x
Chapter Four: Scent of the Pure
Noel gently laid the unconscious stranger on the small bed near the window, the only source of moonlight that bathed the room in a silvery glow. The pine scent still clung to Lucian's body, mingled with the metallic tang of blood. Noel had no idea who—or what—this stranger truly was. All he knew was that someone needed help, and he couldn't turn away.
He carefully cleaned the blood from Lucian's face using a clean handkerchief, his touch light but unwavering. Noel’s brows furrowed in concern as he wrapped the worst of Lucian’s wounds with whatever he could find—a few bandages, a strip of his own shirt. The stranger’s skin was cold as marble, but his chest rose and fell, faintly, like a whisper.
Noel sat down on the floor beside the bed, exhaustion claiming him after his long trip and the chaos he had returned to. Within minutes, his head dropped to the edge of the bed, and he fell asleep, his soft breathing filling the quiet space.
Lucian stirred not long after. His lashes fluttered, and his crimson eyes slowly opened to find himself in a room that smelled of herbs and wood. Then his gaze shifted—and froze. A mortal boy was sleeping beside him, face serene, lips slightly parted, twilight-dark strands of hair falling over closed eyes.
Never in his life—or half-life—had Lucian seen a human so close. So pure.
His breath hitched. Not because he was hungry, but because something about this boy pierced through centuries of blood and war. Noel’s kindness, his gentle care, his warmth—it clashed with everything Lucian had known.
Lucian reached out hesitantly, brushing a strand of hair from Noel’s cheek with a trembling finger. “Why would someone like you help someone like me?” he whispered.
The faint light of dawn was beginning to bloom beyond the mountains. Lucian could feel it creeping closer, its heat a silent threat. He stood, his legs still shaky, and picked up the handkerchief Noel had used on him. He pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply. It smelled of rosemary soap, clean linens, and something uniquely Noel—something Lucian didn’t yet have the words for.
“I’ll return this to you,” he murmured, slipping it into his coat.
Lucian left through the shadows, darting between the trees, heading back to the old abandoned mansion the vampires had claimed as their haven.
But the night wasn’t done with him.
A figure stepped out from the misty path. Long, raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders like ink, and her red eyes glowed with hunger. Seraphine. The lover of Valerius. The most dangerous of them all.
“You reek of failure,” she said, her voice silken and poisonous.
Lucian didn’t have time to defend himself. She was already in front of him, lifting him by the throat as if he weighed nothing.
“Coward,” she hissed. “You led them into a slaughter.”
As she snarled, something soft and white drifted from Lucian’s coat pocket. The handkerchief.
It landed on her face.
Seraphine paused.
She inhaled.
Then again—sharper this time.
Her pupils dilated. Her fangs slid out slowly.
“What is this?” she whispered, almost to herself. Her body trembled. “Where did you get this scent?”
Lucian gasped, still in her grip. “Leave him alone.”
Seraphine dropped him, dazed, her eyes locked onto the handkerchief. She brought it closer, pressing it to her face like a sacred relic.
“This... this is what we’ve been looking for,” she murmured. “The pure one. The boy.”
She turned on her heel, handkerchief clenched in her fist. “I must tell Valerius.”
Lucian clutched his throat and watched her vanish into the night like a shadow. His heart pounded—not from fear for himself, but for the boy who had shown him kindness.17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡajx8Cr0HAH
ns18.226.166.121da2
