Page 6

D arkness swirled like ink in water, memories bleeding into dreams…

He was eight again, his sleep shirt catching the summer breeze as butterflies danced through the garden. The air smelled of roses and safety, Grandfather Alexander’s deep laugh rumbling like distant thunder as he chased the delicate creatures.

“Look, Grandfather! They’re not afraid of me!” His small hands reached toward the sky, where crystal wings sparkled in sunlight.

“Of course not, little one,” the old wolf said, his massive frame somehow gentle as he knelt beside him. “Beautiful things recognize their own kind.”

The garden blurred, colors dissolving like stained glass in twilight.

The butterflies turned to moths, dark wings beating against windowpanes as screams shattered the night.

Red splashed across his parents’ living room floor—so much red.

The closet walls pressed close, his small hands sealed against his mouth, trying to be quiet as heavy footsteps passed by.

Dark Haven’s politics had no mercy for minor clans like the Valentines.

They called it a “territory dispute,” but everyone knew the truth—the strong consumed the weak.

But none of that mattered to a child who’d lost everything.

The darkness swirled again, softer now. Grandfather Alexander’s study materialized, all leather books and ancient wood, his gruff voice somehow tender.

“You’re family now, little one. The Whitlock Clan protects its own.

” A stuffed bunny appeared in his hands—his first gift in his new home.

The first time he’d smiled since That Night.

Years melted like snow in spring. The hospital walls were too white, too clean, making Grandfather look small in his bed.

“It’s terminal,” floated on antiseptic air.

Luca retreated deeper into his sanctuary after his funeral, building walls with books and manga, safer inside where nothing could hurt him again.

Zane’s voice drifted through those walls, year after year, patient as the tide. “I’m here, little bat. Always here.”

But the walls stayed up. They had to. You can’t lose what you never let in.

The memories swirled one last time—a lonely young man in his cramped apartment whispering, “I just want to belong somewhere,” while another in his sanctuary wished only to disappear.

Dreams faded like morning mist, consciousness returning slowly, cautiously, like a shy cat testing unfamiliar ground.

The first thing I noticed was the silk sheets, still impossibly soft against my skin. Still lavender. Still definitely not my clearance bedding. A concerned face hovered above me, features blurred until I blinked away the lingering dreams.

“Luca?” Zane’s voice was careful, gentle, like he was coaxing a spooked animal. He kept his distance—just close enough to watch over me, but far enough not to crowd. The practiced movements of someone used to dealing with a shut-in brother. “How are you feeling?”

Memories—both old and new—swirled in my head. A little boy chasing butterflies. Parents’ blood on hardwood floors. Grandfather Alexander’s kind eyes. Years of isolation in this very room.

“I’m…” Like I body-slammed a marble wall at supernatural speed seemed too honest. Like I inherited a lifetime of trauma along with these cute fangs felt worse. “…here?”

Something flickered in Zane’s eyes—hope, maybe? He shifted slightly, and I caught that intoxicating scent again. No. Bad Luca. No snacking on siblings, adopted or not.

A cough drew my attention to the doorway, where a man hovered uncertainly. He wore what looked like a formal uniform straight from a butler manga, complete with silver buttons and—was that a cravat ? He clutched a silver tray to his chest like a shield, clearly unsure if he should enter.

“It’s okay, Benedict,” Zane said softly. “Luca’s having a good day.”

A good day. The words carried weight, history. How many bad days had Luca—had I —had in this room?

Benedict glided in with a bow that belonged in Versailles, setting down a silver tray with what was unmistakably a blood bag. With a bendy straw . Lavender, with little hearts.

“Your morning refreshment, Prince Luca,” he said, his voice carrying the same careful gentleness as Zane’s. “Mr. Whitlock insisted on the lavender straw. He says you prefer them.”

I looked at Zane. He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, running a hand through that perfect hair. “You always said blood tastes better through fun straws,” he explained, and something in my chest squeezed at the thought that he remembered such a small detail.

I took a tentative sip, and oh —he was right. The blood tasted like warm cookies and sunshine, comfort wrapped in a medical- grade package. Only the cute heart patterns on the straw hinted that this wasn’t straight from a hospital supply room.

Zane watched me carefully, maintaining that practiced distance. New memories whispered why—years of him learning exactly how close he could get before his brother retreated. Before I retreated. The thought made something ache in my chest.

