Chapter Seven: Blood and Confession
The night stretched thin over Blackthorn Hall. Thunder rolled somewhere far away, a slow pulse that seemed to echo Elara's own heart.
Lucien stood by the window, motionless, the faint gleam of moonlight tracing the edge of his jaw. He didn't turn when she entered, but his voice came low and rough.
"You shouldn't be here, Elara. It isn't safe tonight."
"You said they plan to take my memories," she replied. "You think I can sleep knowing that?"
He faced her then, eyes glowing faintly crimson. "If I defy the ritual, they'll destroy me. Darius believes affection for a human weakens our kind."
Elara took a hesitant step closer. "And you? Do you believe that?"
Lucien's silence was its own confession.
The truth revealed
Finally, he spoke. "When I was turned, I swore never to care for anyone mortal again. It ends in ruin. But you—"
He stopped himself, turning away as though the words burned.
"Then why save me? Why fight your father?"
"Because the moment you stepped into this house, everything I buried began to breathe again."
He reached into his coat and pulled out an old leather-bound book. On its cover was the same crest branded into his wrist.
"This contains the spell for the ritual," he said. "It will erase every memory that ties you to me. I can destroy it, but if I do, the bond between us will fully awaken."
"Bond?"
"It's not just attraction, Elara. It's blood calling to blood. The night I first touched you, something ancient recognized you."
The mark
Lightning split the sky. In its flash, she saw a faint shimmer beneath her skin—right over her heart—a crimson sigil, identical to his.
She stumbled back. "What did you do to me?"
Lucien's voice trembled. "I didn't do this. Fate did. Somehow, your life is tied to mine now."
"So if they kill you…"
"…you'll fade with me," he finished.
The air thickened between them, alive with fear and longing.
A desperate vow
"Then we run," she said. "Before the ritual, before your father can—"
He shook his head. "You don't know what he is. There's nowhere he cannot find us."
"Then what choice do we have?"
Lucien stepped forward, close enough for her to see the shadows moving in his eyes. "Only one. I can seal the bond. You'll remain human, but your heart will bear my mark forever. You'll never grow old, never forget—but you'll also never be free."
Elara's voice was barely a whisper. "Would you want me to choose that?"
"No," he said. Then softer, aching, "Yes."
The thunder cracked again. The mirror behind them shattered, as though the house itself rebelled. In its fragments, Elara saw two reflections—hers, pale and trembling, and his, ageless and burning red.
"The blood moon rises tomorrow," Lucien said. "By then, your decision must be made."
And when he vanished into the storm, Elara knew that whatever she chose—love or survival—neither world would ever be the same again.