Elena avoided the book for two days, but it was useless. Every time she walked past her room, she felt it calling. Her blood warmed, her mind whispered. By the third night, she gave in. She lit a single candle and opened the cracked leather cover.
The words seemed clearer now, as if the ink had darkened with age. She read aloud in a trembling voice:
"I am the first. I was not born of God nor man. I was made when the stars bled into the earth and cursed me with eternal hunger."
Elena's throat grew dry. She turned the page. Sketches of moons, blood drops, and strange runes filled the parchment. One sketch showed a man—tall, pale, eyes like fire. His fangs were long, his expression both regal and cruel.
"Elena…"
The voice came again, but this time it wasn't in her head. It came from the very pages, soft but powerful, curling through the air like smoke.
She slammed the book shut.
The candle flickered violently. The shadows on the wall twisted, stretching tall until they formed a figure standing over her.
Her heart nearly stopped. The shadow had his shape. Broad shoulders. Narrow face. Piercing eyes that glowed scarlet in the dark.
She screamed.
The door burst open. Lucian rushed in, his hand gripping his sword. His golden eyes swept the room, but the shadow had vanished. Only the closed book sat trembling on the desk.
"Elena," he breathed, kneeling beside her. "What did you do?"
Her lips trembled. "I… I read it."
Lucian cursed softly under his breath. He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, his voice gentle. "He is trying to reach you. If you keep reading, he will break through."
Tears burned Elena's eyes. "But I have to know. He is part of me."
Lucian's hand lingered on hers, warm and steady. "Some truths are poison, Elena. And his is the deadliest of all."
Her chest ached at his closeness, at the way his gaze softened for her. But the whisper still echoed inside:
You are mine.