IRYNA
The email came two days later.
I stared at the screen for a long moment before opening it fully. My cardiologist had scheduled another appointment. The subject line alone made my chest feel heavy.
I had half expected it.
Ever since that night, the strange pulse beneath my ribs had been getting stronger. Slow. Deliberate. Like something alive had begun to move inside me. I told myself it was just my heart. Nothing else. But another part of me suspected it wasn't.
"Is that from the hospital?" my mother asked from the kitchen.
I looked up. She had been watching me.
I forced a small smile. "Yeah. Just another checkup."
Her expression tightened instantly.
"I'm coming with you."
"Mom, you don't have to—"
"Iryna." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I'm coming."
I didn't argue again.
---
The hospital smelled the same as always. Clean. Cold. Too bright.
I sat on the examination bed while machines hummed quietly around me. My mother stood nearby, arms folded tightly as if she were holding herself together. The doctor ran several tests. Not everything could be done in a single visit, but they did as many as possible that morning. Blood work. Imaging. Monitoring.
I watched the doctor study the results on his screen. His brows slowly drew together. Then deeper. My stomach twisted.
"That's… strange," he murmured.
My mother immediately stepped forward. "What is it?"
The doctor hesitated before turning toward us.
"Iryna," he said carefully, "when was your last appointment again?"
"Just a few days ago."
"Yes." He nodded slowly. "That's why this is surprising."
My fingers curled against the edge of the bed.
"What is?" I asked quietly.
He sighed.
"Your heart condition appears to have worsened."
My mother stiffened beside me.
"The deterioration is… unusually fast," he continued. "It's almost as if the condition escalated overnight. Did you go through any trauma? Something to have caused this?"
A ringing started in my ears. I recalled what he had said to me.
"If you walk away from me... the distance will tear the anchor awake faster. It already hates separation."
"Eventually, your body will choose to live. And when it does… it will choose me."
No. I would not let him get to me.
"If this progression continues at this rate," he added gently, "I'm afraid your heart may not last up to a month."
The room went silent. I didn't realize my mother had grabbed my hand until her fingers tightened painfully.
The doctor continued speaking.
"You need to begin cardiotherapy immediately. We'll monitor you closely. But you must reduce your workload, avoid stress, and rest as much as possible."
He looked at me seriously.
"No strenuous activities. Nothing emotionally or physically exhausting."
My mother nodded quickly.
"I'll make sure of that," she said. "She'll rest. I won't let her overwork herself."
I barely heard the rest. A month. Dark's words echoed quietly in my mind.
"You will only live if you remain with me."
I pushed the thought away.
---
We left the hospital not long after. The moment the doors slid open and fresh air hit my face, my composure began to crack. I walked a few steps ahead of my mother. I focused on breathing. In. Out. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"Iryna."
Her voice stopped me. I turned just as she pulled me into her arms. And that was it. Everything shattered. A sob ripped out of my chest so violently it hurt. My entire body shook as I cried into her shoulder. The tears wouldn't stop. Months of fear and frustration and exhaustion poured out all at once.
"It's not fair," I choked.
She rubbed my back slowly.
"It's not the end of the world," she whispered. "You'll be fine. I know you will."
I shook my head violently.
"No… Mom… please stop saying that." My voice broke. "It's inevitable. I'm going to die."
"Don't say that."
"It's the truth!"
She pulled back, holding my face gently.
"Listen to me," she said softly. "You are not allowed to give up. Not now. Not ever."
Tears blurred my vision.
"We'll face whatever comes," she continued. "And we'll cherish every moment we have. Together."
Then suddenly— A sharp pain exploded in my chest. It was so sudden I almost gasped. I forced myself to stay still.
Don't show it. Don't worry her..The pain faded after a few seconds.
"I'm okay," I said quickly when she looked concerned.
"I just… need to see Ciara."
"Now?" she asked.
"Yes. There's something we need to talk about."
My mother hesitated.
"I don't want you going alone."
"You can't follow me everywhere," I said gently. "I'll be fine."
After a moment, she sighed.
