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The air inside the Witch’s Guild crackles with energy, thick and potent like the charge before a storm. I stand in the center of the main chamber, my focus locked on the shimmering sigils glowing faintly on the stone floor. My breathing slows, syncing with the rhythm of the incantation, the words curling off my tongue like smoke.

“Aetheris vinculum, potentia mea fluo,” I murmur, my voice steady, resolute. The dagger in my hand glows faintly as I channel the magic through it, imagining the invisible threads of power latching onto the target in front of me—a straw effigy suspended in midair by Ravenna’s magic.

I raise the dagger and release the final syllable, thrusting the blade forward. Light explodes from its tip, golden tendrils wrapping tightly around the effigy. The figure jerks violently before freezing, held fast by the magical bindings I’ve summoned. My chest heaves, but the rush of power surges through me, exhilarating and electric.

“Well done,” Ravenna says, her voice calm but laced with approval. She circles me, her eyes sharp and calculating. “Your control has improved over the last week. No hesitation this time. You’re learning to command the magic rather than letting it command you.”

I glance at Cassandra, who stands off to the side with her arms crossed. Her expression is less reserved—there’s clear pride in her eyes. “You’re stronger than most witches would be at this point,” she adds. “I can’t attribute that solely to your bloodline, either. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

“Every chance I get,” I reply, unable to hide the small smile tugging at my lips. It feels good to be recognized, to feel like I’m finally stepping into the potential I’ve been chasing since arriving at Blackthorne.

Ravenna waves a hand, and the effigy drops to the ground with a dull thud. “Again,” she instructs. “But this time, we’ll add a defensive layer. Bind the target, then shield yourself. You’ll need to be able to multitask in the field.”

I nod, gripping the dagger tightly. The sigils on the floor flare to life once more, and I dive back into the spellwork. The incantation flows more easily now, the words feeling like an extension of my will rather than something foreign. As the bindings tighten around the effigy, I picture a shimmering barrier forming around me, a protective bubble warding off any potential attacks.

Cassandra lets out a low whistle as the shield solidifies, a faint silver glow surrounding me. “Impressive,” she murmurs. “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.”

Ravenna watches me with a critical eye, her arms folded across her chest. “You’re getting there,” she says finally. “But remember, Sylvie—magic is as much about intention as it is about execution. Keep your focus sharp. Distractions can be deadly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple. My muscles ache, but it’s a satisfying kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes from progress.

Ravenna steps closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “In a perfect world, we’d have an abundance of time to perform the incantation. In this world, so far from perfect, we don’t. I believe you’re ready for what’s coming,” she says. “But don’t let overconfidence blind you. Stay grounded, stay focused. And remember—you’re not alone in this fight.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I whisper.

* * *

After a long day at the Guild, I sit at a corner table in Midnight Delight, the dim lighting casting flickering shadows across the walls. The air smells faintly of wine and cloves, mingling with the tang of blood. It’s quieter than usual tonight, the hum of conversation low and subdued. I tap my fingers against the table, my pulse quickening as I wait for Lucian to arrive.

When he finally steps through the door, my breath catches. He moves with his usual grace, his dark coat billowing slightly as he scans the room. His eyes find mine almost immediately, and something inside me settles. He crosses the room in a few long strides, his presence commanding yet familiar.

“Sylvie,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You’ve been busy today. I was surprised you didn’t want to just meet at home.”

I smile faintly, gesturing for him to sit. “I needed to see you.”

Lucian arches an elegant brow as he takes the seat across from me. “And why is that, love? Not that I’ll ever complain.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “There’s something I need from you,” I say, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. “Something important.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of concern passing over his features. “You know I’d do anything for you,” he says softly. “Just say the word.”

“I’m worried you’ll say no,” I tell him honestly.

“Never. Unless it puts you in danger of course,” he affirms, and that’s what I was afraid of.

I take a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. I need to just tell him and get it over with. I’ve been thinking about it for days, and I want it. I’ve just been too shy to ask. “I want you to feed from me.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and unyielding. Lucian freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something darker—something conflicted.

“I—” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do,” I reply, holding his gaze. “You need to be at full strength for the ambush. You said it yourself—Solstice won’t hold back. You can’t afford to be anything less than your best. I want to be the one to help you strengthen yourself before we go in.”

He looks away, his jaw flexing and tightening as he looks around the room, more than likely trying to figure out how to let me down easily.

“It’s not that simple. Feeding from you... it’s dangerous. I could lose control. I could hurt you.”

