The argument started in the hotel bathroom.

Which felt unfair somehow.

After everything involving assassins, prophecies, political collapse, and Lucien turning an underground tunnel into a massacre scene, Seraphina would’ve preferred at least one dramatic thunderstorm rooftop confrontation.

Instead—

they were in a luxury Prague hotel suite rented under fake names while blood soaked through Lucien’s ruined black shirt into expensive marble tile.

Romance truly was dead.

“Sit down,” Seraphina snapped while digging through the medical kit Morvena shoved at them before disappearing into council damage control.

Lucien remained standing beside the sink.

“I’m fine.”

“You are actively leaking organs.”

“It’ll heal.”

“That isn’t the point.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened slightly.

There it was.

The mood worsening again.

Outside the suite windows, Prague glowed gold beneath midnight snowfall while traffic moved quietly through distant streets completely unaware ancient vampire politics were imploding underground.

Inside the bathroom, tension spread thicker than steam.

Seraphina ripped open antiseptic bandages harder than necessary.

“Take the shirt off.”

Lucien obeyed immediately.

That somehow irritated her more.

The shredded fabric peeled away revealing the silver wound carved diagonally across his back.

Angry blackened skin surrounded the injury where sanctified metal slowed healing visibly.

Seraphina stared at it silently for several seconds.

Because seeing the damage made the tunnel replay vividly again.

Lucien killing three vampires with terrifying brutality because they threatened her.

Lucien looking genuinely relieved only after confirming she remained alive.

God.

Something about it twisted painfully inside her chest.

“You could’ve died,” she said quietly.

Lucien sat carefully on the edge of the bathtub while she cleaned the wound.

“I didn’t.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The antiseptic hit damaged skin.

Lucien barely reacted.

Seraphina hated that too.

She hated how accustomed to pain he’d become.

“You lost control tonight.”

Lucien looked toward the floor tiles.

“No.”

Seraphina laughed sharply under her breath.

“You slaughtered an entire assassination unit because one of them touched me.”

Silence.

Not denial silence.

Worse.

Thoughtful silence.

Seraphina finished wrapping the silver burns harder than necessary.

Lucien caught her wrist gently before she could pull away.

“You think I regret protecting you.”

The words landed softly.

Dangerously accurate.

Seraphina looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the exhaustion beneath his eyes.

The blood still staining his hands.

The terrifying devotion he carried lately like something holy enough to ruin him completely.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered. “You don’t.”

Lucien’s expression shifted slightly.

Confusion first.

Then understanding.

Oh.

There it was.

The real fight.

Seraphina stepped backward from him immediately.

“You scared me tonight.”

Lucien went still.

Not because she feared him.

Because he knew that wasn’t what she meant.

“You looked ready to burn the entire city down over three dead nobles.”

“They tried to murder you.”

“And you acted like the world ending would’ve been a reasonable response.”

Lucien stood slowly.

The bathroom suddenly felt much too small.

“I spent six centuries surviving people trying to take things from me,” he said quietly. “Forgive me if I react poorly when they threaten someone I—”

He stopped.

Too late.

The unfinished sentence hung heavily between them anyway.

Seraphina crossed her arms tightly.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Lucien frowned slightly.

“What?”

“You keep treating me like something fragile.”

His expression sharpened instantly.

“You were seconds away from being executed.”

“And I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

Frustration cracked through her chest hard enough to surprise even herself.

“That’s not your decision!”

The words echoed sharply against marble walls.

Silence followed immediately afterward.

Lucien stared at her.

Seraphina pressed one hand hard against her forehead suddenly.

God.

None of this was coming out correctly.

“You think I don’t understand why you did it,” she said more quietly. “I do.”

Lucien remained motionless.

“Then what are we arguing about?”

Seraphina looked toward the bloodstained bandages discarded in the sink.

About the fact she liked being protected more than she wanted to admit.

About the horrifying realization that Lucien would destroy himself piece by piece before letting the world touch her.

About how good it felt to be chosen that completely.

And how terrifying that kind of love became once violence entered it.

“You’re becoming reckless,” she whispered finally.

Lucien answered immediately.

“No. I’m becoming honest.”

God.

That hit hard.

Because it was true.

The tunnel massacre wasn’t new behavior.

It was uncovered behavior.

Lucien stopped pretending distance existed between them, and now every protective instinct he buried for centuries surfaced openly.

Seraphina hated how much part of her wanted it anyway.

“I don’t need saving,” she said quietly.

Lucien crossed toward her slowly.

Not predatory.

Careful.

Always careful when emotions mattered most.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I know exactly how capable you are.”

His hand lifted slightly like he wanted to touch her.

Then stopped halfway there.

Restraint again.

Always restraint.

“That doesn’t change the fact that seeing you hurt feels unbearable.”

The confession nearly broke her composure instantly.

Because Lucien sounded angry at himself for it.

Not manipulative.

Not possessive in a triumphant way.

Terrified.

Like love itself had become another uncontrollable hunger inside him.

Seraphina looked away first.

Not from fear.

From exhaustion.

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Too intimate.

“I can’t become Aurelia,” she whispered.

Lucien froze completely.

The name landed between them like shattered glass.

Seraphina forced herself to continue anyway.

“I read the journals. I know how this story ends.”

Lucien’s voice lowered dangerously.

“You are not her.”

“No,” Seraphina agreed softly. “But you look at me like history already owns us.”

That hurt him.

She saw it instantly.

Not because it was false.

Because some part of it wasn’t.

Lucien stepped closer after that.

Close enough she could feel cold radiating from his skin beneath the heat of the bathroom lights.

“When I look at you,” he said quietly, “I see someone choosing me despite every reason not to.”

His eyes met hers fully.

“And that terrifies me more than prophecy ever could.”

The honesty cracked something open painfully inside her chest.

Which made the next realization worse:

This love was becoming destructive.

Not because it lacked tenderness.

Because it had too much.

Too much fear.

Too much devotion.

Too much willingness to bleed for each other.

Seraphina suddenly couldn’t breathe properly inside the suite anymore.

She stepped backward immediately.

Lucien noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“Seraphina.”

“I need air.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Excellent observation.”

She grabbed her coat from the bedroom chair too quickly.

Lucien followed her into the suite.

“Don’t leave angry.”

The sentence came out rougher than intended.

Too close to pleading.

That stopped her briefly near the hotel door.

Because Lucien almost never asked for things emotionally.

Seraphina closed her eyes hard for one second.

Then opened them again.

“I’m not angry at you,” she whispered.

Lucien looked unconvinced.

She almost laughed.

Instead she admitted the worse truth:

“I’m angry that loving you is starting to feel dangerous in ways killing monsters never did.”

The room fell silent afterward.

Prague snow drifted softly beyond the windows while distant traffic lights painted red across the hotel walls.

Lucien stood motionless in the center of the suite.

Wounded.

Exhausted.

Still looking at her like she mattered enough to survive any catastrophe.

And God—

that was exactly the problem.

Seraphina left before she lost the courage to walk away at all.