Elena could not escape him. Darius. The name wrapped around her like chains. Even in her dreams, she heard it.
She dreamed of a great hall lit by torches, of men and women bowing to a pale figure seated on a throne of stone. His eyes glowed red. His smile was cruel.
"Come to me," he whispered. "You are my blood. You are my heir. You are my bride."
She woke with a cry, drenched in sweat. The window was open though she had locked it before bed. The curtains billowed in the night wind.
"Elena…"
Her heart froze. The voice was in the room this time, deep and smooth, impossible to ignore. She turned slowly.
In the shadows stood a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black velvet. His face pale, flawless, carved with sharp beauty. His eyes burned like embers in the dark.
Darius.
Elena's breath caught. He was no ghost, no dream. He was here.
Before she could scream, he raised a finger to his lips. The air itself seemed to still at his command.
"My child," he murmured, his voice rich, magnetic. "At last."
Elena trembled, torn between terror and fascination. He was the darkness her grandmother feared, the shadow Lucian warned her about. Yet his presence pulled at her, a force stronger than reason.
Lucian burst into the room, his sword flashing in the moonlight. "Stay away from her!"
Darius's smile deepened, fangs glinting as he stepped back into the shadows. His voice lingered even as his form faded into mist.
"This is only the beginning."
Elena collapsed against the bed, clutching her chest as her pulse raced. Lucian knelt beside her, his face fierce with both anger and worry.
"He will not stop now," Lucian said. "You have to choose, Elena. Resist him—or be his forever."
But deep inside, Elena already knew the truth. The bond was stronger than fear.
And she was no longer sure she wanted to resist.