“You won’t,” I say firmly. “I trust you, Lucian. I know you’d never hurt me.”

He shakes his head, his hands curling into fists on the table. “You don’t understand. Feeding... it’s intimate. It’s not just about the blood—it’s about the connection. The bond.”

“Good,” I whisper, my voice trembling but resolute. There’s another thing I’ve been wanting to tell him, to share with him. I’ve never said it to anyone in my life—aside from my family. But I’m certain I want to say it to him. It’s not because of our bond, my previous life…or anything else. It’s because of him. Who he is. Who he is to me.

“I want to because I’m in love with you, Lucian.”

His head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, the world around us fades, the noise of the club falling away. He stares at me like I’ve just unraveled some age-old secret, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Sylvie,” he breathes, reaching across the table to take my hand. “You have no idea what you mean to me. What you’ve always meant to me.” He looks so intensely into my eyes I swear he can see into the very depths of my soul. “You have no idea what that means to hear that from your lips.”

“Then show me what it means,” I say, leaning closer as he brings my hand to his mouth and kisses each knuckle. “Let me be the one to make you stronger. Let me give you what you need.”

His resolve crumbles, his shoulders sagging as he exhales deeply. “If this is what you truly want,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both longing and fear. “I would love nothing more than to taste you like that, more deeply, more intimately. In such a way that I am claiming every inch of you.” He pauses and once again looks around the room as if he’s looking for someone. “But I must put fail-safes in place. I’ll get two guards to stand nearby. If I show any sign of losing control, they’ll intervene.” As he says it, he looks to two different men and beckons them without so much as a word.

“Whatever you need to be comfortable,” I tell him.

My heart pounds as he stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s go somewhere more quiet,” he says.

Lucian leads me deeper into Midnight Delight, past the velvet curtains and the low bustle of murmured conversations, past the quiet, darkened alcoves where others indulge in their own desires. The air is thick with something heady and electric—a pulse of magic, of want, of something far older than I can name. The warmth of the dimly lit space wraps around us like silk, the glow of crimson sconces casting flickering shadows along the stone walls.

He doesn’t speak as we walk, but I feel the shift in him—the barely restrained energy twisting beneath his skin, the quiet war raging behind his dark eyes. He’s holding himself in check, and yet, with each step, the space between us feels thinner, the air charged with something unspoken.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door and gestures for me to enter.

The room is unlike anything I expected. It’s more opulent, more intimate than I thought a place like this could be. The walls are draped in deep garnet fabric, the ceiling arched high above us, giving the impression of being tucked away in some ancient, forbidden temple. A plush, dark velvet chaise sits in the center, its frame carved with intricate details that catch the light. It’s everything sensual and controlled and moody.

Above us, a balcony with gold railings encircles the space. I know that people could watch if they wanted—some undoubtedly will—but for me, for Lucian, this moment feels like ours alone.

My pulse flutters wildly as I turn to face him.

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… his damnable, haunting eyes hold me captive. There’s an intensity in them, something almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

Lucian moves toward me with slow, deliberate steps, as if approaching something sacred. He reaches out, fingers barely ghosting over my wrist before he takes my hand in his, lifting it gently to his lips.

“Are you certain about this?” Lucian’s voice is low, roughened with something I can’t quite place—concern, desire, fear.

I turn to face him, lifting my chin. “I’m sure,” I say, though my voice trembles slightly. “I trust you.”

He steps closer, his dark eyes searching mine for any trace of doubt. When he finds none, a muscle in his jaw ticks, and he exhales sharply, as though resigning himself to the inevitable. “You don’t understand what you’re offering, Sylvie,” he says softly. “This isn’t just an act of necessity. I am a different person entirely when I partake in feeding from a human. It’s why I don’t do it. Feeding… it’s raw, primal. Everything will change after I feed from you. I will be an even more obsessed man.”

“Good,” I reply, holding his gaze. “Because I don’t want things to stay the same. I want this, Lucian. I want you.”

Something in him fractures, and he closes the distance between us with a suddenness that steals my breath. His hands settle on my arms, firm but not forceful, his touch sending shivers racing down my spine. His lips a whisper away from my temple, he whispers, “Promise me this is what you want.”

“I promise,” I breathe, though I’m not sure I could ever stop him. Not when I want this more than I’ve wanted anything. Not when the magnetic pull between us feels as inevitable as gravity.

He bends down again, pressing a kiss to my neck. His mouth is warm against my skin, and the kiss he presses there is softer than I expect, more restrained. I exhale shakily, my entire body already attuned to him.

