After I got to my room, I couldn’t shake off what I had just seen.

I paced for a while, then curled up in bed, trying to calm the whirlwind inside me. But just as I was about to drift off, that *feeling* returned—the air got heavier, like a silent shadow was watching me. It was the same sensation I used to get back home, just before something bad happened.

I stood up and checked the door. Locked. The windows? Secure. No one was there. But the weight in the air remained, pressing down on my chest. I finally lay back in bed, burying myself under the covers, pretending that fear wasn’t crawling up my spine.

That night, the nightmare returned.

Only this time, it was more vivid—*too* vivid.

I was standing in a forest, the trees towering above me like dark sentinels. The moon was blood-red, casting an eerie glow over everything. I could hear the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs, like something—or *someone*—was circling me. My heart pounded against my chest.

Then I saw them. Shadows. Figures. Glowing eyes staring at me from every corner. I tried to scream, but no sound escaped my throat. Suddenly, a figure stepped forward—tall, powerful, his eyes glowing gold. He reached out for me, his voice whispering something I couldn’t understand.

I gasped, finally able to scream, and jolted awake—only to find *him* standing right there in my room.

Lucien.

His icy eyes bore into mine, unreadable and dark. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stood there like a ghost from my nightmare had followed me into the real world.

I froze, my breath caught in my throat. “What the hell are you doing in here?” I asked, my voice trembling more than I wanted to admit.

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze flickered over me, his jaw tight. “You were screaming,” he said simply, as though that justified him breaking into my room.

I didn’t know what scared me more—the dream, or the fact that he looked like he knew *exactly* what I saw.

-----

Lucien’s POV

I leaned against the window, trying to piece together what she'd seen in the library earlier.

Had she seen me transform?

No… she couldn’t have. I was careful. Swift. But there was this flicker in her eyes when she looked at me—like recognition. Or maybe fear.

Still, something about her doesn’t sit right with me. She doesn’t smell like a full human. Not like the others. There’s a faint wildness in her scent. Subtle… but there.

I decided to give her space. A few hours, just enough time for her to settle, forget—or at least *doubt*—what she might have seen.

By 11PM, I returned to the room.

The second I stepped in, I heard her. Soft whimpers, her body twisting beneath the sheets. She was trapped in some kind of nightmare, her hands gripping the sheets like she was holding on for dear life. Beads of sweat rolled down her temples. Her breathing was shallow and panicked.

Something primal stirred in me. I’d seen blood, pain, death—but this?

This made my chest tighten.

“Hey…” I moved closer, kneeling by her side. “Wake up.”

She didn’t.

I placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. “Aria.”

She jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her eyes wild—until they locked with mine.

And then… silence.

She stared at me like I had just crawled out of her nightmare. Like *I* was the monster haunting her dreams.

She acts so tough. All that attitude, all that fire. But right now? She was just a girl… trembling in the dark, afraid of things she couldn’t name.

Before either of us could speak, a knock came at the door—firm, urgent.

Who the hell was knocking at this hour? I stood, my instincts sharpening immediately.

Something wasn’t right.

*Aria’s POV*

The knock came again—louder, faster, more urgent.

I flinched.

Lucien stood still for a moment, his jaw clenched. Then he turned toward the door.

But as he moved, *I reached out and held his wrist*. I don’t know why. Maybe it was instinct, or fear, or just the heavy air that wrapped around us like a warning.

He looked down at me. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, almost coldly. “I’ll take care of it.”

I let go.

He opened the door, and in that moment, the hallway light revealed something horrifying—*a guy, probably our age, completely drenched in blood.* His shirt was soaked, face pale, barely conscious.

Lucien didn’t even hesitate. He gritted his teeth, pulled the guy in with strength and urgency, and shut the door behind him.

I stood frozen. My heart racing. Who was this?

“What happened?” I asked.

“Get me a towel. Now,” he barked. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

I snapped out of my daze and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing the first clean towel I saw. When I returned, Lucien had already laid the guy—who I later heard him call *Damon*—on *my bed*. He was pressing a hand against the side of his abdomen where the blood seemed to pour out endlessly.

Lucien snatched the towel from my hands and pressed it against the wound with surgical precision. His hands moved quickly—ripping off Damon’s bloodied shirt, checking the depth of the wound, tying a makeshift bandage using the towel and one of his own T-shirts like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Apply pressure here,” he said, guiding my hand over the wound. His palm briefly touched mine—*cold but steady*.

I did as he said.

“I had no idea you had medical experience,” I murmured.

He didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, eyes focused on Damon.

“What happened to him?” I asked again, voice lower now.

Lucien’s sharp eyes flicked up to mine, cold and unreadable. *That look.* Like he was silently warning me to shut up.

Fine.

I leaned back, frustrated. “Since your friend is bleeding all over *my* bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Lucien finally looked at me, then smirked faintly.

“There won’t be need for that,” he said, standing to wash the blood off his hands. “We’ll share my bed. I’m not going to touch you.” He looked at me then, his voice cruelly casual. “You’re not even pretty.”

Ouch.

I scoffed, trying not to let the sting show. “Wow. And here I thought we were bonding.”

He dried his hands and glanced at me again, the edge in his voice returning. “Just because I’m letting you stay here doesn’t mean we’re friends. Or roommates. Know your boundaries, Aria.”

I wanted to punch him.

Instead, I turned around, got under the covers—on *his* side of the room—and pretended not to care.

But deep down… I wasn’t sure who scared me more. The guy bleeding on my bed. Or Lucien.