The Bond That Burns

When Aria woke, the world was made of stone and shadows. The air smelled faintly of smoke and iron. Her body ached, her skin fever-hot beneath coarse blankets. For a moment, she thought she was still in the forest—until she saw the walls.

Black marble. Gold runes carved in spirals. The sigil of a serpent biting its own tail.

The Black Citadel.

Panic surged through her chest. She sat up too fast, a sharp pain lancing behind her ribs. The last thing she remembered was his hand around her wrist, that cold fire crawling through her veins.

Lucien.

A low voice broke through her thoughts. “Careful, witchling. The bond hasn’t settled yet.”

He was standing near the doorway, his cloak draped loosely over his shoulders, his eyes glinting like molten steel in the dim light. There was no sign of the man she’d saved—the blood, the weakness—all gone. He looked perfectly alive. Too alive.

“What did you do to me?” Aria whispered.

Lucien tilted his head, a predator studying something fragile. “You touched a cursed man with magic. Our souls collided. My venom runs in your veins now.”

She stared, horrified. “You’re lying.”

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that promised truth would hurt. “Try using your power.”

Her throat tightened, but she lifted her hand. A flicker of light shimmered in her palm, silver turning slowly to black, until it vanished with a hiss like smoke. Pain shot through her arm, searing, alive.

Aria gasped. “What—”

“My curse feeds on magic,” Lucien said softly. “And your magic feeds on life. Now they feed on each other.” He stepped closer, every movement smooth, deliberate. “You’ve bound yourself to me, witchling. You’ll feel what I feel. Suffer when I suffer.”

“Then unbind it,” she snapped.

“If I could, I would’ve done so centuries ago.” His voice dropped, quiet but edged with something raw. “You’ve just tied yourself to the one man the gods themselves refused to touch.”

The room seemed colder suddenly. Aria wrapped her arms around herself, glaring up at him. “Then kill me. If you’re truly the monster they say you are.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change—but his gaze darkened, softening at the edges, almost curious. “Death would be mercy. And mercy isn’t something I give easily.”

He stepped closer still, until the distance between them vanished. His hand brushed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You saved me, Aria Vale,” he murmured. “Now, I’ll save you—from everyone else. Even if it means destroying what’s left of you.”

Her breath caught, not from fear, but from the strange warmth beneath his words. Something dangerous hummed between them—magic, maybe, or madness.

Then he released her, turning away like the moment never happened. “Rest. You’ll need your strength. The Council will want to see you.”

“Council?”

Lucien paused at the doorway. “The ones who decide which witches burn and which ones I keep.”

And with that, he left her alone in the darkness, her heartbeat echoing like a curse she could never undo.

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