Page 30 of A Touch of Darkness (Chronicles of the Cursed #1)

The chamber door violently crashes open, the metal groaning as it slams against the stone walls. I don’t have time to move before a barely recognizable Lucian is thrown in, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. My breath catches in my throat, and I rush toward him on my hands and knees, panic and dread curling in my chest. His once-strong frame is now limp, like a ragdoll discarded by careless hands.

Two figures—men, shadows in the dim light—stand just inside the doorway, watching intently. One of them mutters under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face in irritation. “We were supposed to put him in the other chamber.”

The other shrugs, indifferent. “Nah, let him die in here with his witch. Maybe she’ll kill him first.”

Their words hit me like a blow. Die ? Lucian? I can’t—no, I won’t let that happen.

As I kneel beside Lucian, my heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst from my chest. He’s pale—too pale—and there’s a faint sheen of sweat coating his face. I push his dark hair from his forehead, my fingers trembling, small earthquakes under my skin, as I touch his flesh. It’s warm under my touch, but there’s something wrong—he’s too warm, like his body is trying to fight something inside.

As my fingers linger in his hair, I feel it. A faint, almost imperceptible glow beneath his skin—just enough to make my heart skip a beat. I press my palm against his forehead, and the glow intensifies, a strange warmth spreading beneath my fingers.

I breathe in sharply. His blood—his life—is still here, and I can feel it. The magic, his pulse, they’re both in my hands, flowing through me. I run my fingers over his wounds, deep gashes that look as though they were torn open by something brutal and sharp. His blood soaks into my hands, dark and sticky. The sight doesn’t disgust me—it pulls at something deep inside of me. His pain, his suffering, it’s mine now too.

I can feel it—his suffering—seeping into me like a cold wind, sharp and biting. It's as though our very souls are tied together, his agony twisting through my veins. Each wound, each tear in his skin, feels as though it's slowly being carved into my own body. His breath, shallow and broken, stirs something inside me. I take it on, feel it, as though it's my own burden to bear. I wish I could take it all away, but I can’t. I only know this pain. And it's... overwhelming.

I can’t lose this impossible man I’ve come to know.

I can’t.

A thought suddenly flashes through my mind—a thought I can’t ignore: Heal him.

I’ve read the books. I’ve studied the magic. Over the past week or so, I’ve healed other things, plants and fruit and small cuts. Healing is within my grasp, I feel it deep in my bones. Although I have no idea what I’m doing, I close my eyes, focus, drown out every other thought, and press my hands firmly against his open wounds and do as Professor Roth has instructed. As I do, I feel the magic stirring in the air around us, just waiting for me to call on it. Slowly, I pour my power into him, beckoning it to flow from my veins to his. I can feel the warm hum, the vibration of it, as though the blood in my hands is fusing with the power in the air. His skin quivers slightly beneath my palms, the gashes starting to mend, though it’s slow.

His pulse is still faint, barely there, but the warmth under my hands is undeniable. Something is happening. My power is surging through him.

I think it’s working…

But then doubt creeps in. I look down at Lucian’s face, his pale lips parted slightly, his body still so lifeless. What if I’m not enough? What if it doesn’t work? I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

A shudder runs through me, and for a brief moment, I can’t breathe. I need help. I need someone to tell me what to do.

“Lara, please,” I cry out, running my hands through my hair and shaking my head, not even able to look at Lucian anymore. He’s so different from the man I’m used to. So weak.

And then, I hear it. A whisper—soft but clear—like a thread of light cutting through the suffocating darkness around us.

Sylvie…

Lara’s voice. She’s here.

The one constant in this chaos.

I close my eyes and let her presence fill me, wrap around me like a protective cloak.

“I’m here, Lara. I need you,” I whisper aloud, though I already know she’s with me. “Please, Lara. I can’t lose him. I can’t. This is all my fucking fault!”

Her voice comes again, calm, unwavering. You already know what to do. Don’t ask me for answers—you have the power to heal him. You know this, Sylvie.

The words cut through the fog of fear clouding my mind, and I feel something click within me.

She’s right. I’ve always had the power. I’ve always known. I’ve already started the process. I need to trust myself.

