The bright glow of sconces bathed the stone walls of Kian’s private quarters, illuminating the space in a subdued, almost reverent glow. The air smelled of aged leather and the faint trace of incense, a testament to the sanctity Kian maintained in his domain. A contrast to the decadence that thrived just beyond these walls.
Lucian, ever the embodiment of effortless indulgence, leaned casually against the oak desk, swirling a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand. His relaxed posture was a deliberate taunt, a reminder that he belonged to this world in ways Kian refused to.
“You’re a lunatic, you know that?” Lucian mused, taking a slow sip of his drink before leveling Kian with an exasperated gaze. “You sit here brooding while everyone else is out there… living.”
Kian stood by the bookshelves, back straight, hands clasped behind him. Every inch of him— his meticulously pressed shirt, the absence of any sign of indulgence— spoke of rigid control. He exhaled sharply, the closest he ever came to showing irritation.
“I’m not like you,” he said, voice even, cool. “I’m the Guardian. My job is to maintain order, to protect the Vault’s secrets. You? You’re just the host. You can afford to be reckless.”
Lucian let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “So that’s what you tell yourself? That this place will crumble if you— God forbid— loosen up?” He set his glass down with a soft clink and pushed off the desk. “No one’s asking you to neglect your duty, Kian. But maybe, just maybe, you should stop pretending you’re above it all.”
Kian’s jaw tensed. “You mistake control for detachment.”
“No, I mistake obsession for duty,” Lucian shot back. His eyes gleamed with knowing mischief, but there was something softer beneath it. “You watch everything, you control everything, but you don’t experience anything. And that? That’s insanity.”
Kian turned away, dismissing the conversation with the sharp finality of a man who had made peace with his choices.
Lucian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before shrugging. “Fine. Be the ever-vigilant Guardian. But when this place finally gets under your skin— because it will— don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Kian didn’t reply. He simply walked toward the door, each step measured, as if leaving behind the conversation also meant leaving behind the possibility that Lucian could be right.
~
The halls of Elysium Vault were quieter at this hour, the usual revelry tapering off into murmurs behind closed doors. Kian moved with the steady gait of a man who had walked these corridors a thousand times, his sharp gaze flickering over the dimly lit paths. Tonight, the Vault was his to oversee, as it always was. He thrived in control, in the unyielding discipline of his position.
Yet, the faint strains of music— low, drawn-out notes that shivered through the air— made him pause.
The sound was coming from the music room.
Kian’s brows furrowed. The room was supposed to be empty.
He strode toward the heavy doors, his hand grazing the polished handle before pushing them open. The instant he stepped inside, the melody wrapped around him, rich and haunting, the sound vibrating through his bones.
Selene.
She stood on the small stage, soaked in the golden glow of scattered candles, the light shifting against the deep red drapes behind her. Her violin bow glided across the strings with practiced precision, the music weaving something both melancholic and dangerous. Her dark dress clung to her, the neckline daring, her bare shoulders glistening faintly with exertion. She didn’t stop playing when she noticed him.
Kian exhaled, steadying himself.
“I wasn’t expecting an audience,” Selene murmured, her fingers never faltering.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice even.
She lifted her gaze, amusement flickering in her stormy eyes. “Neither should you.”
His jaw clenched. “This room is off-limits after hours.”
Selene tilted her head, the slow smirk on her lips daring him to enforce his rule. “I needed the quiet,” she said, her voice softer now, threaded with something else. “Music sounds different in silence. Don’t you think so?”
Kian didn’t reply.
The melody shifted— lower, deeper. A slow pull, coaxing. She played as if she were unraveling something hidden between them, as if the music itself had hands, tracing over his skin, searching for cracks.
Kian should have stopped her. He should have turned and left. But he didn’t.
Instead, he stepped further into the room, the doors closing behind him with a quiet click.
Selene’s lips parted, her breathing slightly uneven. Not from exertion— but from anticipation.
“You’re staring, Guardian.”
Kian’s expression didn’t change. “You’re trying to get a reaction out of me.”
Her smile widened. “And is it working?”
He didn’t answer, but she saw it— the subtle shift in his stance, the tension in his fingers.
She played the final note, letting it hang in the air before lowering the violin. “Tell me, Kian,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Do you ever stop being the Guardian? Even when you’re alone?”
His silence was telling.
Selene set the violin down, stepping off the stage, closing the space between them. She moved deliberately, her bare feet barely making a sound against the polished floor.
Kian didn’t step back.
Selene reached out, fingertips just grazing the fabric of his dark shirt, right over his chest. “You hold yourself like a man made of stone,” she mused. “But I don’t think you are.”
His breathing was steady, but she saw the shift in his eyes. A storm gathering behind restraint.
“You like control,” she continued, tilting her chin up slightly. “But tell me, Kian… have you ever let someone else take it?”
Kian’s pulse drummed at the words, at the implications.
He should have put distance between them. He should have reminded her of the lines she was crossing.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he let her hand trail up, over the solidness of his chest, to the base of his throat.
Selene exhaled softly. “I think you want to.”
His fingers twitched at his sides.
Selene moved even closer, their bodies a breath apart. “Let me.”
The words weren’t a demand. They were a temptation.
Kian knew he was past the point of stopping this.
