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The underground training facility welcomed them with its cathedral-like space, the reinforced walls lined with ancient runes providing blessed relief from the intensity of Luca’s scent.

Not complete escape—nothing could fully block out that sweet, maddening perfume—but enough to let them think almost clearly.

Almost.

Better? Ryker asked, already stripping off his shirt as lightning danced across his skin.

Define better, Archer growled, his wolf form pacing the titanium-reinforced chamber. Because I can still smell him. Still feel him. Still want to ? —

Shut up and hit something, Zane ordered, frost already coating the training dummies nearest to him. His wolf was too close to the surface, making his voice more growl than speech.

They didn’t need more encouragement. The first dummy exploded under Ryker’s lightning-enhanced kick. Archer’s wolf tore through three more in rapid succession, synthetic stuffing flying everywhere. Zane’s frost shattered two others, leaving them in glittering shards across the floor.

You know what’s worse than smelling him from here? Archer’s mental voice was strained even as his wolf ripped through another dummy. Knowing exactly what he tastes like. Remembering how he felt in my lap, how he gasped when I ? —

A blast of arctic cold cut him off as Zane hurled a frozen dummy at his head.

What part of ‘shut up and hit something’ was unclear? But Zane’s own control was slipping.

The part where we pretend this is helping, Ryker said, his lightning reducing another dummy to ash. Because I can still feel him through the bond. Still taste his blood. Still hear those little sounds he made when ? —

This time both Zane and Archer attacked him, three apex predators channeling their frustrated need into violence.

What followed was hours of destruction—training dummies shattering under their combined assault as Zane’s frost turned them brittle, Ryker’s lightning scorched them to ash, and Archer’s wolf form ripped through whatever remained.

When they ran out of dummies, they turned on each other, their sparring matches growing increasingly violent as they fought to exhaust this maddening energy.

At least the runes are holding, Archer commented as he dodged Zane’s ice blast. Imagine explaining to the council why we destroyed another training facility.

Focus, Zane growled, though his wolf was grateful for the distraction of combat. Or I’ll give you something else to worry about.

Kinky, Archer shot back. Even down here, Luca’s scent lingered—fainter but still maddening.

By seven a.m., they were exhausted but nowhere near calm. Sweat-soaked and breathing hard, they sprawled on the training mats, their wolves temporarily sated by physical exertion.

We can’t go back up there, Ryker said what they were all thinking. Not with his scent like that.

Cowards, Archer muttered, but he made no move to leave either.

Zane reached for the training room’s intercom panel, pressing the button for the staff floor. “Harrison?”

“Yes, sir?” The butler’s voice came through.

“We need clothes brought down to the training facility. Casual is fine. And have breakfast sent to my executive office.”

There was a slight pause. “Of course, sir. I’ll bring down some casual wear immediately. And shall I have the kitchen prepare the usual blood-infused pastries with breakfast?”

“Yes. Thank you, Harrison.”

An hour later, freshly showered in the training facility’s locker room and dressed in the designer casual wear Harrison had delivered—dark jeans and Henley shirts—they sat in Zane’s executive office.

The breakfast spread looked impressive—blood-infused coffee, rare steaks, pastries—but none of them had much appetite.

“So this is our life now?” Archer sprawled in one of the leather chairs, tugging at his black Henley. “Hiding in the office because we can’t handle our brother’s scent?” He laughed, but it held no humor. “Real alpha of us. Very impressive.”

“You have a better suggestion?” Ryker’s lightning still sparked occasionally, betraying his agitation. “Because I’m open to ideas that don’t end with us?—”

“Don’t.” Zane’s voice held a warning edge. “We need to figure this out. Something’s happening to him. Something beyond normal vampire maturation.”

“You think?” Archer’s sarcasm couldn’t quite hide his concern. “Because normal vampire princes don’t usually smell like… like…”

“Like everything we’ve ever wanted?” Ryker supplied grimly. “Like the world’s most potent aphrodisiac mixed with pure need?”

“Like ours,” Zane said quietly, and the truth of it hung heavy in the air between them.

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Harrison quietly directing the staff to leave more coffee. None of them touched the food, too preoccupied with the implications of what was happening upstairs.

“Great Uncle Johnathan,” Archer finally said. “He’ll know what’s happening. He has to.”

“He better,” Ryker muttered. “Because I don’t think any of us can take another night like that.”

Zane’s phone buzzed—a message from their great uncle confirming he’d meet them in an hour.

