Page 12 of A Touch of Darkness (Chronicles of the Cursed #1)

The walls of Blackthorne feel animated tonight, as if they’re whispering secrets in the darkness. Every creak of the worn floorboards and rustle of the wind through the tall windows makes my heart jump. I can’t tell if the building is truly this eerie, or if the stories Rebecca and Nicole told me are making my imagination run wild. But whatever it is, it feels like this place is closing in on me, inch by inch, until I can barely breathe.

I lie on my narrow dorm bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, staring at faint cracks in the ceiling. If I stare long enough, they morph into odd faces and obscure figures. Usually, the stillness of the late hour calms me—it’s a time to let my busy mind unravel. But now, my nerves are on edge. The hush of the night isn’t soothing; it’s suffocating. Like the halls themselves are haunted by the enormity of the things I’ve learned. Things that shouldn’t be real.

I glance over at Lara’s empty bed. The sheets are rumpled from Nicole and Rebecca sitting on them while we went over how to move forward, the Isabel issue, and how to find Lara. My stomach churns from her absence. She should be here.

I can’t stop replaying my conversation with Professor Draedon—seeing the way candlelight glinted across the sharp angles of his face, hearing the low, resonant timbre of his voice as he said those impossible things. My heart still thuds a little too fast when I remember how he revealed himself to be a vampire, how he insisted I’m not “merely human,” how he implied I’m at the center of some ancient power struggle that could tear the supernatural world apart. It’s surreal to think about. Part of me still wants to believe I dreamed the whole thing.

Like I’ve dreamed everything since stepping foot onto this campus.

Yet the moment he told me what I am—what I might become—it felt… real. A sick, twisting kind of real that lodged in my chest, making it hard to inhale a deep breath. The fear was there, sure, copious and strangling. But something else was there, too—something that made my pulse pound for reasons that had nothing to do with terror.

I close my eyes, heat burning along my cheeks. The professor’s presence didn’t just scare me; it ignited something in me. Like my whole body was on fire under his gaze. The way he looked at me while teaching his class—like I was the only person in the room—somehow calmed my racing heart and set it pounding all at once. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and it scares me even more than the talk of curses and societies. Because how can I be feeling something so electric for a man who just told me he’s a vampire?

A species I didn’t even believe in until yesterday. A species I still cannot wrap my mind around.

I push the professor out of my mind and my thoughts drift to Lara. In any other scenario, I’d run straight to my twin sister—she’s always been the one to help me keep perspective. We share everything. When she’s excited, I catch her enthusiasm; when I’m down, she lifts me up. But this? This is too big, too strange to just blurt out. Hey, guess what? A professor at Blackthorne told me I’m not fully human and that an ancient society wants to use me as a weapon. Even as I imagine the words, they sound ludicrous. She’d think I’m losing my mind.

Or maybe she’d believe me. Maybe she’d worry herself sick because that’s who Lara is—nurturing, protective, instinctive. She’s our mother in younger form.

I rub my temples, trying to quell the ache. My body feels like it’s still vibrating with residual tension, but exhaustion edges in. Slowly, I move onto my side, pulling the blanket closer. The details of what Professor Draedon said swirl around me like a restless tide:

I’m not just human.

I’m descended from a line that once shaped the fate of vampires.

The Solstice Society wants me .

My…power.

And over everything else, the way he looked at me—a mixture of regret, longing, and determination all rolled into one. How could someone so dangerous feel like a strange sort of refuge, even as he’s telling me about a threat that could annihilate us all?

My eyelids grow heavier with each thought, but my mind refuses to settle. Every time I think about the professor, an unwanted flutter sparks behind my ribcage. It’s the kind of feeling I’ve only read about in novels—part adrenaline, part attraction, and part dread.

Stop thinking about it , I tell myself. I just need to get some sleep. Yet I know when morning comes, I’ll still be drowning in a thousand questions and probably not rested at all. Was everything he said true? Why me? How am I supposed to handle this?