"Your heart is racing, love," he murmurs against my palm. "Are you nervous? I would never ask this of you, and I don’t want you to ever feel forced. Like it’s a duty."

I swallow, trying to steady myself. "Not nervous."

He lifts a brow.

"Maybe a little," I admit.

Lucian smirks, the corner of his lips tilting in amusement, but there’s something else in his gaze. Something darker, something utterly devotional.

“Not because I don’t want this,” I clarify quickly. “Please trust me when I tell you I do.” My fingers tighten slightly in his grasp. “I just… I don’t know what it will feel like. It’s like first day of school jitters,” I say, and then feel like an idiot for comparing it to school.

His smirk fades into something more serious, more tender. “You will feel me ,” he whispers. “In my rarest form.”

He releases my hand, and instead of stepping away, he reaches up, his knuckles grazing my jaw, then sliding gently along my throat, his eyes tracking each movement. His fingertips are cool against my flushed skin, a contrast to the fire that coils low in my belly.

He tilts my head slightly, with just the smallest hint of pressure, exposing the delicate curve of my neck.

Then he steps behind me.

I let out a soft breath as I feel the solid weight of his chest against my back, his body warm despite the coldness that usually lingers beneath his skin. His hands trail lightly down my arms, slow and teasing, until they settle on my waist, his fingers gripping my fabric-covered skin. I shudder at the closeness, at the feeling of being utterly claimed without a single word spoken.

Lucian leans in, his breath fanning against my throat, just above my pulse. I swear I hear a shaky intake of air pass through his lips, savoring the moment before he indulges.

His fingers slide up, gathering my hair in his hands, brushing it aside with excruciating slowness.

The sensation alone is enough to undo me, and I feel my desire pool at my center.

His lips graze just below my ear, a whisper of a touch. “Tell me again,” he murmurs. “Tell me you want this.”

My lashes flutter shut from the feeling of his breath against my neck, goosebumps rising to my skin’s surface. “I do,” I breathe. “I want this, Lucian.”

I watch as the two guards slowly enter the room and take their places in opposing corners, standing like sentinels of the night, their eyes trained on Lucian with quiet understanding. Each of them holds something small but unmistakable—a silver dagger. Magic radiates from it, and it’s strange to me how, even just a couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have noticed it. Now, though, I instinctively know the daggers are blessed and charmed with an incantation designed to subdue even the most powerful of vampires. I can feel the magic flowing around each dagger.

A precaution. A safeguard.

Lucian pays them no mind as his lips skim lower, tracing the sensitive curve of my throat where my pulse hammers wildly. It takes everything inside of my body to steady myself, because the anticipation is too much, a slow-burning fire licking its way through my veins.

The world stills. The moment stretches, infinite and unyielding as he stands just behind me with his mouth hovering above my skin.

There’s a beat of silence—a suspended moment where the world seems to hold its breath?—

And then his fangs pierce my neck.

The initial sting is sharp, startling, but it’s swallowed almost instantly by a flood of sensation that steals every ounce of air from my lungs. Heat blooms from the point of contact, radiating outward in pulsing waves. It’s intoxicating, like drowning in liquid fire, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. My knees weaken, and I cling to Lucian as the room spins around us.

His grip tightens, anchoring me to him as he drinks deeply, his lips warm and firm against my skin. Each pull sends another jolt of euphoria coursing through me, a dizzying blend of pleasure and pain that borders on unbearable. My head lolls back, and a soft moan escapes me before I can stop it.

“Lucian,” I whisper, the sound barely audible, but it seems to reach him. His feeding slows, the pressure easing, and he pulls back slightly, his breath hot against my neck.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice thick and rough, tinged with something almost feral.

“Yes,” I gasp, my fingers tightening in his shirt. “Don’t stop.”

He groans low in his throat, a sound that reverberates through me, and he leans in again, his lips brushing my neck with almost reverent tenderness. This time, the bite is slower, deliberate, and the sensation is even more overwhelming. My whole body feels alight, every nerve ending alive with sensation. I’ve never felt more aware of him—of the way his body presses against mine, of the faint tremor in his hands as they hold me, of the quiet, desperate hunger that radiates from him like a palpable force.

I’ve never felt more aware of him—of the way his body presses against mine, of the faint tremor in his hands as they hold me, of the quiet, desperate hunger that radiates from him like a palpable force. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, a storm I’ve willingly stepped into.