"Okay. But come home soon."
"I will."
---
Ciara's grandmother's house looked the same as always. Warm. Small and comfortable. The moment Ciara opened the door and saw me, she pulled me into a crushing hug.
"Iryna!"
Even though I had texted her earlier, tears were already spilling down her face. I hugged her back just as tightly. And suddenly we were both crying.
Hard.
She rubbed my back until the sobbing finally slowed.
"Come inside," she said softly.
She led me toward her room. But halfway there— The pain returned. This time it was worse. Much worse. It felt like something inside my chest was being torn apart.
A scream almost escaped my throat.
"Iryna?" Ciara turned quickly.
"I—"
The pain surged again. It was unbearable. Like something inside my ribcage was trying to rip its way out. My body started shaking violently. Sweat poured down my face. My breathing became ragged and shallow.
"Iryna!" Ciara panicked.
She grabbed her phone.
"I'm calling an ambulance!"
My vision blurred. The room spun.
"Iryna, stay with me!" she cried as she tried to dial.
My legs gave out. I collapsed to the floor.
"Iryna!"
Her voice sounded distant. I could feel her shaking me. Calling my name again and again. My eyes were open. But I couldn't see. Darkness swallowed everything. My body wouldn't move. My lungs felt empty.
Ciara's cries faded into nothing. And then— Everything went black.
---
When I opened my eyes again… I wasn't in a hospital. I wasn't even in Ciara's house. I was lying on a bed. But not an ordinary one. The bed floated in the center of the room. Not suspended by ropes. Not held by anything.
It simply… hovered. The mattress was soft beneath me. Modern. Comfortable. But the rest of the room felt strange. It reminded me of the place Dark had taken me before. Except this one was different. It was darker. And yet somehow modern at the same time. The walls were almost empty. The space around the bed stretched endlessly into shadows.
A large window stood at the far side of the room. Through it, I could see the sky. Blue. Bright. Almost like the human world. But deep down, I knew. I wasn't there. Or was I?
My heart began to race. I shot upright on the bed.
"Ciara?" I called.
My voice echoed strangely in the vast room.
"Ciara!"
No answer. Fear crept into my chest. I swung my legs off the bed and stood.
"Ciara!"
Still nothing. Then— The door opened. Slowly. My entire body froze. A figure stepped inside. Tall. Draped in a dark cloak. For a second, I didn't recognize him. His face was hidden beneath the hood. But then he lifted a hand and pushed the cloak back. And I saw him.
Clearly. Perfectly.
Dark.
The demon whose face my mind had refused to remember before. Now there was no mist. No blur. No missing details. I could see him. And he was walking straight toward me.
"I told you, didn't I? I told you your body will choose me." he grinned.
No. I shook my head.
"How... How did I get here? Where... Where is here? Where is my friend? Did you kidnap me?!"
He chuckled darkly. "Calm down, little mortal. If I hadn't arrived on time, you'd be dead by now." He said as he walked over to the window. "And that would have ruined my entire plans."
"No," I whispered, shaking my head again. "No."
My legs moved before my brain caught up. I threw myself off the floating bed, bare feet slapping against cold obsidian floor. Pain lanced through my chest—sharp, vicious—but I ignored it. I ran. Straight for the door he'd just come through. I didn't get three steps. He was faster than shadow.
An arm banded around my waist from behind, iron and heat, yanking me back against the hard wall of his chest. My momentum died instantly. The breath punched out of me in a startled gasp. He didn't speak at first. He simply held me there—back flush to him, my spine arched slightly from the force of the pull. I could feel every line of him: the unyielding strength of his torso, the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his breathing against my shoulder blades, the faint tremor of restrained power in the arm locked around my middle.
I twisted. Hard.
"Let—go—"
He turned me in one smooth motion, fingers still clamped at my waist, the other hand catching my jaw—not rough, but final. Our eyes locked. Up close he was even more devastating. Crimson hair falling in loose strands across his forehead. Ocean-blue eyes burning with something darker than frustration now—something possessive, almost reverent. His mouth curved in the barest hint of a smile that held no warmth.
