Her blade was fast. Sharp. Blessed in ancient rituals that stank of Guild dogma and iron-blooded cruelty.
She moved like a shadow taught to hunt light — fluid, dangerous, cold. But her eyes burned.
She was alive in a way most hunters aren’t. Not dead inside. Not dull and righteous.
She wanted to kill me, yes. But she wanted to understand me first. That made her worse.
That made her fascinating.
I matched her strike for strike, and every time our bodies clashed, I felt something strange coil around my ribs.
Recognition.
And desire.
Gods, she smelled like moonlight and ruined prayers. I could’ve ended it twenty different ways. My shadows moved with a will of their own. I summoned a spike of black flame — meant to stun, not kill. It tore into the earth beside her, and she didn’t flinch.
She threw her body forward instead, her blade grazing my shoulder — and then slicing into my jaw.
Blood welled down my neck. I tasted it.
She made me bleed.
And still I didn’t stop her.
Why?
Because the second her blood mixed with mine — the second that sacred heat sparked between us — my chest ignited.
The mate mark had been dormant for six centuries.
I’d all but forgotten it — a scar burned into my skin when I was still young enough to believe in fate. Nothing had ever awakened it.
Until now.
Until her.
It blazed beneath my skin, searing through every nerve, every breath, every cursed fiber of my being.
She collapsed backward, gasping. Her hand flew to her chest. I saw the shimmer of silver beneath her torn shirt —her mark.
And my soul cracked open.
The moment I touched her; my curse didn’t just react—it sang. And I knew I’d never be whole again without her.
We weren’t strangers. We were a prophecy waiting to unfold.
She didn’t plead.
She glared at me — wounded, bloodied, and still ready to fight if she had to. But I saw the crack in her armor. The flicker of confusion behind the hate. She had felt it too.
Her pulse was tangled with mine now.
And yet she didn’t know why.
I did.
The gods — the cruel bastards who forged our kinds in fire and shadow — had chosen her for me. Not a demon. Not a consort. Not a sacrifice.
