The sunlight bleeding through the edges of the blackout curtains was almost offensive.
Kael groaned, his body deliciously sore and the sheets beneath him tangled in a web of sweat and heat. His head felt like it was wrapped in velvet fog—soft, disoriented, but not painful. He blinked against the harsh light filtering in, inhaling the scent still heavy in the room.
Musk, sandalwood, and spice.
Elias.
His body reacted before his mind did—nipples tight, thighs aching, mouth parted at the memory of the night before. Kael stretched, only to wince at the bruises on his hips. He laughed softly under his breath, lips curving into a slow smirk as he ran a hand down his own stomach, recalling every growl Elias had made against his skin.
But as the haze cleared, the other half of the bed was… cold.
Empty.
He turned sharply, ignoring the ache between his thighs. The sheets beside him were rumpled, but the heat had long since faded. There was no sign of the man who had ravaged him like a starved god—no whisper of footsteps, no lingering breath, not even a note.
Only silence… and something burning on his shoulder.
Kael's brows knit as he sat up, his spine prickling. He grabbed his phone and rushed into the bathroom, flipping on the harsh light. The mirror reflected a pale, sweat-damp face framed in wild black curls, lips swollen from kisses.
And then he saw it.
A sigil.
Burned into the skin just below his collarbone—delicate, ornate, like some ancient crest. The lines shimmered faintly, pulsing with warmth. It didn't hurt, not really. It was like the afterglow of too much pleasure—heat that settled deep in the marrow.
Kael ran his fingers over it, only to shudder. It wasn't ink. It wasn't bruising.
It felt alive.
A memory slammed into him—Elias's hand pressed against his chest, just as Kael had screamed his name. That final thrust, the clench of teeth at his throat. Something had been whispered. Latin. Or older.
And then darkness.
His pulse hammered.
Was this magic?
No. It couldn't be. Magic was myth. Rumor. His grandmother had told him stories, sure—about families with ancient bloodlines and sleeping powers—but Kael was just a bartender with a secret sketchbook and a trauma he'd learned to bury.
He didn't believe in fate. Or gods.
But he believed in last night.
He could still feel Elias inside him.
---
Kael wandered into the suite's lounge, naked but unashamed. He searched for any sign—wallet, jacket, even the man's cologne bottle. There was nothing. The only evidence that Elias had ever been there was Kael's wrecked body and that shimmering, infernal mark.
On the table sat a crystal glass with melted ice. Next to it, a red envelope.
Kael stared, then picked it up with hesitant fingers. The envelope wasn't sealed. Inside was a note, written in gold ink.
"Forgive the storm I've begun inside you.
You were never meant to be part of this world—
And yet now, you are mine.
—E."
His hands trembled. Not from fear. From anger. Lust. Intrigue.
He had questions.
And gods help Elias when Kael found him again—because last night wasn't going to stay a one-time sin.
---
Flashback: Hours Before Dawn
The room had smelled of sex and ozone. The air crackled with something more than chemistry. Elias had flipped Kael onto his stomach, dragging his nails down his spine, murmuring something too ancient for Kael to understand.
Kael gasped, arching up to meet him. "You keep chanting like that, and I'll think you're trying to possess me."
Elias chuckled darkly. "Maybe I am."
The heat rose again—tongues tangling, nails raking. Kael's thighs shook as Elias pushed into him, slow and punishing. His lips found Kael's nape, biting down just enough to mark.
Kael screamed into the pillows, already lost in the fire Elias built inside him.
And as he came undone for the second—no, third?—time that night, Elias pressed a burning palm to Kael's chest.
"Et in carne tua, signum meum relinquo…"
The words branded him in ecstasy.
---
Back to Present
Kael exhaled harshly and paced the suite like a caged wolf.
What the hell was that man?
Demon? Warlock? Mafia prince with too many secrets?
Whatever Elias was, Kael wasn't about to roll over and forget him. His blood screamed with want and fury.
The sigil flared faintly again—responding to Kael's rising heartbeat. It wasn't a wound. It was a claim.
And Kael hated being claimed.
Especially without permission.
"I don't know what game you're playing, Elias," he whispered to the empty room, "but you're not the only one who bites."
He pulled on his clothes from the night before, grabbed the envelope, and stormed out of the suite with fire in his veins.
---
Far away, in a chamber veiled by spell and shadow…
Elias stood before a black mirror, watching Kael's every movement.
His jaw was clenched tight, hand fisted at his side. The sigil on Kael's chest glowed across the mirror like a crimson echo.
"She survived," said a voice behind him. Feminine. Cold. "The sigil didn't kill him."
"I didn't want it to," Elias replied, his voice low. "I only wanted him marked. Bound to me."
"She's not ready for this war."
Elias turned slowly. "He's stronger than you think."
"And the child?" the woman asked with a cruel smile.
Elias's eyes flashed.
"She's already pregnant," he said.
---