Page 38 of A Touch of Darkness (Chronicles of the Cursed #1)

The fire dwindles in the hearth, casting its golden glow over her face. Her lashes flutter against her reddened cheeks, and for a moment, I allow myself to get lost in the quiet serenity of her presence. But I know better than to believe in serenity. Not now. Not with the looming shadow of the Solstice Society threatening to dismantle what little peace we’ve found.

Sylvie shifts slightly, her hand still pressed to my chest where she feels the steady rhythm of a heart I’ve long thought cursed. Though, being cursed is a privilege, as long as I’m by her side. Her eyes meet mine, and in their dark depths, I see something stronger than fear—a determination that both inspires and terrifies me.

She both inspires and terrifies me.

“I can’t keep pretending like this moment isn’t temporary,” she says softly. Her voice is steady, but there’s a weight beneath her words, an urgency that matches the one pulsing in my veins.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

She exhales slowly, as though bracing herself. “I think we need to take control. Waiting for them to make the next move is only going to waste time or give them an advantage. They still have Lara bent to their will. We need to force their hand.”

I tense instinctively at the mention of them, my grip on her tightening. “What are you suggesting?”

She moves closer, as though her proximity can soften the blow of her next words. “I think I need to contact them. Tell them I’m ready to give them what they want—my blood—but only on my terms. We can arrange a meeting, somewhere safe, where we can exchange my blood for Lara.” She smiles at me, and it makes every single cell in my body light on fire. “Although, we know the blood will be useless now.”

I grin at her, my unyielding desire already creeping back in.

“They’ll keep coming, keep trying to break the curse and eliminate us. But at least you will be safe, here, with me. And you will have Lara back,” I tell her, stroking her skin.

“We’ll set the terms,” she says. “We decide the location. Somewhere they can’t touch us. They give us Lara before I spill any blood.”

“The Solstice Society doesn’t deal in honor, Sylvie. They deal in manipulation and blood,” I tell her in warning.

“Then we make it impossible for them to double-cross us,” she insists. “Your house—couldn’t we use the wards and protections here? You said they’re centuries old, strong enough to keep out anyone who means harm. They’d have to stay outside, beyond the shield. If they try anything, we’ll have the advantage.”

Her logic is sound, but the thought of her facing them—even with protections in place—makes something cold and primal twist in my chest. “And what about reinforcements? We can’t rely on wards alone if they bring more than we’re prepared for.”

“We can plan for that too,” she says, her determination unwavering. “Nicole, Rebecca—they’ll help, and they have magic on their side as well. And you have allies, don’t you? People you trust? Dorian?”

“Trust is a dangerous word in my world,” I say bitterly.

“But you trust me,” she counters, her voice softening.

The conviction in her gaze threatens to undo me. I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers as I let out a long, slow breath. “I do,” I admit. “But it doesn’t mean I’m willing to gamble with your life.”

“It’s not a gamble,” she insists. “It’s a calculated risk, and it’s our best chance of getting Lara back. They want my blood. If they think I will give it to them willingly, they’ll come. And as long as they’re outside the wards, they won’t be able to touch me.”

Her bravery should be infuriating, but it’s intoxicating instead. How can someone so new to this world, so unbroken by its cruelty, stand before me and demand the impossible?

She is the sun, and I am simply rotating around her, completely at her mercy, at her will.

I let her words marinate, thinking of some of my oldest colleagues and friends who I know would be willing to step up. I will do anything if it means protecting the woman in front of me.

“I’ll go along with it, for you,” I say at last, my voice low and resolute. “We’ll make the arrangements. Here, with the wards, and with as many reinforcements as we can muster. But you need to promise me something, Sylvie.”

“What?” she asks, her tone wary.

“If anything goes wrong, if there’s even a hint of danger, you get out. No heroics. No second-guessing. You will run. Do you understand me?”

Her lips press together in a stubborn line, but after a moment, she nods. “I understand.”

I don’t believe her. Not fully. But it’s a start.

She leans her forehead against mine, her breath warm and steady. She takes a deep breath, and I can’t help but try to decipher the meaning of her movements. “I’m scared,” she admits, her voice a whisper. “But not just for Lara. I’m scared of how much I care about you. It feels too fast, too much, but I can’t stop it.”

Her words pierce through me, sharp and sweet all at once. I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Don’t stop it, then,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t run from this. From us. Whatever happens with the Society, with Lara, I need you to know—you’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she nods, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that feels like a vow.