"You still fight," he murmured. "Even now."
I opened my mouth to curse him. He didn't give me the chance. His head dipped and his mouth crashed over mine.
Hard.
There was nothing gentle about it. Nothing tentative. He kissed me like he was claiming territory—like every breath I'd taken since the moment I left him had been stolen property and he was taking it back. His lips were hot. Demanding. The hand at my jaw tilted my face exactly where he wanted it, deepening the angle until there was no space left between us. His tongue pushed past my parted lips without asking, stroking against mine in a slow, deliberate invasion that sent heat arrowing straight down my spine.
I made a choked sound—half fury, half something I refused to name. My hands flew up to shove at his chest. He didn't budge. Instead he tightened his grip at my waist, hauling me higher against him until my toes barely brushed the floor. The movement pressed my breasts to the hard planes of his torso, my hips flush to his, every inch of contact igniting sparks beneath my skin.
The anchor inside my chest answered instantly.
It didn't just pulse. It sang. A rush of molten warmth flooded outward from the center of my ribs, chasing away the tearing pain that had dropped me minutes ago. My heartbeat steadied—strong, sure, perfectly in time with his. Traitorous. Perfect. I hated it. I hated him more.
I bit down on his lower lip—hard enough to taste copper. He growled. The sound vibrated through me, low and primal. Instead of pulling away, he angled his head and kissed me deeper, swallowing the defiance, turning pain into something darker, hungrier. His tongue stroked over the small wound I'd made like he was savoring it.
When he finally lifted his head, we were both breathing raggedly. Blood glistened on his lip. He licked it away slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
"Better," he said, voice rough. "Much better."
I stared at him, chest heaving, lips swollen and tingling.
"You bastard... you kissed me," I rasped.
"You needed reminding."
"Reminding of what?!"
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw—almost tender now.
"That your body already knows where it belongs."
I jerked my face away from his touch.
"I belong with my family. With Ciara. Not here. Not with you."
His smile faded.
"You collapsed," he said quietly. "Your heart was tearing itself apart trying to reach me. If I had waited even thirty seconds longer, there would be no family left to return to. No Ciara. Just a corpse."
The words landed like stones in my stomach. I wanted to call him a liar. But the memory of the pain—of the way everything had gone black, of Ciara's distant screams—was still too fresh.
My voice came out small. "Is she… okay?"
"She's safe. Sleeping. She won't remember the worst of it." His gaze hardened. "But she'll wake up terrified if you keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Running." He leaned closer until his forehead nearly touched mine. "Every time you put distance between us, the anchor accelerates. It panics. It tries to tear free. And your heart pays the price."
I swallowed hard.
"So I'm your prisoner."
"No." His voice dropped to something softer, almost intimate. "You're my necessity. And I'm yours."
I laughed—bitter, broken.
"You think forcing a kiss makes me yours?"
He studied me for a long moment. Then he released my jaw. His hand slid down—slow, deliberate—until his palm flattened over my heart. Right where the anchor lived. The contact was immediate. Heat bloomed beneath his touch. The frantic, tearing sensation that had been gnawing at me since the hospital visit smoothed out, quieted, settled. My traitorous pulse slowed to match his.
He felt it. I knew he did. Because his eyes darkened with satisfaction.
"I don't need to force anything," he murmured. "Your heart is already answering me. It has been since the moment it first felt my presence."
Tears burned behind my eyes.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"I know."
His thumb brushed once—light, almost reverent—over the place where his palm rested.
"But hate won't change the truth, little mortal."
He leaned in again, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
"You can fight me. You can curse me. You can run until your legs give out."
His voice turned velvet and lethal.
"But every time you do, you only prove me right."
He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze.
"Your body has already chosen."
My chest ached—not with pain this time. With something far more dangerous. Recognition. And the terrible, creeping certainty that he might be right.
I closed my eyes.
Because if I kept looking at him—at the hunger, the patience, the absolute certainty in those endless blue eyes—I was afraid I'd start believing it too.