Page 14

The aromas hit me first—rich, complex, mouthwatering scents that made my former foodie heart weep. The staff unveiled dish after dish of what looked like a Michelin-star feast: pan-seared duck with cherry reduction, herb-crusted lamb, truffle risotto.

Back in my old life, I’d dream about meals like this while eating my third cup noodle of the day. Now here I was, surrounded by food that belonged in my favorite cooking shows, and all I could do was stare longingly while sipping blood from a crystal glass.

“The chef outdid himself tonight,” Aunt Senna commented, serving Sylvie some of the risotto. “Though Luca, darling, Benedict prepared your favorite type—AB negative, correct?”

I nodded, trying not to watch as Archer cut into his perfectly cooked duck. The way the juice ran pink… No. Focus on the blood. The very expensive, perfectly temperature-controlled blood.

“How was academy today?” Uncle Owen asked the twins, his deep voice carrying genuine interest.

“We’re learning about ancient bloodlines in History,” Hunter said between bites of lamb. “And Combat Training was interesting?—”

“He means he got his tail handed to him by Madison Blake.” Sylvie giggled.

“She cheated! That snow leopard shift was totally against regulation?—”

“Now, now,” Ryker interrupted, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. I caught him glancing at me again, his gaze thoughtful. “The Blake heir is known for her… creative interpretation of rules.”

“Creative?” Archer snorted. “Remember when she creatively interpreted the no-magic rule during last year’s winter games? Half the ice rink ended up vertical.”

Their easy banter flowed around me like a warm current.

I sipped my blood, trying to focus on the conversation instead of how the candlelight caught the strong line of Zane’s jaw or the way Archer’s laugh made his throat move so temptingly or how Ryker’s fingers wrapped around his wineglass with such elegant strength…

“Speaking of ancient bloodlines.” Great Uncle Johnathan’s voice cut through my inappropriate musings. “The council had quite the interesting discussion today about the fated ones.”

“Really, Uncle?” Archer groaned dramatically. “Shop talk at dinner?”

“We’re family first, dear boy,” Great Uncle Johnathan said primly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “And we must be prepared. Silver Crown is already making moves?—”

“When aren’t they?” Ryker muttered.

“—and don’t get me started on Dark Haven,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued. “Their methods of acquiring what they want are… questionable at best.”

“You mean they steal anything not nailed down?” Archer’s grin turned wicked. “Or anyone?”

My ears perked up despite myself. Fated ones? Like in those novels I’d guiltily devoured back in my old life? The ones with destined mates and soul-deep connections and… I forced myself to look away from where Zane’s hand rested on the table.

“After what happened at the council today,” Great Uncle Johnathan said, his tone serious despite Archer’s levity. “With the tomb awakening, we need to be vigilant for the signs?—”

“Right, the maybe-glowing, possibly floating signs?” Archer interrupted with a grin, glancing meaningfully at me.

“The ancient texts mention several indicators,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued, giving Archer a stern look. “The pull of compatible blood being one of the most significant?—”

I choked on my drink.

“Luca?” Zane’s concerned voice only made it worse. “Are you alright?”

I nodded quickly, trying not to think about how his blood had called to me. That was just normal vampire stuff, right? Nothing to do with fate or destiny or the way his scent made my head spin…

“Perhaps we should save the council discussions for another time,” Aunt Senna suggested diplomatically. “Luca, dear, would you like more blood? You’ve barely touched your glass.”

Because I was too busy trying not to touch your nephews, I thought hysterically.

“I’m fine,” I managed, though Ryker’s knowing look suggested I wasn’t fooling anyone. “Please, tell me more about these… fated ones?”

“Well…” Great Uncle Johnathan settled back in his chair, clearly pleased to have an interested audience. “The ancient texts speak of bonds so powerful they can transcend worlds?—”

“Here we go,” Archer stage-whispered to Ryker. “Next comes the part about magical soul connections.”

“Which you’d know more about if you attended council meetings regularly,” Great Uncle Johnathan said pointedly.

“Hey, I was there today!” Archer protested. “I even took notes. Well, drawings. Mostly of Lord Thanatos’s dramatic wing poses, but still?—”

“The point is,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued with dignified patience, “these bonds are becoming more crucial as the barriers between worlds grow thinner. The other cities are already positioning themselves.”

I leaned forward slightly, fascinated despite myself. The old Luca’s memories were hazy about council matters—he’d never shown much interest in politics. But this… this sounded like something straight out of my favorite novels.

“Dark Haven’s hunters grow bolder,” Uncle Owen added, his security chief persona showing through. “Three incursions this month alone.”

“And Silver Crown reopened their breeding programs,” Aunt Senna’s usual warmth cooled notably.

“Storm Gate’s black market is thriving again too,” Ryker added grimly. “Their trafficking rings are getting more sophisticated.”

“Breeding programs? Trafficking?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Seven pairs of eyes turned to me in varying degrees of surprise—I wasn’t known for participating in such discussions.

“Each city has its… methods,” Great Uncle Johnathan’s aristocratic features hardened. “Dark Haven destroys what it fears, Silver Crown tries to control through forced breeding, and Storm Gate sells to the highest bidder. All barbaric practices that end in tragedy.”