Selene saw the flicker of surrender in his eyes. And so, she took what he wouldn’t ask for.
She leaned in, her lips brushing against his— barely touching, teasing. Kian exhaled sharply, his hands finally coming up, gripping her waist— not to push her away, but to hold her there.
Selene smiled against his mouth. “There he is.”
And then she kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, heated. Kian let her take, let her press against him, her hands tangling in his hair, her body molding to his.
He groaned when she bit his lower lip, the sound slipping from him before he could stop it.
Selene pulled back slightly, breathless. “You sound good when you let go.”
Kian’s fingers tightened on her hips, his control fraying.
She backed him toward the stage, guiding him, until he was against it, forced to sit on its edge. She moved between his legs, her hands tracing down his arms, her nails lightly dragging over his skin.
Kian let her.
He let her tilt his chin up, let her press her lips to his throat, let her unbutton the first clasp of his shirt.
His breath was ragged now.
Selene pulled back just enough to look at him.
He was flushed, his pupils blown.
And she had done that to him.
A slow, triumphant smile curved her lips. “Not so untouchable, after all.”
Kian exhaled, his grip on her waist tightening for just a second. Then, in a swift movement, he flipped their positions.
Selene gasped as her back met the stage, Kian now above her, his body caging her in.
The amusement in her eyes flickered to something deeper.
Kian’s lips hovered just over hers. “You play dangerous games,” he murmured.
Selene’s fingers trailed up his spine. “And you like it.”
His restraint snapped.
He kissed her again— harder, deeper. She arched against him, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing, heat pooling between them.
There was nothing careful about this. It was hunger. It was surrender. And neither of them wanted to stop.
The heat of the kiss, the press of her body against his, the unrestrained way she responded to him— it was intoxicating.
Kian had never let himself fall into something so freely before, never allowed desire to dictate his actions. But with Selene, restraint had been a fragile thread, and now it had snapped completely.
His hands roamed, gripping her waist, sliding up her sides, her nails digging into his back, pulling him even closer. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine. He growled against her lips, his control slipping further, his heart hammering against his ribs.
And then—
Reality crashed into him like a tidal wave.
Kian’s eyes flew open. His hands— where were they? His weight— was he pressing too hard? His breath came fast, uneven, and he yanked himself away as if burned.
Selene blinked up at him, her lips kiss-swollen, her breath shallow. “Kian—”
“No.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He stumbled back, nearly knocking over the violin stand behind him. He felt the air rush between them, cold and suffocating.
Selene’s brows pulled together. “What’s wrong?”
Kian shook his head. His pulse was erratic, his skin too hot, his hands trembling. “I— I shouldn’t have—” He sucked in a breath. “I messed up.”
Selene stared at him, the raw distress in his voice sending a pang through her chest.
“I’m supposed to… fuck—” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. “I can’t—” His throat was tight, words catching. “This isn’t me. I don’t lose control. I don’t—”
He turned away, gripping the edge of the stage as if grounding himself.
Selene watched him carefully, her heart aching at how tense he looked. His shoulders were rigid, his fingers gripping the wood with enough force to turn his knuckles white. He wasn’t just panicking. He was terrified.
Slowly, cautiously, she slid off the stage and stepped toward him. “Kian.”
He shook his head, still not facing her. “I’m the Guardian.” His voice was hollow. “I keep order. I protect the Vault’s secrets. I don’t indulge. I don’t get—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t get to have this.”
Selene frowned. “Says who?”
Kian let out a strained laugh, shaking his head again. “It’s just the way it is.”
She moved closer. “Is that what you want?”
His hands clenched at his sides.
Selene’s voice softened. “Kian… do you want this?”
His silence was deafening.
Selene stepped even closer, her fingers brushing over his forearm. “You didn’t mess up,” she whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Kian’s chest rose and fell sharply. “I lost control.”
Selene smiled gently. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
He finally turned to her, his expression troubled. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “Because from where I’m standing, all you did was let yourself feel something real.”
Kian swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do this.” His voice was raw, as if he hated admitting it. “I don’t know how to let go without losing myself.”
Selene’s heart squeezed.
From our workshop
She reached up, her fingertips just barely grazing his cheek. “You don’t have to lose yourself,” she said softly. “You can just… be.”
His breath hitched.
She placed her hand fully on his cheek now, her touch light but steady. “You’re allowed to want something for yourself, Kian.”
He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her touch despite himself.
Selene smiled, shifting closer, until their bodies were nearly touching again. “You’re allowed to have fun.”
Kian’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I don’t know how.”
Selene exhaled a small laugh, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. “Then let me show you.”
Kian stared at her, searching her face, looking for any trace of dishonesty. But there was none. Only warmth. Only understanding.
And just like that, something inside him cracked.
With a low, unsteady breath, he pulled her into his arms.
Selene let out a soft gasp as he wrapped around her, his hold tight, desperate. She hugged him back just as fiercely, her hands pressing against his back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Kian buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. He didn’t know why he was shaking, why his chest felt so tight. But holding her like this— it felt like something he hadn’t realized he needed.
Selene closed her eyes, savoring the way he clung to her. “It’s okay,” she murmured against his shoulder. “You don’t have to be the Guardian right now. Just be Kian.”
His arms tightened around her.
For the first time in years, he let himself believe that maybe— just maybe— he could.
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