Page 39 of A Touch of Darkness (Chronicles of the Cursed #1)

I stand by the door, the cool wind of the evening brushing my skin as I watch the horizon fade into pinks and purples. My mind feels sharp, focused. Every moment leading up to this has been calculated, measured. Today, everything changes. The scales will tip in my favor—on my terms. Finally.

“They’re here,” Lucian says just before they turn onto the long estate drive.

My breath slows as I hear the hum of distant vehicles, shortly followed by the shuffle of boots on the gravel.

"You okay?" Nicole's voice cuts through the silence, a soft but steady anchor.

I nod, my jaw tight, lips pressed into a line. “I’m fine. Just… it’s happening.”

Rebecca stands close by, eyes narrowed as she watches the approach. Her magic ripples just beneath the surface, pulsing in time with the rhythm of the world around us. The energy feels concentrated with expectation, a storm in the making. But I’m not afraid. Not anymore. I can’t afford to be.

The gates creak open, and the procession of figures appears through the mist. Leading them is none other than Amara, the woman who has been so insistent on controlling everything, every twist of my fate. Behind her is a contingent of elite slayers, flanked by who I assume are powerful dark witches—those who’ve likely bent time and nature to their will in their own ways. Lucian says they have a group of witches who are indebted to them and that’s the only reason they are allies.

I raise my chin, drawing a deep breath.

Lucian is behind me, his presence solid, comforting. Dorian and a handful of ancient vampires stand by his side, their expressions unreadable but unflinching. They, too, know what’s at stake here. They are the unmovable force standing against the Society’s tides.

“Let’s get this done.” Lucian’s voice is low, but it vibrates in my chest.

We trek toward the center of the estate, to the designated space—the open garden, lit by soft lanterns, the perfect place for negotiations. The Society stops just at the edge of the boundary, eyes scanning the grounds, perhaps assessing the wards Lucian’s magic has wrapped around his home like a shield.

"You brought your army," I say, my voice as firm as steel, cutting through the tension as we draw near. "It’s unnecessary. I asked for this to be a peaceful exchange for all involved."

Amara, with her sharp green eyes and cruel lips, steps forward. Her gaze flicks over me, noting every detail. “It’s such a shame you had to make all of this so difficult. You should be grateful for the generosity of the Solstice Society. This will be dealt with, quickly. In exchange, you will give us what we want.”

I smile coldly. “You’re mistaken if you think this is on your terms. You give me Lara, and I’ll exchange my blood. In that order.”

Her lips twist into an ugly sneer. “You understand what this means, don’t you? You’ll be giving yourself to us, willingly. Don’t test my patience, girl.”

I don’t flinch. “I’m not testing anyone. I'm making my demands clear. My sister first. Then, my blood,” I say. “Plus, today isn’t ending anything for anyone. I may be willingly handing over my blood, but you still need me to decide on the fate of everyone. The prophecy says I am the one who will decide. You can try all you want, using my blood—my sister’s blood—but today is only about the exchange. The rest will come later.”

I still remember it, although it feels like a lifetime ago. But that’s how it’s supposed to work. The hunter born of twins. The prophecy. They can try to break the curse, but they’ll still need me to assist—even having my blood.

And they’ll have to kill me before I agree to end the lives of vampires.

Because the man I’m growing to love…he is one.

The pressure crackles between us, but Amara simply nods, signaling to the others.

Two slayers step forward, carefully lifting Lara’s comatose body and bringing her closer. I finally lay eyes on her and I’m so happy I could weep. They move with precision, but the fragility of Lara’s form stirs something deep in me. My heart clenches as they drag her body to the boundary line, where Lucian’s magic wraps around us like a cloak.

Rebecca and Nicole gently ease her over the line, carefully pulling her to safety.

I can’t breathe. My steps falter, and I drop to my knees beside her, my fingers trembling as I touch her cold face. She’s still so pale, her features soft and familiar, even with the uncertainty that’s been carved into her. Her eyes are closed, the lashes just a faint shadow, but I reach out anyway, running my fingers over her face. It’s her. It’s really her. My sister. My best friend.

I did it.

A tear slips down my face. It’s so overwhelming, this relief—this sense of finally having my sister back. I can’t stop the emotions from spilling over. “Lara…” I whisper, my voice dripping with emotion.

