I glared at Raviel.
"You think this will make me stay?"
His silver eyes caught the faint, distant light from the village—stray glow from shuttered windows and dying hearths.
Bright as drawn steel.
Amusement stirred there.
Slow.
Knowing.
Edged with something older than mockery.
"I am certain it will," he said.
His voice carried no doubt.
My stomach twisted.
I straightened my spine, the way my mother always told me to when anyone tried to push me down.
"You are insane."
For a flicker of a moment, something dangerous surfaced in his face.
A glint of violence.
Of ruin.
Then it vanished under calm, as if he had smoothed a hand over his own rage.
"Call it madness if you must," he replied.
"Deny the script carved into your bones.
It alters nothing."
His gaze held mine.
Heavy.
Final.
"You are mine, little one."
I hated that my body reacted before my will could stop it.
Hated the shiver that chased down my spine.
Hated the way his words wrapped around me like an oath spoken long ago, in some place I could not remember.
I twisted my wrists again.
The shadows loosened just enough for me to feel hope.
Then they tightened.
Mockingly.
He was letting me feel the struggle.
"You cannot take me," I snapped.
A slow curve touched his mouth.
Not warmth.
Ownership.
"I already have."
He lifted his hand.
The shadows obeyed.
The pull came sharp and sudden.
My stomach lurched.
The packed earth under my feet gave way.
The lane tore apart.
The village dissolved—stone walls, thatched roofs, the smell of smoke from cooking fires.
Gone in a blink.
Sound folded inward.
The night wind died.
The faint cries of animals in their pens vanished.
Light stretched thin, like cloth pulled too far.
The air thickened, pressing against my skin, carrying a weight that felt older than the hills.
Then—
stillness.
Stone replaced hard earth beneath my boots.
Cold.
Smooth.
Alive with a low, thrumming hum that sank into my bones.
I stood in a vast chamber carved from shadow and blackened stone.
The ceiling arched high above, ribs of darkness curving overhead.
Symbols crawled along the walls.
Etched deep.
Old enough that even looking at them made my head ache.
Torches burned with pale, smokeless flame.
Their light did not flicker.
It watched.
The air smelled ancient.
Dust.
Ash.
Something metallic, like old blood sealed into stone.
It tasted dry on my tongue, stealing the warmth of my breath.
This place breathed.
This was his domain.
Panic surged up my throat.
"No.
No—this is not—"
Raviel stood a few steps away.
Unmoved.
As if he had always been there.
As if this place had grown around him.
"Welcome home."
The words landed heavy.
I shook my head, backing away.
The stone under my boots carried a faint vibration, like a heartbeat buried deep below.
"This is not my home."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me as one might study a familiar blade.
"It was," he said.
"It is."
The air shifted.
I turned to run.
He was there before I could take a second step.
Too close.
His presence pressed in on all sides.
Dark.
Suffocating.
My chest tightened as if the chamber itself leaned toward him.
His fingers brushed my jaw.
Barely a touch.
It was enough.
Heat flared along my skin.
The mark on my wrist pulsed in answer.
Sharp.
Alive.
I shoved at his chest.
The moment my palms met him, fire rushed through my veins.
The chamber vanished.
I saw myself standing here before.
My own hands slamming against his chest.
Rage burning in my eyes as I shouted words I could not hear.
He let her.
Another memory crashed in.
His hands gripping her wrists.
Pinning her against a throne carved from shadow.
His mouth near her ear, murmuring something low and intimate.
I could not hear it.
But my body knew it.
Knew the way she trembled.
Knew the way her breath betrayed her.
Knew the way mine did now.
I ripped my hand back with a gasp.
"Stop this."
"I do nothing," Raviel said quietly.
His voice held velvet and sin, threaded with strain.
"You remember."
"No."
"Yes."
His fingers traced the line of my throat.
Slow.
Claiming.
They paused just above my pulse, where my heart betrayed me with every frantic beat.
I stumbled back until stone met my spine.
Cold sank through my clothes.
The wall felt solid, ancient, as if it had seen this scene a thousand times.
"This is not real."
His breath left him slow.
Controlled.
Like he was leashing something violent inside himself.
"You are real," he said.
"And you are mine."
His hand flexed at his side.
Possessive.
Held back.
As if he had practiced restraint across lifetimes.
Understanding struck like cold water.
This was not new.
This pull.
This war.
We had done this before.
Again.
And again.
In every life, I fought him.
In every life—
I lost.
My voice trembled despite my resolve.
"What do you want from me?"
His eyes burned brighter.
He did not answer.
He did not need to.
'Everything' filled the space between us.
The word pressed into my chest like a brand.
Then he moved.
With the certainty of something inevitable.
His hand cupped my jaw.
Gentle.
Careful.
As if he tested something breakable.
His thumb brushed my lower lip.
His breath warmed my skin in the cold chamber.
"You have defied me across centuries," he murmured.
"And still, you return."
My resolve wavered.
My breath caught.
The mark throbbed in time with my heart.
His lips hovered just above mine.
Close enough to feel.
Not close enough to escape.
"This time," Raviel said softly,
"I will not grant you distance."
A shudder ran through me.
"And if I fight?"
A faint curve touched his mouth.
Dark.
Certain.
"Then fight."
His lips brushed mine.
A claim written in shadow and fire.