The hospital lights buzzed overhead, harsh and uncaring, as Celeste Arden leaned over her brother's bed. Monitors beeped steadily, a cruel reminder that time was slipping through her fingers. Matthew's face was pale, his lips slightly parted as he breathed shallowly. The doctors had said it was a mystery illness. They had run every test, tried every treatment. Nothing worked. And now, they had given up.
She hadn't.
Celeste brushed his damp hair from his forehead, her eyes burning from sleepless nights and bottled rage. The smell of antiseptic clung to her clothes. Grief clawed at her chest, but beneath it pulsed something more dangerous. Desperation. Determination. A need so primal it drowned her fear.
Outside, a storm raged. Thunder cracked through the sky as if the heavens themselves were angry. Rain battered the windows like fists demanding to be let in. Celeste stormed out of the room, clutching the worn leather journal she'd stolen from one of the hospital's restricted archives. A nurse had whispered about it once. A cursed book, hidden away after strange deaths had followed its presence.
Desperate people do desperate things.
The journal led her to an old church on the outskirts of the city. Abandoned, cloaked in ivy and shadows. Its towering spire pierced the sky like a warning. She climbed the stone steps, soaked to the bone, her heart pounding with every step. The heavy door creaked as she pushed it open. Cold air greeted her like a breath from the grave.
Inside, the space was empty, save for rows of decaying pews and shattered stained glass. But at the altar, candles flared to life without a spark. Her breath caught. The air shimmered. A circle of glowing symbols pulsed on the floor, ancient and alive. And at its center sat a parchment, pristine and waiting.
A contract.
Her name was already written at the top. Inked in red.
She blinked. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the quill resting beside it. The fine tip dragged against her skin, slicing a shallow cut. Blood welled up and dripped onto the paper. The parchment drank her offering like a living thing. Symbols ignited, flaring gold, then crimson.
A sudden gust of wind blew out the candles. Darkness swallowed her whole.
"You have summoned me."
The voice came from behind. Deep. Cold. Seductive.
Celeste spun around.
A man stood in the shadows. Tall. Dressed in a charcoal suit that clung to his body like a second skin. His eyes gleamed silver, not like metal but like moonlight. His presence hit her like a storm. Handsome, cruelly so. He radiated danger, elegance, and something darker beneath.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"Lucien Valemont."
He stepped forward, and the floor seemed to pulse with every movement. His gaze pierced through her. She felt stripped bare.
"You offered blood. You signed willingly. Your soul now belongs to me."
She staggered back. "I didn't mean to. I didn't know what—"
"Intent is irrelevant. The bargain is sealed."
Her throat tightened. "My brother. He's dying. Please. Save him."
Lucien tilted his head, as if amused. Then he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.
Somewhere, miles away, a heart monitor spiked.
Matthew Arden sat up, gasping for air.
Celeste felt it in her bones. He had done it.
She turned to Lucien. "Thank you."
He smiled. It wasn't kind.
"You've given me your soul. I intend to collect it."
She swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"
Lucien walked toward her. She didn't step back. She couldn't.
"It means, little mortal, that from this night forward, you are mine."
She trembled as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. His touch burned, searing and intimate. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Mine to command. Mine to protect. Mine to break."
Her lips parted. She should have run. Screamed. Anything. But her body was frozen, her heartbeat a frantic drum.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes.
"I've waited centuries for you."
Then he vanished.
Celeste collapsed to her knees.
The church was silent again. The candles dead. But something inside her had changed. Something irreversible.
Outside, the storm stopped.
But inside her, chaos had just begun.
She rose slowly, her limbs shaking. The parchment lay where she had left it, but now the blood had dried, sealing the contract in crimson. She reached for it, but the moment her fingers brushed the edge, it dissolved into ash. The sigils on the floor pulsed once more before dimming to darkness.
The silence screamed.
She staggered outside, rain washing away the blood on her skin. Her mind raced with questions she could not voice. Who was Lucien Valemont? What had she truly summoned? And what did he mean by saying he had waited for her?
At the hospital, Matthew was awake. Alive. Talking.
Doctors called it a miracle. Celeste knew better.
It was a deal.
A cursed one.
That night, she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw silver eyes watching her. Felt his breath against her skin. Heard his voice echoing in her bones.
You are mine.
She didn't know when he would come back. Or what he would demand.
But she knew this.
There would be no going back.
Not now.
Not ever.