Not interested

The atmosphere in the dimly lit warehouse was heavy and laced with tension, the faint smell of blood mingling with the acrid scent of burnt tobacco.

Lucian Draven stood tall, his figure domineering, and his jaw working from being clenched too hard. The faint flicker of the bulb threw jagged shadows across the room, highlighting the grim scene before him.

A man knelt on the cold concrete floor, his ankles bound, lips split and nose bleeding. His wrists were bound together tightly by a rope, his right palm was stuck to the wooden chair with a dagger which pierced through his flesh.

His head hung low, his shallow breaths the only sound breaking the chilling silence.

Lucian's steely gaze never wavered, his expression as cold and unreadable as the blade glinting in his gloved hand.

"You made a mistake, Ferris," Lucian said, his voice a low rumble that carried a chilling calm. "A mistake that cost me four shipments and two good men."

Ferris lifted his head weakly, blood dripping from his split lip. "I—"

"Don't," Lucian interrupted, his tone sharp enough to cut. He crouched to meet Ferris's wavering gaze, his blue-gray eyes piercing like ice. "The time for excuses is over. I want names. Who were you working with?"

"I didn't—"

Lucian didn't let him speak further. He cut off the man's speech by driving the second blade into his left palm, eliciting a scream from the man, which echoed around the warehouse.

"You betrayed the Draven Syndicate," Lucian said softly, his calm even more menacing than his rage. "You betrayed me. So, I'll ask you just one more time… Who else do I need to visit tonight?"

Ferris hesitated for a second, sweat dripping down his face. He swore an oath, one that would implicate him should he break it. But knowing Lucian, only a miracle would make him leave that warehouse alive if he didn't give the right answers. And he knew no miracle was coming for him.

Deciding to expose all he knew and all that were involved, he opened his mouth. But before he could get the word out, Lucian's body tensed.

A sharp pain shot through his chest, spreading like wildfire. His vision blurred for a split second, making the room tilt unnaturally. He straightened, clenching his jaw to stifle a groan as the pain tore through him.

Not now.

Lucian rose to his full height, hiding the tremor in his hands by slipping the pair into his coat. His men stood behind him, silent and watchful, their loyalty unwavering. He couldn't afford to show weakness—not here, not now, not ever.

Ferris's eyes flicked up, catching the briefest hint of strain on Lucian's face. "So it's true... You're… sick," he muttered, his voice weak but tinged with realization.

Lucian's gaze turned lethal. "Yes. Sick of traitors like you," he said coldly, stepping back. "Silas, make sure he reaches hell in eight pieces."

One of his lieutenants—the one called Silas—a hulking man with a scar running down his jaw, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. Lucian turned away, the sound of Ferris's pleading fading as he strode toward the exit.

The crisp night air hit him like a balm, though it did little to ease the fire coursing through his veins. The curse—the damn curse—was getting worse. He leaned against the sleek black car parked outside, his breaths coming out in shallow bursts.

"Sir?"

Lucian looked up to find his right-hand man, Adrian, watching him with thinly veiled concern. "What?"

"Are you—"

"I'm fine," Lucian cut him off. His voice left no room for argument.

Adrian nodded, though his eyes lingered for a moment longer. "There's someone waiting for you at the estate. Said it's urgent."

Lucian frowned. "Who?"

"A representative from the Council of Vitae."

That name alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through Lucian. The Council rarely involved itself in the affairs of individual syndicates unless it served their own agenda. If they were reaching out to him directly, it wasn't good news.

Lucian didn't reply. He simply slid into the car and Adrian followed without being told.

***

The Draven estate was a fortress of cold elegance, perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the city. Its towering gates opened without a sound as Lucian's car approached.

Inside, the atmosphere was just as oppressive as the night's earlier interrogation. Lucian entered the grand hall, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors.

The Council's representative waited in the drawing room, a man in his late fifties with silver hair slicked back and a face carved with sharp lines of authority.

He rose as Lucian entered, extending a hand which Lucian pointedly ignored.

"Mr. Draven," the man began, his voice smooth. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Get to the point," Lucian said, crossing his arms.

The man's smile didn't falter, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "As direct as they say. Very well then. The Council has identified your genetic match."

Lucian lifted a brow, evidently shocked at the announcement. However, the representative continued, feeling the need to explain after the raised brow shot at him.

"You've been matched to Serena Alaric. You have to come to the research facility tonight for the initial testing and procedure."

The name sent a faint ripple of recognition through Lucian's mind. Although he had never met any one of them, he had heard whispers of the Alaric family—a line once powerful, now disgraced. They had fallen from the Council's favor after their father's betrayal years ago.

"I'm not interested," Lucian said flatly, turning toward the door.

"Mr. Draven, I'm sorry, but you have to comply."

The weight in the man's tone stopped Lucian in his tracks. He turned back, his eyes narrowing.

"Why?" Lucian probed. "I never asked to be matched. That is a step I am not yet ready to take. The Council has to learn to ask people first before helping them make major life decisions."

"I suggest you reconsider your stance, Mr Draven. This is important."

"Why should i?"

The representative's expression turned grave. "Your condition is deteriorating. The Council's scientists have confirmed it. Without intervention, you won't survive another year."