CHAPTER 262: VAMPIRE HUNT 22

Lucian sat up a little straighter, grimacing slightly as pain lanced through his ribs.

"I heard nothing," he replied smoothly. "If someone came through this door, I would have noticed."

Selis blinked beneath the blanket, her heart thudding so loudly it felt like the guards outside would hear it.

He actually covered for her.

She hadn’t imagined it—Lucian had lied. For her. Of all people.

Despite everything that had happened between them—the snide remarks, the near-death skirmishes, the time she may or may not have "accidentally" step on him during combat—he’d still come through.

Not with a grand speech or dramatic gesture, but with a simple, firm denial that anyone else was in the room.

That meant he wasn’t handing her over.

Selis’s mind reeled. Was it possible?

Could it be . . . he was starting to trust her? Or—gods forbid—even like her?

Her pulse spiked. She’d heard of people falling for rogues and spies in novels—perhaps her dazzling wit, fearless infiltration skills, and rogue-ish charm had already wormed their way into his golden heart.

Then reality smacked her square across the imagination.

Yeah, right.

She exhaled sharply into the darkness of the blanket, deflating like a punctured balloon.

If anything, Lucian probably wanted to kill her himself. He was just too injured to do it properly at the moment.

That was more his style—wait until he was healed, then strangle her with a monologue about honor and betrayal while dodging her sarcastic commentary.

Yup. That’s the likeliest scenario. He didn’t save her. He just delayed the inevitable.

She glanced up slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his silhouette sitting tensely at the edge of the bed, jaw clenched, breathing shallow. His golden eyes flickered in the low light like fire reflecting off metal.

She could practically feel the waves of what the hell is happening radiating off him.

Maybe he wasn’t about to murder her. Yet.

Still, the fact remained: he chose not to expose her. For whatever reason.

And that tiny decision, that dangerous little crack in his usual cold armor, had just changed everything.

She curled a little tighter under the blanket, lips pressed into a thin line.

Oh no. Please don’t let this be the beginning of something complicated.

She wasn’t ready for that.

Especially not while hiding like a fugitive blanket burrito in the bed of a half-naked war hero.

The guards exchanged glances.

"But sir, your room—"

"Was quiet," Lucian interrupted. "Whoever attacked your men didn’t come through here."

The guard hesitated, then nodded stiffly. "Very well, Captain. We’ll sweep the west and north halls. Please ring the bell if you notice anything unusual."

"I will," Lucian said flatly.

The guards bowed and exited, shutting the door behind them.

The moment the latch clicked again, Selis slowly peeked out from the blanket, wide-eyed. Her messy hair stuck up at odd angles, and there was a bit of lint clinging to her forehead from the sheets.

"You didn’t give me away," she breathed, almost disbelieving.

Lucian sighed and leaned back into the pillows, clearly drained. "Unfortunately."

Selis didn’t even pretend to be offended. She let out a huge breath of relief and collapsed back onto the mattress.

"Saints above," she muttered. "I thought you were going to throw me like a javelin straight into their arms."

"I considered it," Lucian said dryly. "But I also figured it would make too much noise, and I’m tired of bleeding."

Selis rolled to face him, propping her chin on one hand. "You’re grumpier than usual. Is that a side effect of saving me?"

He turned his head toward her, unamused. "You smell like sewage. Don’t try to flirt. It’s confusing."

"Oh, please," she said with a lopsided grin. "You were this close to throwing your cloak over me like a dramatic hero."

"I was this close to smothering you with that blanket."

They stared at each other for a beat too long.

"Are you going to get out of there and explain yourself," Lucian said coldly, "before I decide to kill you myself?"

His voice was flat, but the glare he gave her could’ve scorched stone. Stone—and probably the poor guards still outside the door.

Selis peeked out from under the blanket like a guilty goblin, her mind scrambling for excuses, escape routes, or divine intervention.

It was only then she realized something.

Oh no.

She was perched—very unfortunately—right on top of Lucian’s—

Her entire body froze. Her knees were firmly planted across his lower abdomen, dangerously close to territory that would’ve made this entire situation a lot more awkward in a very different way.

But what really made her panic was him.

Lucian wasn’t flustered. Not even a twitch. No sudden intake of breath. No shifting. No scowl of discomfort. Just . . . that same dead-eyed, I-will-end-you stare.

He was built like some ancient warrior statue—lean but broad shoulders, carved arms, faint golden skin dusted with old battle scars, hard abs and tapered waist—and not a single inch of him reacted to her very unintentional human proximity.

Selis, meanwhile, felt like her brain had been dunked in boiling embarrassment.

She swallowed.

Hard.

Was this man made of stone?! Or just completely immune to the concept of women?

She dared another glance at the taut lines of his torso and instantly regretted it. Nope. Bad idea. Dangerous territory.

The kind of frame sculpted by years of war, discipline, and probably a distinct hatred for comfort.

If this were a different kind of story, she’d be blushing and babbling. But this wasn’t a romantic comedy—it was a chaotic infiltration mission that had somehow turned into her straddling a war captain with a probable kill count in the triple digits.

Selis snapped out of it with a visible shake of her head. She scrambled off him like the mattress had suddenly caught fire.

"Ack—sorry! I didn’t realize I was, uh, near your . . . ahem . . . battlefield zone," she muttered, hastily brushing off imaginary dust from her knees. "Definitely didn’t mean to . . . invade the capital. I mean, the general area—ugh, you get what I mean."

Lucian stared at her, deadpan. Still silent.

She cleared her throat. "Right. Less talking. More explaining. Got it."

But even as she straightened her cloak and forced herself to look anywhere except at his chest, one undeniable fact clawed its way up from the depths of her brain:

She was in trouble.