“Because you can’t force fate,” Ryker said quietly, his warm spice and bergamot scent wrapping around me like a caress. “The texts are clear about that.”

I caught him watching me again, his expression unreadable. My fangs tingled in response, and I quickly took another sip of blood.

“Which is why New Vale must remain vigilant,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued. “We’re the only city that protects potential fated ones instead of exploiting them. They could be anyone—any social class, any species, any location. When they appear?—”

“If they appear,” Archer corrected.

“ When ,” Great Uncle Johnathan insisted. “The signs are already showing. You saw the ancient tomb beneath the council chamber awakened.”

I nearly dropped my glass. The way he said it—like it was perfectly normal to have ancient magical tombs just casually mentioned over dinner.

“The tomb hasn’t stirred in millennia,” Zane’s deep voice rumbled beside me, making my skin prickle with awareness. “Not since New Vale’s founding.”

“Precisely.” Great Uncle Johnathan looked pleased. “And now, just as the texts predicted, we see the first signs. The thinning of barriers. The stirring of ancient magics. The call of compatible blood?—”

This time I definitely choked on my drink. Zane’s hand moved as if to steady me, then withdrew. The phantom warmth of his almost-touch lingered on my arm.

“Perhaps we should discuss lighter topics,” Aunt Senna suggested, her motherly instincts clearly sensing my distress. “Sylvie, darling, tell us more about this idol debut?”

But my mind was spinning. Compatible blood. The pull I felt toward the brothers. The way I’d woken up in this world after wishing so desperately to belong somewhere…

No. That was ridiculous. I was just a regular new graduate with a marketing degree who’d somehow ended up in a vampire’s body. This wasn’t one of my novels. There was no way I could be…

“More blood, Prince Luca?” Benedict appeared at my elbow with perfect timing.

Yes. Blood. Focus on blood. Not on how Zane’s pulse beckoned like a siren song or how Archer’s smile made my chest ache or how Ryker looked at me.

I was in enough trouble already without adding ancient prophecies and fated bonds to the mix.

“Of course,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued, clearly not done with his favorite topic, “the potential power of such unions… imagine the offspring of a fated pair, especially with the Whitlock alpha bloodline?—”

Archer choked violently on his wine. “Uncle! We’re eating!”

“You young ones need constant reminding,” Great Uncle Johnathan huffed, undeterred. “Especially you three. The Whitlock bloodline must secure a fated mate before the other clans. The Cheng Clan is already?—”

“Archer’s right,” Ryker cut in smoothly, though his eyes danced with amusement. “We’re a bit young to be thinking about offspring.”

“Speak for yourself,” Great Uncle Johnathan sniffed. “Zane is at the perfect age, prime for an alpha to start a family.”

“Here we go again,” Sylvie whispered to me with a knowing grin.

“The women practically throw themselves at him,” Archer recovered enough to tease. “Remember that gala last month? What was it, fifteen mating proposals?”

“Seventeen,” Aunt Senna corrected with a small smile. “I kept count.”

“Eighteen,” Ryker added. “You missed Lady Victoria’s niece hiding in his car.”

I took another sip of blood, trying very hard not to think about why that information made my fangs ache with something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Of course women would pursue Zane. He was powerful, handsome, wealthy… Not that I cared. At all.

“None of that matters,” Great Uncle Johnathan said firmly. “The Whitlock heir must bond with his fated mate. Even if”—he fixed Zane with a stern look—”you have to wait until you’re gray.”

“That could be millennia.” Archer burst out laughing. “With his power level? He’ll probably still look thirty when he’s three thousand. Can you imagine? Grumpy old man Zane, still waiting for his fated one, looking like a supermodel while chasing kids off his lawn?—”

“While you’re still drawing council meeting cartoons?” Ryker suggested.

Luca Valentine’s memories filtered through my mind: the way supernatural aging worked in this world, slowing down based on power levels.

It explained why Great Uncle Johnathan, despite being over a thousand years old, merely looked distinguished rather than ancient.

Why Zane, at three hundred, could potentially maintain his prime for centuries to come.

Why some hundred-year-old pack members looked older than their two-hundred-year-old alpha.

“My artistic talents are underappreciated,” Archer sniffed, then turned to me with a wink. “Don’t worry, little brother, I’ll save all my best drawings for you.”

I smiled back automatically, though something in my chest twisted at the word brother .

The way he said it was so casual, so natural.

Because that’s what I was supposed to be.

Their brother. Not someone who was fascinated by the strong line of Archer’s throat when he laughed or the way Ryker’s fingers traced the rim of his wineglass or how Zane’s scent made my head spin…

No. Definitely not adding fated bonds to my growing list of complications. I had enough to deal with just trying to survive dinner without accidentally revealing I wasn’t really their Luca.

Though I couldn’t help but wonder… what would it be like to be someone’s fated mate? To have that soul-deep connection I’d read about in so many novels?

Not that I’d ever find out. After all, I was just borrowing this body, this life. Wasn’t I?