Eventually, fatigue wins out, tugging me under. My last thought, before darkness fully claims me, is that I wish Lara were here. I wish I could whisper all my fears into her ear, let her reassure me this is some wild misunderstanding. But the truth feels too close, too undeniable. And as I drift into a fitful sleep, all I can do is hope that, somehow, I’ll find my footing in this new reality—before it swallows me whole.

The knocking is violent, relentless, and drags me from the depths of yet another nightmare. My body jerks upright, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, my pulse hammering in my ears. I gasp for air, disoriented, my mind sluggishly clawing its way out of sleep. The noise pounds on, louder, more insistent, more demanding.

For a brief, blissful moment, I think it’s part of the dream. But the sound is too real, too sharp, too loud. My heart lurches, a sick sense of dread curling low in my stomach. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.

I stumble out of bed, my feet fumbling against the cold floor as I try to peel my eyes open. The clock on my nightstand reads 3:14 a.m., the red numbers glaring at me like an accusation. I barely register it as I stagger toward the door, the knocking like a metronome of doom.

For the briefest of seconds, my mind allows a small sense of peace.

“Lara?” I croak, my voice hoarse from sleep. My hands blunder with the lock, trembling so badly I almost drop the chain. “Is that you?”

The hope in my voice is a fragile, desperate thing, clinging to the impossible. I wrench the door open, my heart leaping into my throat?—

—and it crashes back down when I see a Blackthorne security guard and police officers standing there.

My hand flies to my mouth to muffle a scream, because I know the inevitable is here. Everything in me goes still. My breath catches, frozen in my chest, as if my body knows what they’re going to say before they even open their mouths. The security guard stands still. Then there’s the two officers. There’s one man and one woman. Both wear the same grave expression and have the same careful posture, as if they’re afraid of breaking me with a single wrong move.

“Miss Rosenthal?” the security guard says, his voice too soft. Too careful.

“Yes.” The word barely escapes my lips, or at least I think it slips out. I’m unsure if I truly said it or if it was just in my mind.

“These officers would like to speak with you. They called the university and asked to gain entrance, and the situation seems very time-sensitive. I’ve verified their positions with Blackthorne P.D., and protocol insists I escort them to you. I’ll be right here outside to escort them away when they’ve finished talking to you.

I nod as I take in what the guard says and then thank him as he steps to the side like he’s guarding post outside of the dorm room.

The male officer glances at his partner before looking back at me. “May we come inside?”

I don’t move. Can’t move. My legs feel like they’ve turned to stone. My head shakes involuntarily, my mouth opening to say something, but nothing comes out. No. No, you can’t come in. No, you can’t say what I know you’re about to say. If I don’t let you in, I’ll never know the truth and maybe I can continue pretending the worst hasn’t happened—again.

I step aside anyway. They enter, and their presence feels like a hurricane rolling into my dorm, dark and oppressive. I move to my nightstand table and click on a small lamp to light the room a little without turning on the overhead fixture.

“I’m Officer Rivera,” the woman says, and then motions to her sidekick and continues, “and this is Officer Jacobs, my counterpart in the field.” Once we’re all inside of the too-small room, Officer Rivera closes the door behind her with a soft click that feels like the sealing of a coffin.

“Miss Rosenthal,” Rivera begins, and despite her gentle voice, the words slam into me like a wrecking ball. “I don’t want to waste your time with platitudes here. I want to get straight to the point.” She pauses, doing the exact opposite of what she’s just said she wants to do. Then, she continues with, “I’m very sorry to inform you that your sister, Lara, was found earlier tonight.”

The room tilts, then spins. My knees go weak, and I clutch the edge of my bed, the only thing keeping me upright. “Found,” I whisper, the word bitter and sour on my tongue, because for so long I couldn’t wait to hear that word. Couldn’t wait for someone to give a shit. To believe me. But not like this…Never like this. “What do you mean… found?”

Rivera’s gaze flickers down for a moment, looking at where the moonlight slices across the floor, adding another fraction of light to the room, her expression tightening. “She was discovered in the woods near Blackthorne by a local hunter. We believe…” She hesitates, as if searching for the right words. “We believe she’s been deceased for a couple of days, but we will know more once the autopsy is completed.” Her words are like a bullet barreling into my psyche. I collapse into a heap on the floor, the bed that once held me up no longer a match for my agony.

