Page 36 of A Touch of Darkness (Chronicles of the Cursed #1)

The room is dim, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles, their flames casting long, shuddering shadows against the stone walls. The scent of beeswax mingles with the faint, earthy scent of the old wood that makes up the bookshelves and furniture around me. I stand in the center of it all, my hands trembling slightly as I arrange the candles with more care than I’ve ever shown an inanimate object. Each wick, each flame, represents a small piece of the world I want to create tonight—one where everything is perfect for her.

Sylvie.

Her name hums in my chest like a secret, something whispered just for me. I’ve lived through centuries, taken countless lovers, but never once has anything felt as important as this. As her. The thought of what’s about to happen both terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure. I have been dying for this moment, but I will eternally hate that it’s happening like this. That it isn’t one hundred percent her choice.

Her choosing me.

I glance around, reassessing my room, a space no woman—mortal or vampire—has seen. The bed is neat, the blood-red sheets smooth, but the atmosphere—it needs more. It needs her. The glow of the candles feels like a dream, soft and warm, wrapping us both in a cocoon of something that could be heaven if only for a moment. But until she is in here, it’s all empty. I’m empty.

I breathe deeply, my pulse quickening in anticipation. The quiet in the house feels heavier tonight, more oppressive somehow, like the air itself knows what’s coming. I want to trust Sylvie. And I do. But she will forever be in over her head with Solstice. They have time on their side, and she’s so young. She has so much to learn. I worry her plan will blow up in our faces, but I want to honor her wishes. I want to show her I will follow her—anywhere.

I run my fingers along the edge of the table, tracing the smooth curve of the glass. I pour wine into her crystal goblet with an almost reverent care. It’s the deep crimson of blood—dark, rich, as if it were made for this moment. I wonder if she will taste it the same way I do—through the layers of meaning, the careful construction of everything around her.

Everything tonight is for her.

For Sylvie. The woman I will never get enough of. That I will never get over.

My heart stutters, and I pause. I didn’t think I would be like this—nervous, almost—yet here I am, arranging and rearranging, worried that it won’t be enough. That I won’t be enough. The bond between us, once formed, will be something we both carry forever. And tonight, it will be sealed.

I sense her coming just before hearing the faintest sound—a soft knock against the door. It stirs something deep inside me, like the rustle of the earth before a natural disaster.

She’s here.

A flutter of heat rises up my spine. I take a moment to steady my breath, to still the nervousness that clutches at me with a gentleness I haven’t allowed myself in years.

A vulnerability I haven’t known in far too long.

“Sylvie,” I whisper, as the door creaks open slowly, revealing her in the doorway. My chest tightens at the sight of her—her silhouette framed by the dim light, the shape of her barely visible but enough to send my heart into a chaotic rhythm. She’s wearing nothing but a small piece of white fabric that barely covers her most intimate parts—and despite the restraint I’ve shown, I have little control in this moment. My cock grows painfully hard against the fabric of my slacks, and I have to discreetly adjust myself.

At first, I want to ask where she got the lingerie, but I know the girls brought some of her clothes from her dorm the other day. Neither of them is ever up to any good, so they probably did this on purpose.

Anger swells in my chest when I think about her wearing this for some random teenage boy back in Chicago.

But one thing is certain: he didn’t get to claim every inch of her, he will never be connected to her like me.

If he even exists at all.

She steps inside, hesitant, her dark doe eyes wide with something that I can’t quite name. Her lips part, and I can feel the soft breath she takes.

“You look beautiful,” I say, the words escaping in a breathless rush, a simple truth, but it feels like an offering. She is radiant, even in this quiet, intimate space. Even with the uncertainty that lingers in her gaze, she is a vision that steals the air from my lungs. I don’t think there will ever be a time when she doesn’t steal my breath.

She smiles faintly, but there’s a softness in her expression that speaks volumes—trust, hesitation, and something more. “Thank you,” she replies, her voice low and hesitant, a delicate tremor under each word.

I watch her as she steps further into the room. I want to say more, to tell her how I feel, but my chest tightens with something heavy and consuming.

