Anara.
Ashveil girls weren't supposed to survive their eighteenth birthday.
And tonight, they were throwing me a party as if i might.
The manor blazed with candlelight and music, the coven laughing and drinking as though the curse that haunted my bloodline didn't exist. They crowned me with violet flowers, pressed sweet cakes into my hands, and toasted my "new life."
But i knew the truth. There was no "new life" waiting for me. Ashveil girls never saw nineteen.
So while the others drank and danced, i slipped away. Drawn by the ache in my veins, the restless pull in my mark. The curse was calling.
My boots crunched the frost-bitten earth as i crossed the forest to Velmora Hollow — the ruin where every Ashveil girl's nightmare began. The cathedral's bones rose from the ground like broken teeth, shadowed and waiting.
The half-moon sigil on my wrist pulsed hotter with every step. I tried to ignore it, but my magic pressed outward, clawing at my skin like it wanted to escape.
Inside the hollow, moonlight bled through shattered stained glass, painting bruised light across the cracked floor. Runes shimmered faintly on the stone, pulsing with the rhythm of my heart.
I swallowed hard. I had been dreaming of this place for weeks. Coffins of stone. Blood dripping. Whispers in the dark.
And now i was here.
"He's waking," my shadow hissed, rippling across the ground like it was alive.
I hated it. Hated the thing that followed me, whispering truths i didn't want to hear. But it was bound to me, as much a part of me as breath.
I stepped toward the altar — its black ivy curling like veins. My hand trembled as i brushed the edge of the cracked stone slab at its base.
The sarcophagus. The rumored tomb of the nameless hybrid. A creature too powerful to destroy, sealed by witches in blood and ruin.
The ground shook.
Stone groaned.
The slab shifted.
"No," I whispered, stumbling backward.
My heel caught on fallen branch, and i crashed onto the ground. Pain tore through my hand as a jagged piece of wood pierced into my palm.
"Ah—!" i yanked it free. Blood spilled hot and red, dripping onto the runes below.
The reaction was immediate. The runes blazed. The air cracked. My shadow screamed.
The sarcophagus split open.
A hand emerged first — pale, clawed, veined with glowing crimson. Then a chest, broad and bloodstained, etched with demonic symbols that burned faintly.
And finally — his eyes.
They opened slowly, black with a rim of ember gold. And they found mine.
He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, like my scent was the first breath he'd had in centuries.
"You smell," he rasped, voice like smoke and silk, "like ruin."
I froze, blood dripping from my palm.
The creature — the man — moved with terrifying ease, stepping free of the tomb as though he'd only been resting. Power radiated from him in waves, thick enough to choke.
"Who are you?" i whispered, magic trembling at my fingertips.
He tilted his head, amused.
"That's my line, little witch."
Her pulse spiked. The way he said it — witch — it wasn't a guess. He knew.
"You shouldn't be awake," i said, backing up. "You were sealed."
"By your kind," he murmured, circling me. "But blood doesn't obey locks forever. Especially not yours."
My mark burned white-hot. The wound in my hand throbbed, dripping more blood onto the stone. He stopped, gaze snapping to it.
Before I could react, he was in front of me. Too fast. Too close.
He caught my wrist in a clawed hand, lifted it to his mouth, and—
"Wait—!"
His lips closed over the wound. His tongue dragged across my palm, pulling my blood into him.
My magic detonated inside my chest. Violet sparks leapt from my skin, lighting the cathedral with wild, dangerous fire.
He groaned low, a sound that made my knees weaken. His eyes burned brighter as he pulled back, a smear of red staining his mouth.
"gods," he whispered, like he hadn't tasted anything in centuries. "Ashveil blood. Shadow-witch. You were made to wake me."
My body shook. "I didn't mean to—"
"You felt it," he cut me off, voice silken and sharp. "The call. The hunger. The ache in your blood."
He leaned closer, his breath fanning across my cheek, his lips stained with my blood.
"You opened the door, Anara."
I stiffened. "How do you know my name?"
He smiled. Dark. Certain. Inevitable.
"Because your bloodline was carved from the same curse that bound me."
His claw traced my mark, barely grazing my skin. My magic screamed, shadows writhing around my feet.
"What are you?" i gasped.
His eyes flared, molten and merciless.
"Your first sin."
"Your last salvation."
"Your mate."
My breath caught.
Lucien's smile turned feral.
"And now that you've bled for me… you belong to me."