I was so worried when I stopped hearing from her. She mostly came to me when I was in trouble, and I suppose being at Lucian’s has kept me fairly safe. I’ve tried reaching out, but she hasn’t answered, and I have to admit, I was starting to doubt everything. But now, seeing her here, alive, breathing…it’s all that matters.

I run my hand over her forehead, trying to memorize the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips. "Please be real," I murmur, even though I know this moment is far too important to be a trick. I’ve been burned before, by shapeshifters and by the lies of the Society.

“Can someone make sure she’s real? I need proof,” I ask, voice wavering with the heat of the moment. “We’ve been through too much for this to be another game.”

Rebecca steps forward, kneeling next to me. Her fingers hover just over Lara’s skin, and her eyes glow faintly as she murmurs something under her breath. After a long, tense moment, she nods. “She's real, Sylvie. No illusions. This is Lara.”

I nod, relieved but not yet willing to let myself believe this is truly the end of the nightmare. Not until Lara wakes.

Rebecca and Nicole take Lara inside with the help of one of Lucian’s friends. We’ve already spoken of a plan for her—she’s going to rest in the room I was originally staying in, and the girls will stay with her until she fully wakes up.

I stand up and straighten my spine as Amara’s gaze flicks to me. “You’ve made your demands. Now, you will fulfill ours.”

I meet her cold stare and take a knife out of my pocket. “My blood. It’s the price for my sister’s life. Then we’re done.”

Her lips twist into a mock smile. “We will take what is owed.”

My breath hitches slightly as they begin preparing the ritual, the moment drawing nearer. I press the cool metal of the blade against my skin and slice down my forearm, allowing the blood to spill out in rivulets.

Amara moves toward me, and I reach my hand just over the protection threshold, just enough to allow my blood to trickle into the bowl—and I wonder if it’s the same bowl she used in the chamber.

A moment goes by before the realization crosses her face.

“What is this?” Her voice drops, laced with suspicion.

I hold her gaze, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. “What are you talking about?” I watch the liquid swirl in the glass.

Amara inspects it closely, her eyes narrowing. “This… This isn’t virgin blood.”

The air shifts instantly, the tension spiking in an instant. I feel the chaos in the air. The administrator’s eyes go wide, her mouth hanging open as the blood swirls in the vial, no longer pure, tainted by the truth she never saw coming.

Her lips tremble, and in that moment, all composure slips. She lets out a growl so primal, so filled with rage that it seems to tear through the air itself.

“You lied to us. You deceived me,” I say.

Her hands shake as she grips the vial, eyes filled with fire when she meets my gaze.

“You stole my sister. And you conspired to have me join your forces under false pretenses.” I step closer to the protection boundary, matching her fury, but my voice is ice-cold. “You do not fight fair, and now, neither do I.”

Amara shrieks and falls to her knees, her cronies around her immediately rushing to her side. She lets out another hollow wail, the sound so guttural, so filled with fury that it chills me to the bone. “You will pay for this, you insolent little—” She lunges forward from her knees, slamming her palms against the invisible boundary of Lucian’s wards. A harsh ripple of dark magic crackles from her witches, colliding with the shield.

“You ruined everything!” one of the dark witches snarls, eyes flashing with malevolent light. She and two others raise their hands, chanting in a guttural tone. Red sparks crackle along their fingertips, coiling into a sickly aura of magical force.

Suddenly, arcs of power crash against Lucian’s protective wards, like thunder battering a fortress wall. The entire estate seems to vibrate beneath the assault. My breath catches, fear and determination warring in my chest. Lucian remains calm, stepping up to reinforce the barrier. I feel a surge of his power joining with the wards, spreading like a shockwave outward.

A wail of frustration echoes from the witches outside. Their spells rebound against them, forcing them back a few steps. Amara, unhinged, screams and tries to hurl another wave of dark energy. Sparks dance wildly in the air, searing my vision. I brace myself, ready to defend if the wards falter.

I clench my hands at my sides, watching a slayer go flying when he tries charging the wards. He hits the gravel with a grunt, only to scramble back up, fury etched in every line of his face. Another witch hurls a bolt of sickly green magic that crackles like bottled lightning, slamming into Lucian’s shield in a flash of sparks. My heart pounds, the scene unfolding in a chaos of shouts and unnatural light.