But then, something shifts.

The tremor in his hands grows stronger, and his grip tightens—not painfully, but enough to make my pulse quicken for reasons I can’t entirely name. His breath deepens, ragged and uneven, and a low, guttural sound escapes his throat, reverberating through the space like a distant growl. He sucks harder, his fangs striking something deeper inside my flesh.

“Lucian?” I whisper, unsure if I’m grounding him or testing his control.

He doesn’t respond. His fangs somehow sink even lower, the warmth sending a shiver down my spine. But there’s a tension in him now, a sharp edge to his movements that wasn’t there before. His hunger is no longer quiet—it’s roaring, clawing to be fed.

Suddenly, there’s movement in the corners of the room, and it catches my attention, taking me out of the moment. Both guards step forward, their silver daggers gleaming in the low light. The air thickens with their presence, their watchful gazes hardening into warning.

“Lord Draedon,” one of them says, his voice steady but low, deep, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. “You must control yourself.”

The other guard raises the dagger slightly, not in attack but as a signal, a reminder of the boundaries they’ve sworn to uphold. “She’s trusting you,” he adds. “Do not betray that trust.”

Lucian stiffens against me, his entire body coiled with tension, but he doesn’t stop. He continues on as if he heard a warning but refuses to heed it. I feel his emotion, the war raging within him, the battle between the man and the beast, between reason and instinct.

“I love you, Lucian,” I tell him as he continues to feed, and I slowly start to fall back into bliss. But then, as if something has shocked his humanity, his hands tremble and they loosen their grip on my waist, just enough to show he’s fighting for control. Then, he stops.

All at once he stops sucking my skin, feeding from my vein. For a moment, he doesn’t move. His head remains bowed, his lips inches from my skin, the strain in him like a physical force. Then, slowly, he spins me around to face him and lifts his gaze to meet mine. His eyes are a storm of amber and black, torn between the hunger that drives him and the humanity that anchors him.

“I trust you,” I say, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.

The words seem to reach him, threading through the chaos in his mind like a lifeline. He exhales sharply, the tension in his frame easing slightly. The storm in his eyes softens, though the hunger doesn’t vanish entirely—it merely retreats, held at bay by sheer force of will.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, his voice raw, like the scrape of steel against stone. “I?—”

“There is nothing to forgive. You didn’t lose control,” I interrupt gently, offering him a faint, reassuring smile as I cup the sides of his face. My blood runs down his chin, and I reach up and swipe it away as I feel a trickle run down my neck. “You’re so much stronger than you think.”

The guards exchange a glance and step back, lowering their daggers but remaining vigilant. The tension in the room eases, but the moment feels heavier now—charged with something deeper, more intimate.

My own breathing turns ragged again, my thoughts scattering as I lose myself in the moment as I look into his eyes. It’s more than just the physical act—it’s a connection, a tether between us that feels ancient and unbreakable. I can feel him, his emotions bleeding into mine, his longing and restraint and the undercurrent of something deeper—my love for him igniting with an uncontrollable fire I can’t ignore.

I don’t want to ignore.

The room seems to blur as the world narrows to just us. He growls softly, the sound vibrating against my skin. It’s possessive and unguarded, and it sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear.

“Lucian,” I murmur again, the name a plea and a declaration all at once as I force him to look at me.

He inhales sharply, his lips stained crimson, his chest heaving as though he’s been holding his breath. His eyes glow faintly in the dim light, their intensity stealing what little composure I have left. “Sylvie,” he rasps, his voice raw and unsteady. “You… you’re extraordinary.”

My fingers brush against his jaw, and the smallest of smiles grace his lips. He leans into the contact, his eyes closing briefly, and when he opens them again, the tenderness in his gaze is almost enough to undo me.

“I feel it too,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. “Whatever this is between us… I feel it.” It’s almost as if my magic is responding to him. I’ve never felt anything like it.

His hand comes up to cover mine, pressing it gently against his cheek. “You’re everything, Sylvie,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And that terrifies me.”

I smile faintly, my thumb brushing against his skin. “Good,” I say, echoing his earlier words. “Because you terrify me too.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, and then he’s pulling me into his arms, holding me as though he might never let go. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as the fire crackles softly in the background.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel whole—like every jagged piece of me has found its place. And as I close my eyes, I know with absolute certainty that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

“I love you, Sylvie. So much,” he says, and for the first time in a very long time…I believe in good things again.

“And I love you, Lucian,” I tell him—meaning every single word.