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He moved.

At first, it was subtle—a twitch in his fingers, a slow tightening of his jaw. But then his body convulsed, a violent spasm that arched his back off the bed.

The candle beside him flickered—then snuffed out, plunging the room into shadows.

I stumbled back.

“Lu…Lucien?” My voice barely held weight.

His head snapped toward me. His eyes—still shut.

The air felt different.

Colder.

Heavier.

A metallic taste clanged at the back of my throat.

Then, before I could blink—he was off the bed.

A hand shot out—iron fingers clamping around my wrist, yanking me forward. A startled gasp tore from my throat as I slammed against his chest.

His skin was freezing, not an atom of warmth left.

“Lucien!” I struggled, twisting against his grip. Fighting back fear. “Snap out of it! You’re hurting me!”

A sound tore from his throat—not a snarl, not a growl, but something deeper, something raw and broken like a creature being ripped from the inside out.

Then, his eyes opened.

And they were wrong.

The eyes I knew were gone.

In their place, crimson bled outward, slow and sickening as if blood itself was spilling into them. Not just in his irises—but the whites of his eyes, devouring every inch in merciless waves.

A ragged, guttural sound vibrated through his chest and his fangs tore free, longer and sharper than I've ever seen them.

Panic rose in my throat.

This wasn’t him.

He shoved me away. Hard.

I hit the floor, breath stolen from my lungs at the impact.

Lucien staggered back, clutching his head, fingers digging into his skull, his body convulsing. His nails, now claws ripped through his sleeves, splintering the bedpost as he braced himself against it.

I watched, frozen, as his body betrayed him.

“Lucien?” My voice was barely a whisper.

He froze.

For a moment, there was only silence—the kind that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Then his head jerked up, his bloodstained gaze locking onto mine.

Terror clawed up my throat.

"Run, Phaedra," he ground out between clenched teeth. His entire body shook with the effort to hold himself still.

Then, even lower—darker—

"Run."

I should have moved. I should have.
But for one agonizing second, I didn’t.

Because despite the horror in his voice, despite the way his body twisted as if something inside was trying to rip free—I still wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt me.

Then his body convulsed again, his claws splintering the wood beneath his grip.

And I knew—if I stayed, I wouldn’t get to save him.

He’d once told me—If I ever lose control, don’t wait for me to come back. Run. Promise me, Phaedra, that you will.

So, I ran.

AUTHOR'S NOTE🌺

Thank you so much for tuning in.

I hope you're enjoying the story so far. See you in the next chapter💗.