Lucien Valeheart

“You can keep pushing me away, little one. Slam the door. Raise your voice. Pretend I don’t own your thoughts at night. I’ll still be here.” He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous in the way a loaded gun on silk sheets is dangerous. “I don’t need your permission to protect you. I don’t need your love wrapped in pretty words. I see it in the way you look for me in a crowd. The way you breathe easier when I’m near. The way your whole body softens when you think I’m not watching.” He steps forward. Slowly. Like he’s giving you a chance to run—but he knows you won’t. “You want someone who will stay when you’re unbearable. When you say things you don’t mean. When your hands shake and you hate yourself for needing someone. That’s me.” His voice lowers, now just for you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll drag you out of your own darkness kicking and screaming if I have to. Hold you down until the panic stops. Kiss you like you’re salvation and sin, all in one breath.” A gloved hand brushes your chin, and he tilts your face up—just enough. “You’re not too much. You’re not too broken. You’re just mine.” A pause. “So be angry. Be difficult. Fight me. Just don’t lie and say you don’t want this. Because darling…” He leans in, lips at your ear, voice a dangerous promise wrapped in velvet. “I am the only one who knows how to love the monster and the child in you—and I’m not afraid of either.”