The power I hold in my hands isn’t just magic—it’s life itself. It flows from me, flows from the blood that courses through my veins. I stand and run over to the metal door, to the bars separating me from potential freedom. I look at anything that may be sharp enough to slice my skin. Examining each bar, I finally find a seemingly useless metal notch, an imperfection in the metal, but it’ll do. I press my tender wrist against it and grind it back and forth until the recently healed cut splits back open, screaming in agony as my skin tears apart.

I watch the blood trickle out and my pulse quickens. Without thinking, I run back over and press it to Lucian’s lips. A slow, trembling breath escapes me as I feel his lips brush against my skin. And then, I let it flow. My blood—my essence—pours into him, the deep, red tide filling his mouth. I tilt his head back so it glides down his throat. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can feel him pulling at it, drawing it into his own broken body.

I feel it again—the sensation of his pain flooding through me. His suffering deepens, twists inside my chest, and I can't tell if it's his or my own. We are bound together by it, sharing the same agony, the same hunger, the same need. My pulse, my heart, it beats in sync with his, the rhythm of his life becoming mine.

I press harder, urging him to take more. His breath comes in shallow gasps, but I know he's still holding on, still fighting. For me. For us.

“I’m here,” I whisper against his ear, the words soft but fierce, my voice steady. “I’ll save you. I’ll make this right.”

My hands tremble as I look down at Lucian, slipping into my old ways of self-doubt. His blood—my blood—this connection between us. It feels fragile, like if I let go, everything will crumble.

Lara’s voice is more insistent now, more certain. You’ve studied the magic. You know the power of blood. You know what it can do. What it can fix. Trust in that power. You have to stop doubting yourself, Sylvie. You can do this on your own.

Her words ignite something inside of me, something fierce and undeniable. I’ve always had the ability. I am the answer. I reach deep inside myself, pulling the power to the surface, the energy that has always been there, waiting.

This is mine to control. I can save him. I will save him.

I let the power rise within me, flowing from my veins into his. Lucian’s body trembles again, a soft, barely perceptible shudder, but this time, the magic is stronger, more powerful. It’s as if my own thoughts and emotions are funneling right into it. The more I believe in myself, the more it works. I watch in silence as the gashes in his skin start to close, the raw flesh knitting together, the color returning to his cheeks, however faintly.

It’s working.

I almost don’t dare to believe it, but there’s no denying the shift in his body. The glow beneath his skin intensifies just a little, and I feel his pulse, ever so faint but growing stronger. The blood— my blood—is awakening him.

Bringing him back to life.

Lara’s voice hums in my mind again, steady and reassuring. Give him time. His body needs to adjust. The blood is working inside him. But it will take time.

I don’t want to hear it. I want him to wake up now, I want to see his eyes open, to hear his voice, to know that he’s not gone. But I understand. I feel the magic, see it, and I know Lara is right.

I rest back on my haunches, watching him, my hands still hovering near his body as the glow under his skin slowly fades. I don’t let go of the connection. I feel the pulse of magic still resonating in the air, my blood still intertwined with his.

His wounds are healing. The blood I gave him—it’s working. But not yet enough to wake him. He just needs time. But I did it.

As I stand there, watching Lucian’s body continue to heal, my mind spins. Everything feels connected now, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. His blood, my blood—this magic, this power—it’s all entwined.

Lara’s words echo in my mind. The things I’ve learned come back to me. The Society wants our blood. They want to control it, use it, bend it to their will.

I’ve read the texts, studied the ancient prophecies and curses, the power that blood holds. It’s the answer. They don’t just want to control the curse, to break it to end the vampires. They want us. They want everything we are, everything we hold. And they won’t stop until they have it.

But they can’t have it—not while I’m here. Not while Lucian is still breathing, still fighting. This blood, my blood, is more than just a tool. It’s the key.

I press my palm to his chest again, this time gently, and the warmth of his skin spreads through me. His pulse is still faint, but it’s there. I won’t leave him. I won’t let him go—not now, not when we’re so close.

The blood is working, but it’s not just his healing—it’s mine too. My power is growing, pulsing stronger with every heartbeat, I feel it intensifying by the second.

And I will control it. I’ll do anything to make sure these people pay for what they’ve done. I will make sure they never take what belongs to me—and they never hurt anyone I care about.