I don’t know how long we lie tangled together, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath. That simple sound, that fragile motion, is a symphony I can’t silence in my mind. Her presence is a contradiction—soft and fierce, broken and unyielding. How is it possible for one person to be everything I thought I could never have, and yet everything I cannot live without?

After a long, lingering moment, she stirs, shifting slightly under the weight of the blanket, her face soft and unguarded in the low light. In this moment, she is breathtaking—not in the polished, hollow way beauty is often spoken of, but in a way that feels real, tangible. Her vulnerability is etched into every line of her face, every tremble of her lips, and it pulls at something deep within me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, breaking the silence.

The words catch me off guard, cutting through the fragile peace like a blade. I tilt my head, searching her face for meaning. “For what?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering downward to where her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket. A moment stretches into an eternity before she speaks again, her voice barely audible.

“For running from this. From you.”

The admission hangs between us, raw and unpolished, like an uncut gemstone waiting to be claimed. I say nothing, unwilling to interrupt what she’s fought so hard to say.

“I’ve been trying so hard to put Lara first,” she continues, her words gaining momentum, though they tremble with the weight of her emotions. “To stay focused on her, on finding answers. But you…” Her voice falters, and she closes her eyes as if searching for strength.

“You make it impossible to think of anything else,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I’ve ignored it, fought it, told myself it wasn’t real, that this odd connection I couldn’t explain was just in my head…but it’s the truest thing I’ve ever encountered. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Her words ripple through me, shattering every defense I’ve built over centuries. Centuries of calculated control, of purposefully keeping people at arm’s length, unravel in the face of her honesty. She has done more than challenge my resolve—she has remade it entirely.

I sit up slightly, leaning closer, my hand reaching for hers. My fingers trace the back of her hand, marveling at how something so simple can feel like the most profound act.

“I understand,” I say softly, my voice carrying the truth I’ve never spoken aloud. “You think you’re running from me, but you’re not. You’re running from the inevitability of what we are.”

Her eyes widen at my words, a spark of fear mixed with something else—hope, perhaps, or a longing too deep to name.

“Lucian…” Her voice trembles, and my name on her lips feels like a prayer and a curse all at once.

I shift closer, the space between us dissolving as I cup her face in my hands. “Sylvie, you’ve been in my life for mere moments, yet you’ve unraveled centuries of certainty. Do you know what that does to someone like me? You’ve made me question everything. My past, my purpose, even my existence.”

Tears continue to well in her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch, her warmth grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in lifetimes.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “But I can’t deny it anymore. What I feel for you—it’s terrifying, overwhelming, but it’s real.”

Her words ignite something in me, a flame that refuses to be extinguished. I brush my thumb across her cheek, catching a stray tear. “You’re stronger than you realize,” I say, my voice low, reverent. “You’ve been strong enough to face the unknown, to challenge a world that’s tried to break you. And now, you’ve been strong enough to face this.”

She exhales a shaky breath, her eyes locked on mine. “I want to stop running,” she whispers. “I want to let myself feel this. But I don’t know how.”

I press my forehead to hers, closing my eyes as her words settle into my soul. “You don’t have to know how,” I murmur. “You just have to let it happen. Let us happen. Fate is on our side, love,” I tell her. “It always has been.”

Her hand lifts, trembling, to rest against my chest, where my heart beats steadily beneath her touch. The gesture is small, but it feels monumental, like the shifting of worlds.

“You make it sound so simple,” she says, a faint, bittersweet smile curving her lips.

“Nothing about this is simple,” I reply, my voice a quiet echo. “But I promise you, Sylvie, it’s worth every complication, every uncertainty. You are worth it. You are worth everything.”

The fire flickers low, casting golden light over her face, and for a moment, time itself seems to pause. I can see it in her eyes—the fear, the hope, the fragile trust she’s placing in me.

“I’ll stay,” she says at last, her voice a soft, steady vow. “For as long as you’ll have me. I want to see this out—watch us unfold. I want a do-over with you, a chance to rewrite our history.”

Her words undo me, and I draw her close, pressing my lips to her forehead, her cheeks, before finally claiming her mouth in a kiss that feels like both a beginning and an ending.

As we sink back into the shadows, the firelight dimming around us, I make a silent vow of my own: to cherish this moment, this fragile connection, and to hold onto her for as long as fate allows.

As the fire crackles softly in the background, the weight of the world seems to settle around us, substantial but shared. We are stepping into the unknown, together, and for the first time in centuries, I feel the faintest glimmer of hope.