The massive iron doors groaned as they swung open, revealing Jevan Ashford's private chamber. Verita hesitated in the doorway, her heart pounding as she took in the room's chilling opulence. The walls were lined with shelves of ancient tomes, their spines cracked and faded from centuries of use. Thick red and black velvet drapes hung from floor to ceiling, muffling every sound except the crackling of the marble fireplace that dominated one wall. It was a room designed to intimidate, and it succeeded.
Jevan stood near the hearth, his black suit as impeccable as ever, his icy blue eyes fixed on her like a predator assessing its prey. "Come in, Miss Winslow," he said, his voice smooth but commanding. "Don't linger in the shadows."
Duneven's hand tightened on her arm, shoving her forward. Verita stumbled, catching herself before she fell, her jaw tightening at his cruel smirk. The hatred in his dark eyes made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to stand tall.
"I brought the witch," Duneven said with a sneer, his voice laced with mockery. "As requested."
Jevan didn't spare him a glance. His attention was entirely on Verita, his sharp features carved with an amused smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Leave us," he said, his tone dismissive.
Duneven bristled, clearly displeased at being excluded, but he obeyed, leaving the room with a low growl of frustration. As the doors closed behind him, the air in the chamber seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on Verita like a physical weight.
Jevan gestured to the center of the room, where a circle of faintly glowing runes had been etched into the polished floor. "Stand there," he instructed, his voice calm but unyielding.
Verita's feet refused to move. "What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her chest.
Jevan raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "So bold. I like that." He stepped closer, his piercing gaze never leaving hers. "But you misunderstand your position here. This isn't a negotiation."
Her fists clenched at her sides, and for a moment, her magic stirred, a faint warmth flickering in her veins. But the suppressive wards woven into the walls of the manor quickly snuffed it out, leaving her feeling drained and helpless.
Jevan noticed the flicker and chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "There it is. That power… it's remarkable. Untamed, yes, but with the right guidance…" He trailed off, his eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry.
"You'll get nothing from me," Verita snapped, her voice sharp.
His smile turned cold. "We'll see." He gestured to the circle again, and this time, a faint hum of magic filled the room, making her skin prickle. "Step into the circle. Now."
Verita hesitated, but when Jevan's smile faded into a frown, she knew she had no choice. Slowly, she stepped forward, the runes flaring brighter with each step until she stood in the center.
"Good," Jevan said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Now, show me what you can do."
Verita slumped against the cold stone wall of her cell, her body trembling from the strain of the forced magic demonstration. The circle's runes had amplified her power, dragging it to the surface against her will. She had managed to contain the surge, but the effort had left her drained and raw, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
The sound of footsteps in the corridor made her flinch. She pushed herself upright, her eyes narrowing as the figure of Esira Edin appeared outside her cell. He carried a small tray, the dim light casting shadows across his sharp, angular features. His gray eyes met hers, unreadable but steady.
"You look worse than before," he said, setting the tray down on the ledge outside the bars.
Verita crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I wonder why."
Esira sighed, leaning against the bars. "Jevan has a way of pushing people to their limits. It's best if you don't let him see you break."
She barked out a humorless laugh. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one he's planning to use as a weapon."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—regret, perhaps, or guilt. "You think I'm free?" he asked quietly.
Verita frowned, caught off guard by the bitterness in his tone. She studied him, noticing for the first time the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. He was as trapped as she was, though his cage was less obvious.
"You don't have to do this," she said softly. "You don't have to be his pawn."
Esira expression hardened, and he straightened, his gray eyes cold once more. "Eat," he said, nodding toward the tray. "You'll need your strength."
Before she could reply, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the silence of the corridor.
Duneven leaned casually against the wall as Verita was escorted through one of Blackthorn Manor's shadowy corridors. His smirk widened when he saw her, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Well, if it isn't Jevan's favorite little project," he drawled, pushing off the wall to block her path.
The guard escorting her hesitated, glancing between them, but Duneven waved him off. "I'll take it from here."
Verita stiffened as Duneven stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice sharp.
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Me? Nothing. But Jevan? Oh, he wants plenty."
His smirk faded, replaced by a sneer. "You think you're special, don't you? You think your magic makes you untouchable. Let me tell you something, little witch—Jevan doesn't care about you. You're a tool. And when he's done with you, there won't be anything left."
The grand library of Blackthorn Manor was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Towering bookshelves stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, their contents a mix of forgotten histories, forbidden magic, and dark secrets. A massive stained-glass window dominated one wall, its fractured light casting jagged patterns across the polished stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and leather, a faint magical hum thrumming beneath it all.
Verita stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed tightly as Esira loomed nearby, his expression as closed off as ever. He gestured toward one of the desks, where several open times and scattered scrolls lay, their pages filled with intricate symbols and cryptic texts.
"This is where Jevan keeps his scholars busy," Esira said, his voice low. "They've been trying to decode the location of the relic he believes will control your magic."