“Deceased,” I repeat, the word foreign, alien. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. Not with Lara. Not with the strongest person I’ve ever known. “No. No, that’s not—” My voice rises, sharp and panicked. “No, that’s not possible. You’re wrong.”

I heard her. I’m not crazy. I heard her the other day. She was soothing me, helping me, leading me closer to her.

My entire body trembles as a sob breaks through the deafening silence the officer’s words have left in their wake. It’s a guttural, unforgiving sound that I’ve never heard in my life, not even when Lara and I were informed of our parents’ deaths.

This is different.

This is a piece of me.

And now it’s slipped through my fingers.

“I wish we were wrong,” she says, her voice low. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” The denial tears out of me, raw and broken. I take a step back, shaking my head furiously. “No. This isn’t… this can’t…” My voice falters, breaking under the weight of my own words. “She’s not… she’s not dead.”

Officer Jacobs steps forward. His presence is solid, potentially even grounding if not for this moment, but it only makes the reality of what they’re saying sink deeper into my bones. “We’ll need to ask you some questions at the station,” he says carefully. “But not tonight. Get some rest, and we’ll?—”

“Rest?” I cut him off, my voice cracking on the word before I break into howling laughter. “You want me to rest? My sister is dead, and you’re telling me to rest?” I cackle like a madwoman, shrieking in anguish and yanking at my hair to feel something other than this deep-seated pain and hatred for the two people in front of me that have the gall to deliver this news. I laugh, and scream, laugh and cry, laugh and pound my fists against the floor until they are so raw and red and swollen that I can’t feel my hands any longer.

“We’ll leave you alone, Miss Rosenthal,” Officer Jacobs says, although it sounds muffled and distant as I cradle my head in my hands. “Is there anyone we can call that can come sit with you?”

I shake my head, wanting them to get out.

I’m not sure how much longer it is until they finally do. Time doesn’t exist. Not right now.

My breathing grows ragged, my chest heaving with the force of it. Tears blur my vision, hot and unrelenting, and I claw at my hair, at my skin, trying to keep myself from falling apart. But it’s no use.

I break.

Another raucous sound escapes me—low and guttural, an animalistic wail that doesn’t even sound human. It rips through the dorm, bouncing off the walls, ricocheting back and forth, filling the space with my grief, my disbelief, my utter agony. My body curls in on itself involuntarily, and I rock back and forth.

“No, no, no,” I whisper between gasps, the words spilling out in a mantra of denial. My hands clutch at the hem of my shirt, my nails digging into the fabric, breaking my skin and shredding my abdomen to the point blood flows freely down my stomach. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Lara…” Her name is a broken plea on my lips. “Lara!” I scream over and over and over again until my throat goes raw, until I taste copper on my tongue, until her name doesn’t even feel real spilling from my lips.

Until nothing feels real at all.

This is my life now.

Lara is gone, and I am alone.

I failed her.

The silence after the officers leave is ear-piercing. It presses down on me, infiltrating my chest, suffocating, filling every corner of the room with the heavy burden of Lara’s absence. I sit on the floor, unable to move, knees drawn to my chest, my breath shaky and uneven. My body feels numb, hollow, as if the news of her death has stripped me of everything but this raw, aching grief.

I should move. I should get up, do something, anything. But I can’t. The heaviness of it all pins me to the ground, and all I can do is sit here, tears streaking down my face, my mind replaying the officers’ words over and over again. Found in the woods. Deceased. Gone.

A faint knock at the door drags me from the haze. It’s soft, almost hesitant, but even that sound feels like too much.

I don’t move. I don’t care.

But the knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent.

It brings me back to 3:14 a.m., when the officers were practically beating down the door. My mind flashes to the alarm clock, the time, peeling my eyes open and fumbling to the door. To their faces as they broke the news.

More knocking. They come faster now.

“Fuck off!” I scream, not giving a single shit who is behind the door. It isn’t Lara, so it doesn’t matter.

