Liam POV
Let me tell you something about being immortal, it gets boring.
You think eternity is all blood, orgies, and vampire poetry slams? No. It's existential dread, a lot of sighing, and apparently, dodging divine bombs being yeeted through magical mirrors like some celestial Amazon Prime delivery gone wrong.
The crash? Felt like the universe chewed on my existence, gagged, and then hurled this poor goddess through my throne room like she owed it child support.
One second, I was sipping blood laced bourbon and trying to explain to Milo why we don't glamor the entire Eurovision audience for "vibes."
Next second?
BOOM.
Mirror gone. Glass everywhere. Absolute fucking chaos.
Vampires screaming.
And there she was.
Flat on the floor. Bloody. Broken. Beautiful. And unconscious. Like a sacrificial offering wrapped in moonlight and bad decisions.
I blinked.
Then screamed:
"WHAT IN BLOODY SATAN'S LEFT NIPPLE?!"
Because obviously.
The scent hit us all at once, blood, magic, raw goddess. My court went feral. One of the fledglings growled and actually sniffed in her direction. Sniffed.
So I blurred across the floor, grabbed him by the throat, and smashed him down before he could get within licking distance.
"She's mine." My voice dropped low. Dangerous. Unquestionable.
The little idiot sputtered, "Sire… she smells divine."
"And now she smells like my disappointment. Touch her again and I will staple your dick to the wall with a rusted dinner fork."
He got the message.
I turned back to her. Knees cracked against the marble as I knelt beside her twisted body. Her soul...gods...it felt like the sun had finally risen after a thousand years of blackout.
A mate bond. What the fuck? A mate bond for me!? I shook my head back and forth. No fucking way.
I haven't felt anything in centuries. I thought my soul got repossessed in 1743.
But here she was. Moaning, bleeding, steaming. Unconscious in my living room like a celestial drunk girl who'd just rage fallen through a window.
So naturally, I scooped her up like the ancient romantic I am.
"You are far too pretty to die on my floor, love," I muttered, cradling her against my chest.
Back in my chambers, the court hovered like vultures.
Selene stood like a frozen blade at my side...my second in command, ex lover, and current mood killer.
Darius was cleaning blood off his glasses while silently calculating how many laws this violated.
Iskra giggled while twirling a dagger. Chaos gremlin.
Thorne loomed in the corner, shirtless, twitching. That's normal for him.
And Milo? Popped a blood popsicle and whispered, "She's hot. Can I keep her if she dies?"
I glared. "Out. All of you."
"But!" Selene started.
"She's mine," I snapped. Again. The room emptied like I'd dropped garlic bombs.
I spent the next three days beside her. My ancient vampire blood was enough to start the healing process, rare, potent, full of bad decisions and forbidden magic. I whispered snarky insults at her unconscious body and panicked every time she twitched.
"You drool when you sleep," I told her at one point. "Not judging. I snore like an angry chainsaw. We'll balance."
She didn't laugh. Rude.
But on the third night, I dreamed.
A woman of light...wrapped in moonfire and stars...stood in front of me. Nythera. I recognized her immediately. Hard to forget the divine bitch who broke reality.
"Protect her," she whispered. "The gods will test her. She is everything."
Then I jolted awake with the overwhelming urge to punch destiny in the dick.
Because I knew three things so far.
1. The world was about to burn.
2. This woman..this blood soaked, prophecy wrapped disaster..was going to light the match.
3. And I was going to rip the realms apart to keep her breathing.
I sat up. Leaned over her. Brushed a strand of crusted blood and hair from her cheek.
"Come on, goddess," I whispered. "Wake up. I'm not funny when I'm alone."
She didn't stir. But her lips curved.
Just barely.
And I grinned like a lunatic who'd just found the edge of fate and licked it.
"Oh, you're gonna be trouble," I whispered. "Good. I'm already in love with the chaos."