Dawn broke over Vane Estate like a warning, painting the sky in streaks of blood-orange and muted gray. The air was thick with tension, a silent pressure that seemed to weigh on every surface—the polished floors, the towering windows, even the heavy walls of the East Wing. Rumors whispered through the corridors like ghosts. Staff glanced at one another nervously, avoiding the hallways where shadows lingered a second too long, where whispers seemed to move of their own accord.
Zaria rose from her cot, chest tight with the pulse of her mark. She could feel it now more insistently than ever—a tug toward the East Wing, toward secrets that refused to stay buried.
No, she thought, gripping the fabric of her uniform. I'm not ready. I can't be drawn in like this again… not without control.
But the bond was relentless. It throbbed beneath her skin, a constant pull that made her knees weak and her thoughts scatter. And deep down, she knew it was guiding her toward something she needed to face.
⸻
Breakfast in the main hall was a tense affair. The staff moved silently, their eyes flicking toward Zaria with barely concealed fear. Lucien appeared shortly after, his presence filling the room like a storm. Golden eyes scanned the hall with cold precision, and when they rested on her, she felt the bond react violently.
Stay calm. Stay calm, she reminded herself, though her heartbeat betrayed her.
"Good morning," Lucien said, voice low but commanding. "You'll need your wits about you today."
Zaria froze, sensing the double meaning behind his words. Wits about me? About what?
"Morning, Mr. Wolfe," she said, bowing her head. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to break the bond, but she remained rooted.
He studied her for a long, measured beat, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. Then, without another word, he turned and left. The bond pulsed, pulling her toward the East Wing once more.
It's not safe, she thought. It can't be. And yet…
⸻
By mid-morning, Zaria could no longer resist. The East Wing called to her, whispering in a language older than the estate itself. The hallways were dark, the air thick with dust and faintly metallic scents. Every step she took seemed amplified—the creak of the floorboards, the whisper of wind through the broken windows, the subtle hum of energy she could feel radiating from the walls.
The bond tugged her, almost painfully, toward a distant corridor. Her senses were heightened beyond comprehension. She could see the faint shimmer of residual energy around objects, hear the echoes of footsteps long since passed, and smell the faint traces of Lucien's presence lingering in the air like a ghost.
And then she saw it—a subtle shift in the shadows, a figure moving just out of clear view.
Her heart raced. Not again…
⸻
"Zaria."
The voice came from behind her. Lucien. She spun, and he was there, imposing as ever. Golden eyes flared, but there was restraint in his posture, a careful calculation.
"You're testing the bond," he said.
"I—I'm trying to understand," she admitted, heart hammering.
"You can't control it yet," he replied, voice low, almost a growl. "And the East Wing isn't safe for you alone."
She swallowed hard. "Then guide me," she said, determination flaring. "I need to see it. I need to know what's happening to me… and to the estate."
Lucien's jaw tightened. For a moment, his golden eyes softened—or was it a flicker of hesitation? Then he stepped aside, allowing her to pass.
The bond surged as she moved forward, and she realized with a shock that she didn't hesitate. Fear still pulsed through her, but curiosity and instinct were stronger. The East Wing seemed to breathe around her, walls pulsating with an unseen energy that thrummed in harmony with her heartbeat.
⸻
Strange phenomena began almost immediately. Faint whispers curled around her like tendrils, unintelligible but insistent. Glowing marks appeared on walls, pulsing in rhythm with the bond, reacting to her presence. Shadows moved independently of the light, twisting unnaturally as she passed.
Zaria shivered. It's alive. The estate is alive.
Lucien followed silently behind her, his presence both comforting and suffocating. Every so often, the bond reacted violently to his proximity, searing warmth and strange energy coursing through her veins.
"You're stronger than I thought," he said finally, voice low. "The bond… it's not just marking you. It's awakening you."
"I don't want to be awakened," she whispered, though her body betrayed her. The instincts he had triggered—the heightened senses, the reflexes, the pull toward danger—made her feel powerful, capable. And terrifyingly… exhilarated.
⸻
Their exploration was interrupted by a sudden, chilling sound—a low, echoing growl that resonated through the floorboards. Zaria froze. The bond pulsed violently, almost pulling her forward.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Stay close," he ordered, moving with unnatural grace. "Whatever's here… it knows you exist."
From the shadows emerged the figure she had glimpsed before. This time, there was no hesitation. Its red eyes glowed faintly, and its form shimmered with unnatural energy.
Zaria's stomach dropped. It wasn't human. Its movements were too fluid, too deliberate, too precise. It paused at the edge of the corridor, as though weighing its options.
"You shouldn't have come here," Lucien said, his voice taut with controlled anger. "This isn't just about you anymore."
The bond surged violently, responding to the threat. Zaria felt power coursing through her veins, a connection to the estate, to Lucien, and now to the intruder.
I can't run, she realized. I have to face this.
⸻
The figure advanced. Shadows stretched along the walls, forming elongated, flickering shapes that seemed to reach for her. Zaria's instincts took over. Her movements were fluid, precise, enhanced by the mark. She ducked under a swinging appendage of shadow, pivoted, and felt energy pulse from her fingertips, reacting to the presence of the intruder.
Lucien was beside her in an instant, his body tense, golden eyes blazing. The bond flared between them, a conduit of energy and connection that neither could ignore.
"You're stronger than I expected," he said, voice tight. "But this… this is dangerous. Don't overextend."
Zaria shook her head. "I'm not afraid," she said, though every nerve screamed otherwise. "Not anymore."
⸻
The shadow lunged. Zaria reacted instinctively. The mark on her neck burned with radiant energy, and suddenly, she found herself moving faster than thought, her reflexes honed to near-perfection. She dodged, struck, and the shadow recoiled, hissing in pain.
Lucien's control slipped briefly. He growled, energy flaring around him, golden light searing the walls. The bond pulsed violently, binding them together as one entity in motion, instinct, and power.
The figure stumbled, but it was far from defeated. Zaria realized with dawning horror that it knew about the bond. About the mark. About her father's connection to the Wolfe family.
They know everything, she thought. And now… we're trapped.
⸻
The shadow retreated slightly, circling them like a predator assessing prey. Zaria could feel the pull of the bond—drawing her closer to danger, urging her forward even as fear clawed at her chest.
Lucien's eyes met hers, conflicted and unreadable. For a moment, the golden light in them flickered, revealing a glimpse of something buried: desperation, worry, perhaps even… fear.
"You need to control it," he said through gritted teeth. "Or it will control you."
Zaria swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every choice, every instinct, every surge of power. She realized she could not run. She could not escape the bond. And she could not ignore the threat.
The shadow advanced again, faster this time, and Zaria felt the estate's walls pulse, whispering in a language only she could understand. She braced herself, instincts ready, the mark flaring like a beacon.
This is it, she thought. The hunt begins—and I am part of it.