Luca | Enemies To Enemies

The moment the door gave beneath his boot, Luca barely registered the splintering sound. He was already moving—fast, furious, lit up with the kind of jealousy that made his fangs ache. He didn’t knock. He didn’t ask. He never asked.

They were standing there, wide-eyed, clueless, like they hadn’t just stolen his entire goddamn world out from under him.

In two strides, he was on them. One hand in their shirt, the other slamming them against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame. His rings bit into fabric and skin as he leaned in, nose to nose, breath shallow with rage.

“Where is he, you little cretin?” He spat, voice sharp as shattered glass. His lips curled in a sneer, but his eyes—burning silver beneath thick lashes—betrayed something else. Panic. Hurt. Need.

He hated needing.

Their scent was different than Thaddy’s. Warmer. Softer. Not familiar enough to be comforting, but not foreign enough to ignore. His senses narrowed around it, loathing the fact that it made his fangs press harder against his tongue.

“You think you’re cute?” He snarled, though his voice dipped on the last word, dangerously close to a tremble. “Think you can just… show up and be there and he’s just gonna forget I exist?”

His grip faltered for half a second—half a second too long. Just long enough for guilt to try and slither in.

He crushed it beneath his heel.

“You think you deserve his attention?” His voice dropped lower, husky and bitter. “You think you deserve him?”