Verita frowned, her fingers twitching at her sides. "And you're telling me this… why?"
Esira gray eyes flicked to hers, holding her gaze for a long moment. "Because you need to understand the stakes. That relic isn't just some trinket—it's tied to you. To your magic. If Jevan gets his hands on it…"
He trailed off, his jaw tightening, and Verita felt a chill crawl up her spine. She stepped closer to the desk, scanning the texts with a wary eye. The symbols swirled and shifted, their meanings just out of reach, but the power emanating from the words was undeniable.
"What does he think it will do?" she asked quietly.
Esira hesitated, his broad shoulders stiffening. "Jevan believes it can amplify your magic. Make it stable. Controllable. But the truth is, no one knows for sure. It's ancient. Dangerous."
Verita's throat tightened as she stared at the swirling symbols, their faint glow casting eerie shadows across her fingers. She could feel the pull of the relic even now, like a distant echo in her chest.
"I need to see these," she said, reaching for one of the scrolls.
Esira hand shot out, gripping her wrist before she could touch it. His grip was firm but not cruel, his skin warm against hers. "Careful," he said, his voice softer now. "Some of these texts are cursed. Jevan wouldn't care if you were caught in one."
She pulled her hand back, her pulse quickening at the contact. Esira released her, stepping back as if to put space between them. The tension crackled like a live wire, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
"I don't know why you're helping me," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "But if you're playing some kind of game—"
"I'm not," Esira cut in, his voice sharp. "But don't mistake this for charity. I'm not your savior, Verita."
Before she could respond, the door to the library creaked open, and Duneven strolled in, his smirk as infuriating as ever.
"Interrupting something, are we?" he drawled, his dark eyes flicking between them.
Verita stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Esira straightened, his expression closing off as he turned toward Duneven.
"What do you want?" Esira asked, his tone cool.
Duneven shrugged, sauntering closer. "Just checking in on our little guest. Jevan wouldn't want her getting too… comfortable."
Verita felt the weight of Duneven's gaze on her, and her stomach churned with unease. He was a predator through and through, and every word he spoke felt like a trap.
Esira stepped between them, his broad frame cutting Duneven off from Verita. "She's fine," he said evenly. "You can report back to Jevan."
Duneven's smirk faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing. "Careful, Esira. You're walking a fine line."
Without another word, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him. The tension in the room was suffocating, and Verita let out a shaky breath.
"You shouldn't antagonize him," she said, her voice low.
Esira glanced over his shoulder at her, his gray eyes stormy. "He's already made up his mind about me. Might as well give him a reason."
The dungeons of Blackthorn Manor were a labyrinth of cold stone and oppressive silence. The faint hum of the magical wards echoed through the air, a constant reminder of the power suppressing Verita's abilities. She paced the length of her cell, her mind racing as she replayed the events of the day.
Jevan's plans, the relic, Esira cryptic warnings—it all swirled in her head like a storm, leaving her restless and on edge. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't let Jevan use her as a pawn in whatever dark game he was playing.
Her eyes darted to the faintly glowing runes on the walls, their light flickering in the dimness. She had spent years suppressing her magic, but now, she needed to take a risk. She pressed her hands against the cold stone, closing her eyes as she reached for the power buried deep within her.
At first, nothing happened. The wards pressed back against her, smothering her magic like a heavy blanket. But she pushed harder, her jaw tightening as she channeled every ounce of her will into the effort. A faint warmth flickered in her chest, growing stronger with each passing second.
The runes began to dim, their light flickering erratically. A surge of hope shot through her as the wards weakened, the oppressive weight lifting just enough for her to breathe freely. With a final burst of effort, the runes shattered, and the cell door creaked open.
Verita's heart pounded as she stepped into the corridor, her bare feet silent against the cold stone. The air was heavy with anticipation, every shadow a potential threat. She moved quickly but cautiously, her senses on high alert.
She rounded a corner, her breath catching as she spotted a narrow staircase leading upward. Freedom was close. She could feel it.
But just as she reached the base of the stairs, a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path. Esira.
His gray eyes locked onto hers, a mixture of frustration and something else—something she couldn't quite name—burning in their depths. He crossed his arms, his broad frame filling the narrow space.
"Did you really think it would be that easy?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
Verita froze, her pulse racing as she stared up at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.
"Move," she said finally, her voice shaking with defiance.
Esira didn't budge. "You're not ready for what's out there," he said, his tone laced with warning. "Jevan will hunt you down before you've taken ten steps."
"I'll take my chances," she snapped.
Esira jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might let her go. But then he stepped closer, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
"You're not leaving," he said firmly. "Not yet."
Verita's fists clenched at her sides, anger and desperation warring within her. "And what are you going to do? Drag me back to my cell?"
His expression softened, just barely. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
The words hung heavy in the air, their meaning clear but unspoken. Verita's shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her as she realized she had no choice.
For now.