They all pretended not to notice how their wolves perked up at the prospect of answers, of understanding why their adopted brother suddenly smelled like he belonged to them in ways that went far beyond family.

The hour crawled by, none of them touching the breakfast spread Harrison had arranged.

When their great uncle finally arrived, his presence was announced by the subtle shift in the building’s ancient magic—the way the shadows deepened momentarily, how the air grew thick with power.

Even on a quiet Sunday morning, with the executive floor empty of its usual bustle, Johnathan Whitlock’s presence commanded attention.

“Three of my favorite nephews,” he drawled, stepping into Zane’s office. “All looking like they’ve been dragged through hell. On a weekend, no less.” His knowing gaze swept over their disheveled appearances. “I assume this isn’t about quarterly reports?”

Archer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We were wondering about vampire maturation. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Hypothetically,” their great uncle echoed, raising an eyebrow as he settled into the offered seat. “And this couldn’t wait because…”

“What happens when a vampire’s scent changes?” Ryker asked, trying for casual and missing by miles. “Dramatically. Almost overnight.”

“Depends on the change.” Johnathan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are we talking about a specific vampire? Hypothetically, of course.”

Zane cleared his throat. “If a vampire suddenly smelled like…” He paused, searching for words that wouldn’t reveal too much. “Like something impossible. Something forbidden.”

“Forbidden how?” Their great uncle’s voice had taken on an edge of interest.

“Like moonlight and cherry blossoms,” Archer blurted out, earning glares from his brothers. “But also like… like…”

Movement through the floor-to-ceiling windows caught their attention—Benedict emerging from the elevator at a run, his usual graceful composure nowhere to be seen. He burst through the office door, face pale and hair disheveled.

“My lords,” he gasped, clutching the doorframe. “It’s Prince Luca. Lady Senna sent me—something’s wrong. He’s unconscious, burning with fever. We can’t wake him, and his skin…” He swallowed hard. “His skin is glowing. Lady Senna says she’s never seen anything like it.”

The brothers were moving before he finished speaking, their wolves surging forward with protective urgency. Even Great Uncle Johnathan’s face showed concern as he followed them to the elevator.

“How long has he been like this?” Zane demanded as they waited for the elevator to arrive.

“I went to Prince Luca as usual, for his morning routine,” Benedict said, his voice shaking as the elevator ascended. “He was… I couldn’t wake him. His skin was burning hot, glowing like moonlight. I’ve never…” He wrung his hands. “I called Lady Senna immediately.”

The closer they got to the penthouse, the stronger his scent became.

It hit them like a physical force—moonlight and cherry blossoms, but different now, heated and desperate in a way that made their wolves pace restlessly.

By the time they reached the top floor, all three brothers were fighting for control, their powers leaking out in response to the overwhelming need to protect, to claim, to possess.

The hallway outside Luca’s room was crowded with worried staff. Hunter and Sylvie stood by the door, their young faces pinched with concern. Aunt Senna emerged from the room, relief washing over her features at the sight of them.

“Thank the gods,” she breathed. “Come quickly.”

The brothers followed her inside, Great Uncle Johnathan close behind.

The sight of Luca on the bed stopped them cold.

He lay tangled in silk sheets, his skin luminescent with an inner glow that pulsed like captured moonlight.

Dark hair spread across the pillows in stark contrast to his flushed cheeks.

Even unconscious, he was devastating—and his scent, this close, was maddening.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Aunt Senna said, pressing a cool cloth to Luca’s forehead. “Is this… Uncle John, is this a vampire thing? Some kind of power manifestation?”

Great Uncle Johnathan moved closer, his ancient power reaching out to assess Luca’s condition. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. This is something else entirely. Something new.”

“Hospital,” Zane bit out, already moving toward the bed. His wolf was clawing at his chest, demanding he protect their mate—and he was too focused on Luca’s condition to examine that thought too closely. “Now.”

He lifted him into his arms, trying to ignore how perfectly he fit against his chest, how his scent wrapped around him like a physical caress. He felt impossibly hot, burning even through his Henley.

“I’ll call ahead,” Ryker said, his voice rough as lightning sparked along his arms. “Have them prepare the private wing.”

“I’m driving,” Archer added, already heading for the door. His usual playfulness was nowhere to be seen, replaced by alpha focus.

Zane carried Luca toward the elevator, every step an exercise in control. His wolf wanted to run, to hide him away somewhere safe where only they could reach him. But he needed help—help that went beyond what any of them understood.

Hold on, little bat, he thought as the elevator descended. Just hold on.