“I know enough. You’re marked for death.”
We clashed again — a blur of blade and flame.
He moved like he wasn’t even trying — like the fight was a conversation.
But I didn’t care. I aimed for his throat. His heart.
I drew blood.
And then—
He knocked the blade from my hand, faster than my eye could follow. One hand at my throat, pinning me to a cracked stone pillar.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I glared up at him, ready to die if I had to. But his expression changed.
He looked down at me…
And the mark on his chest blazed.
My hand burned in answer. My Guild sigil pulsed like it was being rewritten from the inside.
The air shattered. His grip loosened.
He stared at me like he’d seen a ghost. Or worse — a prophecy.
“You’re—” he whispered. “You’re mine.”
My heart stuttered.
He could have ended me. Instead, he let go. I fell to my knees, breath ragged, blood dripping from my lip.
He stepped back, like it physically hurt to stay near me.
“I wasn’t supposed to feel it this soon,” he murmured. “But I did.”
I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to.
“Why?” I gasped. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
He looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
“What do you do when the thing you’re supposed to kill... feels like it’s already inside you?”
Then he vanished into the darkness.
Rheon
Fated Blood
I’ve killed humans before. Quickly, mostly. Sometimes slowly—when the rage curled too tightly in my bones to be ignored.
But never like this.
Never trembling with the weight of her breath beneath my palm. Never holding my kill and wondering if it would shatter me to lose her.
I should’ve ended her the second she lunged. But then she looked at me.
And everything fell apart.
