Chapter 15
Elara woke to darkness—a thick, suffocating kind that clung to her lungs and pressed against her ribs. Her body burned and froze at the same time, every breath sharp like shards of ice. She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt like they were made of lead.
"Elara."
Lucien's voice drifted to her like a thread of moonlight, soft but strained. When her eyes finally focused, she saw him sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, expression carved with guilt.
She was in his room.
Not the infirmary.
Not her dorm.
His room—quiet, secluded, walled with cold stone and shadows.
The fever pulsed again, racking through her body. She gasped, gripping the sheets.
Lucien leaned in instantly. "Easy. Breathe slowly."
"I—I can't," she whispered, trembling. "Everything hurts."
"I know." His voice cracked. "I'm so sorry."
She looked down and saw it—the mark glowing faintly through her shirt, pulsing with a rhythm not entirely her own. Crescent curves and sharp lines twisted like living ink beneath her collarbone.
"Lucien," she whispered, voice breaking, "what did the hall do to me?"
He closed his eyes.
"It tied your life force to mine. Your heartbeat… your strength… they're adjusting to the bond. That is what's causing the fever."
Her breath hitched. "Am I… turning into a vampire?"
"No," Lucien said instantly, reaching for her hand. "Not fully. Not unless you take my blood willingly. The hall only marked you—it didn't complete the change."
"But it's changing me," she whispered.
Lucien swallowed. "Because our lives are linked now. If I weaken, you'll feel it. If you fall ill… I do too."
A strange ache fluttered in her chest—not fear, but something deeper.
"Why me?" she whispered. "Why would it choose me?"
Lucien hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Because the hall saw what I tried so hard to hide."
Her heart stumbled. "Hide… what?"
Before he could answer, her body seized again—this time harder. She gasped, curling forward as icy fire streaked through her veins. The room swayed. The mark burned bright.
"Elara!" Lucien caught her shoulders, lifting her gently against him. "Breathe. Just breathe."
"I'm trying—" She choked on the words, vision blurring. "Lucien, it hurts—"
He pressed his forehead to hers, voice shaking. "Let it take what it needs. Don't fight it."
"But what if it kills me?"
His grip tightened. "It won't. I won't let it."
Another violent tremor ripped through her. Elara clutched his shirt, her voice breaking.
"Lucien, I'm scared…"
His breath hitched. Her fear hit him deeper than any wound.
"I'm here," he whispered fiercely. "I'm not leaving you. Not now. Not ever."
The mark flared again—this time responding to his words.
Light curled around them, soft but powerful, like the bond itself acknowledged him. The pain slowly dulled, fading into a trembling warmth spreading through her limbs.
Her breathing steadied.
Lucien's shoulders sagged in relief.
"You're stabilizing…"
Elara leaned against him, exhausted.
"Will it ever stop?"
Lucien brushed a trembling hand through her hair.
"Yes," he whispered. "But not before it finishes remaking you."