“Push harder!” I hear one of the witches snarl, her tone trembling with exertion. Their energies swell again—toxic, twisting around them. Shadows seem to claw at the edges of Lucian’s estate, an ominous darkness creeping over the lawn.

Amara stands at the forefront, sweat beading on her brow, though her glare remains fixed. “You will pay for this treachery,” she spits, voice raw. Her hands rise, fingers twitching with power. Another concentrated blast slams into the wards, causing the air to shudder. A ripple of golden energy spreads over the estate boundary, warping the view of the intruders as if seen through wavy glass.

For a terrifying heartbeat, the wards flicker. My stomach drops—maybe their combined magic is too strong. I glance back at Lucian; his expression is taut with concentration, and I feel his energy pouring into the barrier, reinforcing it. In that same instant, Rebecca and Nicole rush up beside him, their eyes blazing. They lift their arms, chanting in unison, and I sense a fresh surge of power swell across the garden.

“Hold the line,” Lucian growls through gritted teeth, his voice resonant, commanding. “Stay behind the wards, no matter what.”

A renewed wave of magic blooms outward from his estate like a shockwave. It rips through the swirling darkness of the witches’ spells, forcing the attacking energy backward. The grass underfoot ripples as if caught in a gale; nearby lanterns sputter and flare. For one unreal moment, I see arcs of gold tangling with streaks of black and crimson in midair, magic colliding in a vibrant crescendo above our heads.

Amara howls in rage, stumbling under the force of the retaliation. “Again!” she barks, urging her witches on. They hurl their incantations with desperation, sweat slicking their brows, voices growing hoarse. But the wards pulse once more, bright as the sun, and repel every last curse that dares to strike.

I grit my teeth, stepping forward just behind Lucian. The protective boundary crackles, but I refuse to move. I will not be cowed by the Society any longer.

“You can’t break through,” I shout at Amara, my voice trembling with equal parts anger and exhilaration. “You lost your leverage the moment you gave me Lara.”

“You’ve cost us everything!” Amara’s voice splinters into near hysteria. “All the plans—ruined because of your deceit, you foolish girl!”

Her words whip up a frenzy among the slayers. Two of them exchange glances, shifting uncertainly. One tries to steel himself and lunges for the boundary again, brandishing a short blade crackling with some unnatural aura. He might have vampiric wards or a borrowed witch’s charm. Either way, it’s not enough. The moment his weapon meets the shimmering barrier, a spark shoots up his arm. He cries out, yanking back as if burned. The sword tumbles to the ground, useless.

Lucian takes a step forward, chin raised. “We gave you a chance for a peaceful end.” His tone is quiet, but it rings with finality. “It’s you who turned this into a war.”

Their frustration curdles the air. Darkness coils at the feet of the witches, swirling up their ankles like living smoke. Amara’s face is a mask of hatred and desperation—she’s never looked so unhinged, and the sight sends a chill down my spine.

“We are not done,” she snarls, voice ragged. “We’ll never be done. We’ll find another way to fulfill our purpose.”

She hurls one last surge of magic, a spear of roiling black energy. It crackles through the evening air—until it strikes Lucian’s strengthened wards and explodes in a shower of sparks. The recoil blasts the witches back a step, leaving them stumbling and half-blinded by their own power.

A tense beat passes where no one moves. Then the slayers begin to back up, warily collecting their fallen comrades. The witches clutch at each other’s arms, trembling with the toll of their spells. Amara stands in the middle of them all, her chest heaving, eyes blazing like green fire.

“You’ve earned yourself some very powerful enemies,” she spits at me, her gaze lingering on the blood spattered at my sleeve and the bowl abandoned nearby. “We will not forget this.”

“Neither will we, Amara,” I counter, voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Take your people and go. Next time, there won’t be mercy.”

Amara’s lip curls, but a glance at her tattered forces tells her everything she needs to know. Turning on her heel, she snaps an order to retreat. One by one, the Society members gather up their gear, scowling and muttering as they file out through the gaping iron gates. The tension is tangible, but their defeat is obvious.

Amara turns around and looks me directly in the eyes one last time.

And she smiles.