only be mine."
Her fingers curled into trembling fists beneath the water. No matter how many times she scrubbed her skin, she could still feel him.
The weight of his hands on her hips.
The sound of his breathing in her ear.
The way his kiss set her soul on fire and then left her in the ashes.
"Damn you, Caveen," she whispered, choking back the lump in her throat. "Why now? Why again?"
Dressed in a white sweater and soft linen pants, Lysandra curled on her couch with a blanket and a cup of tea she barely touched. The apartment was silent, but her mind screamed. She had been doing so well—had put distance between them, taken a break from work, tried to breathe.
And yet… in one night, he undid it all.
She could still feel the mark on her back throbbing—his claim, sealed in the heat of passion. It wasn't just physical. It was deeper. A soul-binding—a possessive, ancient mark only royal vampires could place. One that connected their auras. One that whispered mine even when miles apart.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Kylan.
Her heart stilled.
She didn't answer.
What would she say?
That she let Caveen in again? That she was weak? That no matter how much she tried to run, her heart always found its way back to him?
Tears slid down her cheeks—silent and bitter.
"I hate you," she whispered to the empty room. "And I still love you."
---
Meanwhile…
Caveen stood alone in the highest chamber of the Vile Tower, overlooking the darkened horizon as the sun threatened to rise.
His collar was still wrinkled. A bruise marked his jaw from her slap.
He touched it and smirked. It still burned.
But not as much as the chaos inside him.
He should've stayed away. He promised himself he would.
Madeline was already preparing for their wedding ceremony. The invitations had been sent.
And yet, all he could think of… was Lysandra.
Her scent. Her surrender. Her fury.
The way she clung to him when the world faded and nothing else existed.
"She's not yours anymore," he told himself.
But his voice trembled.
He clenched his jaw and turned toward the shadows, as if trying to outrun a ghost.
He had marked her. Again.
And this time… there was no turning back.
The vampire mark wasn't easily broken—not without consequences. And the longer it lingered, the deeper it sank.
He could still feel her aura pulsing through him—like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
Caveen exhaled sharply and whispered to the dark:
"I will marry Madeline."