Whoever it is doesn’t take the hint. They continue knocking and each time their fist connects with the door it’s a stark reminder that everything has changed and nothing will ever be the same again. That I can no longer pretend she’s somewhere and on her way home to me.

“Go away!” I rasp, forcing myself to stand on unsteady legs. My fists ache, and I see a chunk of my own hair on the floor, stark against the dull carpet.

The knocking doesn’t stop—no pause, no hesitation. Anger flares, a red-hot pulse under my skin. I stomp to the door, yank it open, ready to snap—but the words die in my throat when I see Isabel.

She stands there, her dark eyes fixed on me with what looks like determination… and maybe pity.

“You,” I growl, my voice cracking from my sorrow. I move to slam the door in her face, but she presses back with surprising strength.

“Wait,” she urges, her tone calm yet unyielding. “Sylvie, please. I know you don’t want to see me right now, but you need to hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t need anything from you, Isabel.” I shove at the door again, but it doesn’t budge. “Leave. Me. Alone. I can’t deal with your cryptic bullshit.”

“This isn’t about me.” She slips past the threshold despite my protests, knocking me off balance. Her presence slithers into the room, cold as a draft. “It’s about your sister.”

Her words slice right through my anger. I freeze, dread coiling in my gut. “What about her?” My voice quivers, raw and jagged. “What about Lara?”

Isabel closes the door behind her and turns to face me. Her expression is oddly controlled, like she’s delivering bad news she’s rehearsed a dozen times. “I came to tell you the truth about what happened to Lara.”

My heart lurches. “What are you talking about?” My head pounds, and I just want to bury myself in my blankets and forget the world exists.

“She didn’t simply die,” Isabel says softly. “She was murdered.” She hesitates, her eyes flicking over me as if pausing for show. “By vampires.”

The room spins. Suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m breathing. “That’s impossible. The police never mentioned anything like?—”

“They don’t know what they’re dealing with,” Isabel interrupts, her tone razor-sharp. “We do. We’ve tracked them for years. There’s a string of victims, Sylvie, all linked by these… attacks. And Lara?—”

A tremor of pain lances through me at my sister’s name. I press my palms to my temples, trying to block out the image forming in my mind. “Stop,” I whisper, my voice taut with grief. “I can’t—this doesn’t make any sense. Vampires? What—you’re saying she was targeted?”

Isabel takes a step closer. “There’s more to Blackthorne than you realize. More than any human realizes. You’ve seen it yourself—the warnings, the secrets. Vampires are real, and they killed Lara.”

I stare at her, tears burning behind my eyes, but confusion swallows me whole. A part of me wants to rage, to scream that I’ll take down whoever did this. Another part can’t accept that my sister was murdered for reasons I don’t understand. “But… I don’t know if I can believe you,” I mumble, voice quivering. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because we’ve seen it happen before,” Isabel says firmly. “You’ve seen enough strange things at Blackthorne to know something’s off. You felt it. And now you have your answer.”

I clutch my arms, trying to ground myself.

“Not all vampires are evil,” I say at last, mind flashing to Lucian, to the conflicting sense of danger and solace I felt around him. “Your society wants to rid the world of vampires. You can’t blame every single vampire for what happened.”

“Maybe not,” Isabel concedes, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. “But that doesn’t change the fact that your sister was murdered by them.”

My heart twists, tears overflowing despite my attempt to hold them back. “Why would anyone do that? She never hurt anyone,” I whisper, shaking my head as I sink onto the edge of my bed.

Isabel exhales softly, stepping closer. “I know how it sounds. But I want you to understand that the danger is real. These creatures… they don’t care about your grief. They see humans as disposable. And you—Sylvie—you’re more than human in their eyes. You’re an opportunity, a weapon. Like your sister was.”

Professor Draedon said the Society would use me as a weapon.

Everything inside me clenches at her words. I think about the professor’s warnings, about the Solstice Society, about secrets I barely grasp. “I—I don’t know,” I stammer, pressing my fists against my thighs. “I don’t know what to believe. I don’t?—”

Isabel steps forward, her voice gentler but still laced with urgency. “I know this is overwhelming. But if you want to make sure no one else loses a sister like you just did… you need to listen. Come with me. My advisors can help you find answers.”

