> "Every power comes with a shadow. And in the dark, everything hunts."
---
The bond had sealed with a kiss, but its echo still pulsed through the walls of the ruined castle like thunder under the skin of the earth.
Dominic lay sprawled on the velvet-draped altar, still breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his tattooed chest, the silver collar faintly glowing. His eyes had lost all trace of the arrogant billionaire. They shimmered now—glassy, dazed, worshipful.
Lyra stood over him, her bare feet silent on the obsidian floor. Her gown clung to her skin, soaked in the magic of the ritual, still crackling along her collarbones. Her lips burned. Not from the heat. But from the taste of power—his submission, his soul, his curse now folded into her own.
"You're not human anymore," she said, brushing back his damp hair. "You're mine."
Dominic tried to speak, but the words dissolved before they formed. His magic still whirled inside him, unfamiliar and raw. He wasn't weak. Not anymore. But he wasn't the man who once ruled boardrooms with a single word, either. He had felt death. Pleasure. Power. And Lyra's kiss had undone everything.
Still, he didn't regret it.
He reached for her wrist and whispered, "What now?"
She smiled. Not soft. Not sweet. Predatory.
"Now," she said, "everything starts to burn."
---
The first fire came that night.
Not in the castle—but in the world they left behind.
Dominic's penthouse in the city—gone. Reduced to rubble. No news, no accident, no explanation. Just an eruption of violet flame that left behind ash and melted marble.
Lyra saw it in her scrying mirror. Her reflection twisted with rage.
"They've found us," she murmured.
"Who?" Dominic asked, still adjusting to the collar's magic. He could feel her heartbeat in his chest. It throbbed when she was angry.
"The ones who placed the curse on your bloodline," she said coldly. "They never thought anyone would be foolish—or bold—enough to break it."
"I thought the curse was mine."
"No." Her eyes flicked toward the mirror again. "It was ours the moment you kissed me. Which means we're both marked now."
Outside the castle, the sky began to darken unnaturally. Black clouds swirled in chaotic shapes. Trees bent toward the earth, shuddering under winds that came from no direction at all.
"Get dressed," she told him. "War is coming."
---
They left the castle under moonlight.
Lyra no longer walked. She floated—wreathed in runes, shadows coiling around her ankles like sentient fog. The wind didn't touch her. The cold obeyed her.
Dominic, now in dark leather robes traced with silver thread, walked at her side—not behind. He no longer felt like a pet. He was something else now. A blade in her hand. A man re-forged.
The road before them twisted into the hidden corners of the realm, where mortal eyes didn't reach. Past the hills where screaming trees bled sap, through the Valley of Forgotten Brides—where the air carried whispers of past lovers who'd tried to bind Lyra and failed.
They came to a cliff where the stars shimmered unnaturally.
Lyra's voice was ice.
"They're gathering at the Temple of Salt. That's where your ancestors betrayed me. That's where they'll try to sever what we've done."
Dominic blinked. "You were cursed by my bloodline?"
"No," she said, eyes distant. "I was sacrificed."
---
Long ago—before steel towers, before money ruled kingdoms—Lyra had loved a man of Dominic's bloodline. A prince who had pledged his soul to her in a ritual not unlike this one. But when the time came to offer his heart, he chose power over love. He gave her up to the Shadow Priests. Bound her to a kiss that killed any man she loved in return.
The curse had endured for centuries.
Until Dominic.
Until now.
"You undid what your ancestor was too cowardly to finish," she said, turning to him. "You gave me everything."
He took her hand.
"I didn't know what I was doing at first," he admitted. "But I'd do it again."
She stared at him, searching. Then, slowly, she reached up and traced a rune across his chest—one only visible in starlight. It flared to life.
"Then we fight together."
---
The Temple of Salt stood at the edge of the known world—a structure built of bleached bones and glowing saltstone, its spires humming with cursed hymns.
Inside, the High Priest of Chains prepared the severance ritual.
"Bring the bloodspawn," he ordered. "Bring the witch's bond."
Dominic's name had already been carved into the spell.
Lyra knew this. She could feel the magic trying to pull him from her. Like knives sawing at the thread between their hearts.
She summoned a blade of flame.
"No one breaks my bond," she hissed.
---
They arrived at the temple just as the sky split open.
Wraiths swarmed the spires—specters of past victims of the curse. Lyra stepped forward, speaking in the forbidden tongue. The wraiths paused. Trembled. And then—they bowed.
Even the dead obeyed her.
Dominic followed, sword drawn, glowing with the same fire that now pulsed in his veins.
The priests chanted in circles.
Chains rattled from the skies.
Then came the executioners—men born without tongues, bred to kill witches.
They charged.
Dominic moved like instinct. His blade sang. He fought not to win, but to protect—his stance always between them and her. A shield, a soldier, a lover.
Lyra summoned fire, wind, blood, stars. Magic older than the curse itself. She screamed ancient names, broke bones with words, turned spells back on their casters.
The temple cracked.
Priests burned.
The ritual died screaming.
---
At the altar, the High Priest tried to plunge the dagger of severance into Dominic's heart.
But Lyra was faster.
Her hand stopped the blade mid-air.
"No," she whispered.
She touched the priest's forehead.
And his heart exploded from the inside.
---
Silence fell.
Salt crumbled. Smoke rose.
And Lyra turned to Dominic, her skin still glowing from combat.
"You could have died," she said.
"So could you," he replied.
They stood there—ruins behind them, war still ahead—but in that moment, it didn't matter.
She stepped into him.
He dropped the sword.
Their lips met again—not to seal a bond, but to affirm it. The kiss tasted like fire and blood and life. The collar burned bright. The runes hummed.
They were one.
Not a queen and her servant. Not a witch and her prey.
But two souls bound against the world.
---
Later, as they camped beneath the stars and the aftermath of magic, Dominic lay with his head on her lap.
"Do you regret any of it?" he asked.
She stroked his hair.
"No. But I fear what comes next."
"What is it?"
She glanced at the glowing sky above them.
"The gods will feel us soon," she whispered. "And they never liked broken rules."
Dominic smirked, closing his eyes.
"Then let's break more."
And somewhere—far above, far below—something stirred.
Watching.
Awakening.
Hungry.