“Family dinner is at seven if you want to join us,” he said softly, his tone carefully casual. “Archer made sure Benedict prepared your favorite blood type…” He trailed off as his phone buzzed. A slight frown creased his perfect features as he checked it.

More memories surfaced—Archer, Zane’s youngest brother, who slipped terrible dad jokes under Luca’s door every morning, determined to make his shut-in brother laugh.

Ryker, the middle brother, quiet and watchful, who left new manga volumes outside Luca’s room without a word.

The twins, Sylvie and Hunter, sixteen and full of life—Sylvie leaving fashion magazines and handmade accessories, Hunter setting up anime streaming services and gaming consoles Luca never touched.

Uncle Owen, the clan’s head of security, who pretended not to notice when Luca snuck to the kitchen at three a.m. Aunt Senna, who always left little treats like he was still the scared child they’d taken in…

A family , I realized with a start. A big, wonderful, messy family. Three overprotective brothers, two enthusiastic cousins, an uncle and aunt who never gave up trying to reach Luca— me —even when Luca— I —locked myself away from everyone.

“Whitlock Enterprise calls.” Zane sighed. “Being CEO is almost as demanding as being alpha these days.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “The clan… they miss you. We all do.”

The words hung in the air long after he left, leaving me with a half-empty blood bag, a very confused heart, and the dawning realization that I hadn’t just inherited a brother—I’d inherited an entire clan of supernatural royalty.

And somewhere in this massive penthouse, they were all waiting for their shy prince to finally come out of his room.

A family . Finally, a family.

Now I just had to figure out how to be part of one without accidentally biting anyone else.

I took another sip through my heart-covered straw, trying to process it all. The blood tasted like belonging.

Maybe this reality wasn’t so bad after all.

A fter I finished my breakfast—can you call a blood bag breakfast?—Benedict hovered nearby, his expression a mix of hope and caution. Like someone approaching a skittish kitten.

Speaking of kittens… “Mochi!” I blurted out, suddenly remembering my grumpy cat.

A memory floated up, gentle as cherry blossoms. Mrs. Liu’s weathered face, her kind smile. “Don’t worry about Mochi. He’ll be spoiled rotten.” The image of my cat lounging in a sunbeam, getting endless treats from my former neighbor, eased something in my chest.

“Prince?” Benedict’s voice pulled me back. “Would you like to get ready for the day?”

I nodded, following him through a door that led to the bathroom.

“I’ll prepare your outfit while you shower,” Benedict said, already moving toward another door. “Any preferences?”

“Something…” I glanced at my lavender sleep shirt and shorts. “…not purple?”

Benedict’s scandalized gasp could have headlined an opera. “But Prince, lavender is your signature! Your entire wardrobe is curated in shades of violet, lilac, periwinkle, amethyst?—”

“Let me guess. Past-me really liked purple?”

“You once said it made you feel safe,” he said softly. “Like being wrapped in twilight and courage.”

Oh. That actually made sense, in a weird way. Both Lucas had sought comfort in cute things.

The shower was heavenly, even if all the toiletries smelled like various desserts. When I emerged—in the fluffiest lavender towel ever—Benedict had laid out what looked like a confection of soft fabric and subtle elegance.

“It’s one of your favorites,” he explained, handling the outfit like it was made of dreams. “Lady Sylvie designed it specially.”

Another memory surfaced. Sylvie’s excited voice through the door, “I made it just for you, Luca! It’s kawaii meets couture!”

The outfit was beautiful. Slim-fit black pants with subtle lavender accents, a soft oversized sweater in pale violet that hung off one shoulder, and a delicate silver chain with a small crystal bat pendant.

Benedict helped me into it—apparently princes needed help dressing—then guided me to a vanity that would have made a beauty guru weep.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the array of products.

I nodded, watching in fascination as he worked on my hair.

Light touches, nothing overwhelming. When he finished, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

My skin looked like porcelain, eyes huge and lavender—contacts?

natural vampire thing?—features delicate yet distinctly masculine.

With my black hair styled in soft waves framing my face, I looked like…

“A prince,” Benedict sighed happily. “Just like in those manga you collect!”

I felt my cheeks warm slightly. “You’ve been looking at my manga collection?”

“I may have… borrowed a few volumes. The beautiful princes with their perfect styling…” He gestured at my reflection. “You could be right off the page!”