My gaze lifts to hers, and a roiling unease churns in my gut. Something about her feels off, cold. I don’t trust her, not really—she’s been too secretive, too manipulative. Yet her words slice through my brain, scraping raw wounds in my heart. I want to know the truth, but not from her.

I inhale deeply, closing my eyes and trying to figure out who to trust. What to believe. How to move forward. She isn’t being truthful. I feel a strange sensation, a pull trying to move me farther from Isabel. Something isn’t right here. Her words don’t feel…accurate. Something deep inside my bones tells me to run.

I haven’t had a feeling like this with Nicole and Rebecca. And sure, Professor Draedon makes me feel…certain things. But it’s nothing like how Isabel’s presence is throwing me off.

Trust your gut. Trust your instincts. My mother’s words play on repeat in my mind.

“No,” I say, my voice trembling yet firm. “I can’t go anywhere with you. I don’t trust you. And… I’m not sure what you’re even asking me to do. If vampires really killed her, I—I need to figure this out on my own.” I don’t want to totally shut her down, just in case I need her eventually, but I also have a deep, guttural feeling telling me she isn’t being truthful.

“I’m offering you a chance to do more than just ‘figure this out,’” Isabel insists, frustration flickering across her face. “I’m offering a way to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. You loved your sister, Sylvie. Don’t you want to act?”

I look down, tears silently tracking my cheeks. “Don’t question my love for my sister, Isabel. That’s not the way to get me to trust you, I can assure you of that.”

A tense silence stretches. Isabel’s jaw works, as if she’s holding back some barbed retort. Finally, she inhales slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says, though her tone betrays little actual sympathy. She slips a piece of paper into my hand, and I unwrap it and find a cell phone number inside. “If you change your mind, you can call me.”

Without another word, she steps away. The chill of her presence still clings to the room, making my skin prickle.

My heart thuds heavily as I watch Isabel leave, guilt and grief tangling in my chest. Part of me wants to scream at the world for doing this to Lara, but another part just wants to close my eyes and pretend none of this is real. The police, the vampires, the hollow emptiness—I feel like a broken marionette, flung aside by cruel puppeteers.

When the door clicks shut, I finally let out a ragged breath. A thousand questions whirl through my mind—about Isabel, about vampires, about who or what might have taken Lara’s life. I think of Nicole and Rebecca, and the honesty they gave me. How they risked things just telling me about the supernaturals. I think of Professor Draedon, whose quiet confidence and intelligence makes me feel safe but somehow off-kilter.

I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand, the grief still pressing down on me like a crushing weight. Who can I trust now? The question lodges in my soul, and no number of tears can wash it away.

Because Lara is gone. And I don’t know which way to turn.

Sylvie.

I freeze. It’s faint, barely more than a whisper, but it’s unmistakable. It’s her. Again. It’s her voice again. Just like the other day.

It’s Lara.

I clutch at my head, my breath hitching. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, this isn’t real. I’m going crazy. I am one hundred percent losing my fucking mind.” I pant, unable to catch my breath. “It’s this fucking university, isn’t it?”

You’re not crazy.

The voice is soothing, familiar, like a warm embrace.

I’m here. Help me, Sylv.

A sob escapes me, and I sink to my knees, clutching at my chest. My hands cup my ears, trying to drown her voice out, trying to mask my crazy.

“You’re not real,” I whisper. “You’re gone. You’re dead. They said…”

Tears continue to stream down my face as I shake my head back and forth, a high-pitched whine coming from my throat. I want to believe her, but the rational part of me is screaming that it’s impossible. That she’s just saying whatever she can to manipulate me.

But the voice in my head… it feels too real to ignore.

I love you, Sylvie.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what’s real, what’s a lie, or what’s just the desperate ramblings of my grief-stricken mind.

But as I sit here, broken and lost, Isabel’s words hang in the air, and a part of me wonders if she’s right, or if I’m just grasping at the last threads of hope before they slip through my fingers.

But the moment my thoughts drift back to Solstice and Isabel, Lara’s words come again.

Don’t trust her.