Lucian stood before the Moonstone Crest—a sacred ridge where the fallen are laid beneath the stars. The air was still, but the storm inside him churned. He could feel Surtr's anguish clawing beneath his skin—raw, restless.
His mother was gone.
The last piece of his family had been torn away.
His father had died in the last great battle, sacrificing himself to save Lucian. That day, Lucian had shown mercy to a vampire who had pleaded for his life. But the moment Lucian turned his back, he was stabbed. His father intervened—shielding him from the final blow—and paid the price.
Lucian had been consumed with rage.
That was the first time Surtr fully took control.
From that day forward, anytime he struggled with powerful emotions—hatred, love, grief, even desire—Surtr emerged. And Lucian surrendered.
He remembered his father's final words, breathless and blood-soaked: "No more death, Lucian. End this war. Promise me?"
He had promised.
But now... that promise had cost him his mother.
His attention was drawn by the wailing of women and children mourning their dead. The heat of anger radiated from the room, though no one spoke.
This wasn't what he wanted. He never truly wanted the treaty, but neither did he desire more deaths. His rage had clouded his senses, blinding him to the weight of the lives lost.
Randell Nightfang's voice suddenly cut through the wailing. "Lucian! I warned you against this treaty! I warned you after saving that princess! But you ignored my words." He roared, moving in close.
Lucian didn't turn. He stood still, his eyes fixed on his mother's crest, which stood beside his father's.
Randell stepped closer, now only a few paces away. "You've cost us lives with the peace you claimed to uphold."
At the sound of his defiance, the crowd slowly began to disperse, leaving the sacred ground in silence.
"You let Surtr out again, causing chaos without thinking," Randell continued.
Lucian turned sharply at the mention of Surtr. "Careful, uncle. We just saw Surtr rage. I'm sure we don't want a repeat of that." His voice was steady, but his eyes locked onto Randell's with an intensity that could burn.
Randell felt the surge of rage coming from Lucian but held his ground, unmoving.
"I told your father you were something else. Your anger is beyond your control. You're not fit to rule." Randell muttered, his tone lowering as he noticed the telltale glow in Lucian's eyes—the deep red of Surtr's power awakening.
Randell knew what that meant.
Lucian's voice remained calm, almost eerily so. "If you think yourself fit to rule, you know what to do, uncle."
The air stilled between them.
Lucian walked past Randell, the air crackling with unspoken threat, as he headed out of the crest.
The night air bit at his skin, but he didn't feel it. He walked on, not looking back—not at the graves, not at his uncle. Surtr simmered beneath his skin, and he knew if he didn't cool the fire soon, it would consume him.
*********
The moon dance had started at Stormrend Field—where they dance to pass on their dead to the afterlife.
Everyone sat round the campfire as the dancers performed at the sound of the drums. The soothing sound of voices singing followed.
Lucian sat next to Hadrian. His fists clenched, holding in his rage. The dance was supposed to cool him down, it was supposed to bring a sense of relief but it did nothing to calm his rage.
"Relax Lucian, you're making the air tense." Hadrian's voice came in calm.
"I'm trying Hadrian, Surtr wouldn't calm down." Lucian replied with unease.
A dancer slowly moved towards them. She danced toward lucian, hips swaying to the rhythm of the drums, her waist rolling in slow, practiced motions. Her eyes stayed on Lucian—calm, but laced with a quiet seduction. The firelight kissed the curves of her body as she moved closer, each step deliberate, each breath a subtle invitation.
"Take the edge off, brother. Even gods bleed." came Hadrian's voice urging him to go with her.
Lucian could feel Surtr within him. He had to cool himself, he had to let go. He stood up and walked to his chambers and she followed.
********
The moment Lucian entered his chambers he shut the doors closed after she walked in.
"You seem quite confident in yourself." He said as he sat on the bed.
"I'm yours to claim your highness." She responded as she moved in closer stripping her attire off.
He stood up taking his clothes off, his eyes coursing through her hourglass figure. He grabbed her and tossed her onto the bed. He could feel Surtr's burning urge to feel Something other than grief and rage.
He kissed her instantly. His hands moved through her body to her already hardened nipples. He lowered his mouth to her collarbone.
Her breath hitched as his tongue traced the bone, then dipped between her breasts.
His teeth grazed her nipple, then bit—not gently.
She moaned.
He pushed her further back onto the bed, legs parting on instinct. His hands slid down her thighs, rough thumbs pressing into the curve of her hips. He dipped his head between her legs, tongue slow at first—exploring, teasing. But it didn't take long for rhythm to build, his mouth devouring her, tongue flicking over her clit until her hips began to roll in time with his strokes.
She whimpered, hands clenching the sheets, thighs trembling around his face. His hands grabbed her thighs tighter as he ate her.
When she came, it was a full-bodied cry—head thrown back, chest heaving, as she quivered.
He didn't wait.
Lucian rose, muscles taut, glistening from the heat of the moment, and his cock was already hard—thick and ready, a promise of the storm still burning inside him.
To fulfill his desperate need to feel something else, he pushed himself inside her, claiming her in one deep thrust that made her cry out.
"Fuck," she gasped, her hands flying to his back.
Lucian groaned low in his throat, hips slamming into hers again and again, each thrust purposeful, punishing, as if trying to fuck the rage out of his soul. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand,and the other on her waist, holding her there as he moved faster—lips at her throat, teeth grazing her again, tasting her skin like he couldn't get enough.
She was open to him, yielding, as if her body knew what he needed. Every inch of him was buried inside her.
She clawed at his shoulders when he released her arms, pulling him deeper, lifting her hips to meet his every stroke.
He flipped her onto her stomach without warning, dragging her ass up, and sank into her again from behind—rougher now, the slap of skin on skin echoing off stone walls. His fingers dug into her hips, breath ragged.
She came again, body tightening around him, voice hoarse as she cried out. "Fuck me harder your highness!"
Lucian followed with a growl—deep, primal—spilling inside her with one last brutal thrust. He stayed there, motionless, chest rising and falling as he let the tremors pass.
The room was silent again, except for the slow cooling of sweat and breath.
She rolled to the side, satisfied and spent, while Lucian stood—already putting his clothes back on, eyes distant once more. He could feel Surtr's calmness within him, as if the beast had gone to sleep. Which sent a wave of relief through him.
"Clean yourself up before you leave." Lucian said, his voice deep." As he headed out the door.
He felt nothing. Just quiet. At Least for now.