Chapter 4 A little thread

Alpha Lucien Veynar steps inside, tall and commanding with his black coat trailing like a shadow behind him. His presence alone shifts the air, and all conversations die instantly. The air feels tighter because he is in it.

Damon glances at him, unsure if he should speak or bare his fangs. Definitely, If looks could kill, Lucien wouldn’t have made it past the door. The decorations are still up, the candles still burning, but every light in the Hale mansion looks dull with sadness. It’s not a celebration now. It’s grief pretending to smile.

Lucien’s voice breaks the silence. “This isn’t the kind of party I expected,” he says, calm and almost amused. Before Kael can answer, Lora’s voice rings out from across the room, way too loud, too bright for the moment.

“Alpha Lucien!” she calls out with her face lighting up in a way that makes everyone turn to look.

Damon’s expression darkens and Kael doesn’t move because his eyes stay fixed on Lucien.

Lucien gives a small smile, “Miss Lora,” he says with his smooth tone. “You look… surprised to see me.”

She stands, brushing down her dress with shaky hands. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

He steps closer, his boots echoing on the marble floor. “I heard there was a celebration,” he says, looking past her now and walking toward the staircase that leads to the upper floor. “But it seems the mood has changed.”

Lora stops in her tracks with her excitement fading when he doesn’t even glance her way. He doesn’t notice her dress, her hair, or how she smiles. Still, she steps closer, her voice dropping low.

“It’s such a surprise seeing you here, I only hoped you'd honor my invitation and you did.” she says. “You missed the party of the year.”

Lucien’s gaze moves slowly across the room. “Hmm. I can see that.”

Behind him, his Beta, Corvin, leans in close.

“Alpha,” he murmurs, “there’s been… a death. One of Hale’s daughters. The sick one.”

Lucien’s brows pull together. “Elara Hale?”

Corvin nods once.

For a moment, Lucien says nothing. His face doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. Then he steps forward, heading toward Kael.

“Alpha Kael,” he says simply.

“Lucien,” Kael answers, not offering his hand.

The air between them feels thick, tense. Two rivals. Two Alphas who have never agreed on anything. Even grief doesn’t dull the edge between them.

Lucien gives a short nod. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I came to pay my respects.”

“Respect from you isn't necessary,” Kael replies, crossing his arms.

“Still,” Lucien says with his tone sharp but steady, “a life lost is still a loss. Even I can understand that. Surely.”

Damon steps in before Kael can respond. “She’s upstairs,” he says quietly, leaving no room for argument. He knows these two would argue to no end.

Lucien nods once, about to speak again but then he stops. His breath catches something.

That scent.

It’s faint, but it slices through the room like lightning. it is sweet, soft, and wild all at once. It hits him so suddenly that he almost forgets where he is. The room starts to fade, voices blur, and all he hears is the loud beat of his own heart.

Mate His wolf growls in his head.

His mate.

Corvin notices the sudden shift in his Alpha’s face. “Alpha?” he says carefully. “What is it?”

Lucien doesn’t move for a moment. His eyes become distant, burning with something raw. “You smell that?” he asks quietly.

Corvin sniffs the air and frowns. “All I smell is death, perfumes and candle wax.”

Lucien shakes his head slightly. “No… it’s something else. Someone else.”

Kael steps forward with his voice hard. “What are you talking about?”

Lucien looks up at the staircase. “Who’s upstairs?” he asks.

Damon’s brows knit. “I told you….Elara. She’s gone. We’re currently preparing her for burial.”

Lucien’s jaw tightens. “Elara,” he repeats under his breath. The name sends a strange ache through him.

Corvin observes him as he asks. “Alpha, you’re pale. What’s going on?”

Lucien doesn’t answer; instead he takes a step toward the stairs.

“Lucien.” Kael’s voice cuts sharply. “Don’t make a scene. This is not the time.”

Lucien glances back at him with his eyes dark and unreadable. “You think I care about your timing?”

Kael stiffens. “You walk into my home uninvited and now you…”

But Lucien has already turned away. His boots hit the first step, then the second, slow and deliberate.

“Alpha!” Corvin calls after him.

Lucien doesn’t stop. His voice comes out low, almost a growl. “I have to see her.”

“See her?” Kael repeats, confused. “You didn’t even know her.”

Lucien pauses halfway up the stairs. “Maybe I didn’t,” he says quietly, “but I will.”

And then he keeps climbing, each step drawn by that faint, wild scent. the scent of a bond he never saw coming.

“What the hell is going on?” Silas asks, confused as he follows.

“Alpha Lucien, wait! That’s… that’s Elara’s room!” Lora cries, her heels clicking fast against the floor as she hurries after him.

Lucien doesn’t stop. He can barely see her through the haze of his own focus. The scent is too strong, too close.

Corvin catches up to him at the top of the stairs, whispering urgently, “Alpha, are you certain…?”

Lucien ignores him as his breath quickens. The scent is right there, just right beyond the door. It’s calling to him, pulling at his chest, his wolf, his soul.

He doesn’t hesitate and pushes the door open. What welcomes him is a dim room with candles burned low. The air is thick with sorrow. Elara lies still under a white sheet with her pale face half hidden from view. For a moment, the world stops moving as he freezes.

“Mate,” he growls, the word rough and broken in his chest. It’s not a question; it was more of an instinct, truth, something deeper than reason.

Silas stares with his mouth open. “You’re joking… right?” he mutters.

Lora gasps, covering her mouth. “That’s impossible…” she whispers. “She’s dead.”

Corvin’s eyes darts between them all. “Alpha… that can’t be. She…she has no pulse.”

But Lucien doesn’t hear any of them. He doesn’t even see them. His gaze is just locked on the bed, on her.

Be

cause even though she lies still, he can feel it.

That faint, fragile thread of life.

That bond.

His mate.