11: Bloodlines & Lies

11: Bloodlines & Lies
Isabella’s POV  

"You’ve always been mine, Isabella. Even before you were born."

The words wrapped around my throat like a noose, squeezing the air from my lungs.

Even before I was born?

That wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t normal.

But then again, nothing about Luca Devereaux was normal.

And now, I wasn’t sure if I was either.

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Luca still held me against the wall, his body pressed to mine, his breath warm against my skin.

The weight of him was solid, grounding, yet suffocating. His presence filled every inch of space around me, caging me in. A reminder that no matter how much I fought, how much I resisted—he was stronger. He was always stronger.

His fangs had just pierced me again, sinking into the mark he had left before, sending a dark, forbidden pleasure through my veins. My entire body still trembled from the aftershocks, raw and overstimulated, but his words…

His words sent a different kind of shudder down my spine.

I forced myself to lift my head, to meet his unreadable silver gaze even though my breath was still uneven.

"You—" I swallowed, my throat tight. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Luca exhaled slowly. He didn’t answer.

Instead, he lifted his thumb, wiping a stray drop of my blood from his lips.

Then, he licked it off.

A slow, deliberate motion.

Something inside me clenched, twisting in a way that left me breathless.

I hated him.

I hated the way he owned me with just a look.

The way his presence made my body betray me.

"Tell me," I whispered, my voice unsteady but demanding.

Luca’s fingers slid into my hair, gripping the strands at my nape, holding me in place.

"You ask too many questions, dolcezza."

I clenched my teeth and grabbed his wrist, trying to break his hold, trying to push him away—trying to fight something I wasn’t even sure how to name.

"You don’t get to say something like that and just—"

Luca moved too fast.

Before I could finish my sentence, I was no longer against the wall.

I was on the bed, pinned beneath him.

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His weight pressed into me, his hands gripping my wrists, pinning them above my head.

His thigh wedged between mine, parting them slightly, just enough to remind me of the control he held. The control I had willingly surrendered to him before.

I gasped, chest heaving, my body still too sensitive from everything that had happened before.

"Enough," he murmured, his voice softer but no less dangerous.

I glared up at him, ignoring the way my body burned under his touch.

"You can’t just control me—"

Luca leaned in, his lips ghosting over mine, his breath warm and intoxicating.

"I can do whatever I want with what’s mine."

His words sent a pulse of heat through me, wicked and traitorous.

I hated the way my body reacted to him.

I hated the way he knew it.

Luca’s grip on my wrists tightened slightly, his gaze locked onto mine.

"You think you still belong to yourself?" His lips drifted lower, skating down my throat, lingering over the fresh mark.

A shiver ran through me.

"You’re already changing, dolcezza," he whispered.

Something dark curled through his voice, something knowing.

"Your body, your cravings… your hunger."

His teeth scraped over my collarbone.

I arched slightly before I could stop myself, my lips parting as I bit back a sound of betrayal.

I wouldn’t let him win.

Luca smirked, a slow, dangerous thing.

"Your scent has changed," he murmured.

I froze.

"What?"

Luca leaned back slightly, studying me like he was seeing something I couldn’t.

His silver eyes burned, something almost unreadable flickering in their depths.

"You’re not just mine, Isabella." His fingers trailed down my side, over my ribs, barely touching, yet leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"You were made for me."

My pulse stumbled.

My stomach twisted.

I shoved against him, panic surging beneath my skin.

"You keep saying that—what the hell does that mean?"

Luca didn’t answer.

Instead, he pulled back and rose from the bed, like the conversation was already over.

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I pushed myself upright, gripping the sheets around me.

"I'm not leaving this bed until you tell me what you meant."

Luca smirked.

"Careful, bella," he murmured. "That almost sounded like an invitation."

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

My anger flared. Snarling, I grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him.

He caught it effortlessly, without even looking.

"Get dressed," he said, turning toward the closet. "We have somewhere to be."

I blinked.

"What? Where?"

Luca didn’t answer.

He never did.

But that didn’t stop the truth from settling like a stone in my stomach.

He was hiding something.

And whatever it was—it had to do with me.

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The Truth in the Mirror

I stormed into the bathroom, my heart pounding with frustration, confusion, and something far more dangerous.

I turned the faucet on, splashing cold water on my face, forcing myself to breathe.

Luca was lying to me.

I knew it.

I could feel it in my bones, in the weight of his silence, in the way he refused to answer.

And whatever he wasn’t saying—whatever he was afraid to say—had to do with me.

I lifted my head, staring into the mirror.

And froze.

My reflection stared back.

But something was wrong.

Terribly, impossibly wrong.

My pupils were too large, swallowing the usual color.

No.

Not dilated.

Shifting.

For a split second, they flickered—not just darker, but something else entirely.

Something inhuman.

My breath caught.

I stumbled back from the mirror, my pulse hammering against my ribs, panic clawing at my throat.

What the hell was happening to me?

And more importantly—

What had Luca done to me?