The village was calmer after Lucian saved the child, but the calm was thin, like ice on a pond that could break at any moment. Elena helped the boy return to his mother, then followed Lucian back to the manor. His steps were heavy, his arm bleeding from the fight.
"Sit," she said firmly, guiding him to a chair near the fire. She took a cloth and pressed it against his wound. The scent of iron filled the room.
Lucian tried to smile, but his eyes showed pain. "It is nothing. I've survived worse."
Elena shook her head. "Do not speak like that. Every wound matters. Every drop of blood you lose matters."
Her voice was sharper than she meant, but it was because she was afraid. She tied the cloth around his arm, her fingers brushing his skin. Heat spread through her chest, and when she looked up, she found his eyes on her. They were soft, full of something unspoken.
"Elena," he said quietly.
Her heart raced. The silence between them grew thick, almost unbearable. Then a knock came at the door, breaking it.
Marcus stepped inside, his face serious. "He let you live this time. Do not mistake it for mercy."
Lucian stood, wincing. "I know Darius. He never acts without reason. He wanted to remind me who holds the power."
Marcus's gaze shifted to Elena. "And he wanted to remind you who his true prize is."
Elena froze, her hands trembling. She hated that Marcus was right.
That night, when the manor fell into silence, Elena could not sleep. She walked through the halls, her candle throwing long shadows against the stone. Her thoughts would not rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Darius's face, felt his cold hand on her cheek.
In the library, she found the old book again—the one with strange symbols that had first led her to the truth. She opened it, running her fingers along the faded words. The script spoke of the Ancestor, of his hunger, of the bloodline that tied her to him.
One passage made her stop. The bond of blood cannot be broken by steel or fire. Only the heart may choose.
Her breath caught. Did it mean her heart was the key?
"Elena."
She turned sharply. The candle almost slipped from her hand.
Darius stood in the corner of the library, half-hidden in shadow. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, like embers in ash.
"You should not be here," she whispered.
"And yet you knew I would come." He stepped closer, his presence filling the room like smoke. "You feel me before I arrive. Do not deny it."
Her pulse raced, but she forced herself to stand tall. "Leave. I won't let you hurt them again."
His smile was slow, almost sad. "I do not wish to hurt you. I never did. You are mine, Elena. That is why you feel me in your soul. That is why your heart stirs when I speak your name."
Her breath shook. "You twist words to trap me."
"No," he said, his voice soft as silk. "I only speak what you already know."
He moved closer, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. The touch was cold, but it sent a fire through her veins. "Lucian fights for you. The hunter judges you. But only I see you as you are. Strong. Eternal. My equal."
Tears filled her eyes. "Stop… please…"
Darius leaned close, his lips near her ear. "You will see, Elena. The choice will not be theirs. It will be yours. And when you call for me, I will come."
Before she could answer, the candle flickered and died. Darkness swallowed the room. When light returned, he was gone.
Elena sank to the floor, clutching the book to her chest. Her heart was torn in two—between light and shadow, between Lucian's warmth and Darius's fire.
And she feared that one day, her heart might choose the darkness.
The village was calmer after Lucian saved the child, but the calm was thin, like ice on a pond that could break at any moment. Elena helped the boy return to his mother, then followed Lucian back to the manor. His steps were heavy, his arm bleeding from the fight.
"Sit," she said firmly, guiding him to a chair near the fire. She took a cloth and pressed it against his wound. The scent of iron filled the room.
Lucian tried to smile, but his eyes showed pain. "It is nothing. I've survived worse."
Elena shook her head. "Do not speak like that. Every wound matters. Every drop of blood you lose matters."
Her voice was sharper than she meant, but it was because she was afraid. She tied the cloth around his arm, her fingers brushing his skin. Heat spread through her chest, and when she looked up, she found his eyes on her. They were soft, full of something unspoken.
"Elena," he said quietly.
Her heart raced. The silence between them grew thick, almost unbearable. Then a knock came at the door, breaking it.
Marcus stepped inside, his face serious. "He let you live this time. Do not mistake it for mercy."
Lucian stood, wincing. "I know Darius. He never acts without reason. He wanted to remind me who holds the power."
Marcus's gaze shifted to Elena. "And he wanted to remind you who his true prize is."
Elena froze, her hands trembling. She hated that Marcus was right.
That night, when the manor fell into silence, Elena could not sleep. She walked through the halls, her candle throwing long shadows against the stone. Her thoughts would not rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Darius's face, felt his cold hand on her cheek.
In the library, she found the old book again—the one with strange symbols that had first led her to the truth. She opened it, running her fingers along the faded words. The script spoke of the Ancestor, of his hunger, of the bloodline that tied her to him.
One passage made her stop. The bond of blood cannot be broken by steel or fire. Only the heart may choose.
Her breath caught. Did it mean her heart was the key?
"Elena."
She turned sharply. The candle almost slipped from her hand.
Darius stood in the corner of the library, half-hidden in shadow. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, like embers in ash.
"You should not be here," she whispered.
"And yet you knew I would come." He stepped closer, his presence filling the room like smoke. "You feel me before I arrive. Do not deny it."
Her pulse raced, but she forced herself to stand tall. "Leave. I won't let you hurt them again."
His smile was slow, almost sad. "I do not wish to hurt you. I never did. You are mine, Elena. That is why you feel me in your soul. That is why your heart stirs when I speak your name."
Her breath shook. "You twist words to trap me."
"No," he said, his voice soft as silk. "I only speak what you already know."
He moved closer, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. The touch was cold, but it sent a fire through her veins. "Lucian fights for you. The hunter judges you. But only I see you as you are. Strong. Eternal. My equal."
Tears filled her eyes. "Stop… please…"
Darius leaned close, his lips near her ear. "You will see, Elena. The choice will not be theirs. It will be yours. And when you call for me, I will come."
Before she could answer, the candle flickered and died. Darkness swallowed the room. When light returned, he was gone.
Elena sank to the floor, clutching the book to her chest. Her heart was torn in two—between light and shadow, between Lucian's warmth and Darius's fire.
And she feared that one day, her heart might choose the darkness.