I don’t believe I’ve ever been as nervous as I am in this moment. It’s so rare. So strange.

I turn to the table where the wine rests, my fingers lingering on the crystal. The dark liquid swirls with a beauty all its own, a deep red that catches the light and glows like something alive. I offer it to her, and as our fingers brush, I feel the familiar shock of warmth, the spark of connection that pulls at me, drawing me closer to her in ways that have nothing to do with mere physical proximity.

She takes the glass with a hesitant smile, her fingers lingering on mine just a moment longer than necessary. She’s nervous, too. I can feel it in the way she holds herself—like the weight of this moment is almost too much to bear. I would kill to read her thoughts right now, but alas, I’ve vowed to myself to never betray her like that.

I delay for a moment, but then the words spill out before I can stop them. “Before we go through with this, Sylvie, I just need to talk to you.” I pause, helping her to sit on the edge of the bed and noticing how it looks like she belongs here. How I wish she would stay here for eternity with me.

“This isn’t just about taking something from you. It’s about everything that comes with it. The bond it will create, the power it will unleash. You don’t know what it means—what I mean.”

Her eyes harden, and she sets the glass down on the table with a soft clink, turning to face me fully. “Then tell me,” she says, her voice steady now, something akin to wonderment flaring in her eyes. “Please don’t hide behind your cryptic words. Not tonight, Lucian. Just give me the truth, whatever it is.”

I look away, shame coiling in my gut. She’s right—I owe her the truth. I owe her everything. But how can I put into words the darkness that resides in me, the beast that yearns to claim her in ways she cannot fathom? How can I tell her that once this is done, there is no going back? I will never be content without her again—not that I ever was.

I take a deep breath, my voice low as I gather the courage to speak the unspoken. “When you bind yourself to me in this way,” I begin, forcing the words out, “it will change everything. You won’t just lose your virginity, Sylvie. You’ll tether yourself to me—to a world that will demand every piece of you. A world that will take and take until there’s nothing left. I believe this will only solidify the bond I feel toward you.”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. “That world already demands everything of me, Lucian. And I’m still standing. I’m still here.”

Her words strike like a thunderclap, silencing every argument I’ve been holding onto. She’s made her choice, and I can see now that nothing I say will dissuade her. She has stepped into the fire willingly, and I am powerless to stop her.

I sit next to her and cup her jaw, running the pad of my thumb against her skin.

“You are still here, aren’t you?” I say, rhetorically.

I lean in and kiss her reverently, taking my time as my lips slowly conquer hers. I slip my tongue inside and devour her, taking every inch of her mouth as she moans against me, and I edge even closer to her. When I pull away, it is not without regret, but it is needed.

“I’ll only do this if you’re sure,” I say finally, my voice a whisper of the storm raging inside me. “Not for Lara, not for the curse—only if it’s what you want.”

She looks up and into my eyes, her hand reaching for mine and bringing it to her heart. The thumping I feel is magnified, her heart is racing. Her touch is soft, hesitant, and yet it sets my entire being alight. “I want this,” she says, her voice barely audible, but the conviction in her eyes says everything. She then brings our palms to my own heart, covering it like she wants to protect me, though I can’t fathom the reason. “I want you.”

And then she’s pulling me closer, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss that is both fragile and ferocious. It’s a kiss that holds centuries of pain and longing, a kiss that speaks of promises broken and promises made anew. I don’t stop her. I can’t. My hands move to her waist, anchoring her to me as the world falls away, pulling her into my lap so she can feel exactly what she does to me—in this lifetime, in all those before, and in all after.

She is everything, and for this moment, she is mine.

But as her lips move against mine, as her hands curl into my shirt and her body presses closer, I feel it—the weight of what we’re about to do. This isn’t just a choice. It’s the beginning of the end. For her. For me. For everything.

Still, as I lift her into my arms and adjust her further up the bed so she’s comfortable, I know one thing with absolute certainty: I will do whatever it takes to protect her, to save her, to keep her by my side.

Even if it means damning myself all over again.