I began to chant along with the officiant, the ancient, guttural words spilling from my lips. They filled the chamber with a thrumming energy, a weight that pressed down on both of us. The shadows pulsed in rhythm with the chant, weaving themselves deeper into her essence.
And then she screamed.
Not a cry, not a gasp—a full-blown scream. Her legs gave out completely, and I caught her before she hit the floor. She trembled violently, her breathing shallow and erratic. Her pain hit me like a hammer, cracking through every wall I’d built.
“Stop,” I roared. My arms tightened around her, shielding her from the shadows that still writhed around us. “Stop the ritual!”
“It is too late to stop,” the officiant said calmly. “If the ritual is not completed, she will die.”
“Why is it hurting her?” I demanded. “It’s not supposed to hurt.”
“She’s human. Her body was not made to endure this. But there is no alternative. The bond must be forged.”
Hatred for the man surged through me as he continued chanting, but it was nothing compared to the hatred I felt for myself.This is your fault. You’re putting her through this.
Her head lolled against my shoulder. “Raffaele… it hurts.”
I cradled her closer, pressing my lips to her hair without thinking. “I know,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Her trembling hand reached up weakly, clutching at my arm. “I… I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can,” I insisted. I urged the shadows to move faster, their tendrils racing toward her heart. It was agony for her, I could see that, but the sooner it was done, the sooner it would be over.
Her body convulsed as the shadows wrapped around her heart, locking our energies together in the final step of the ritual. She cried out, and I gritted my teeth against the instinct to rip the shadows away. If I stopped now, she wouldn’t survive.
The chanting stopped, and a heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by Vivian’s ragged breathing. I pulled her tighter against me, feeling the uneven thrum of her heartbeat. Her skin was clammy, her body utterly limp in my arms.
“It is done,” the officiant said. “The bond has been established. You are now one body. One soul. Even death cannot part you.”
A dark mark began to form on the nape of her neck, swirling like smoke trapped beneath her skin. It pulsed faintly, and I felt an identical sigil crawling up my own neck. I kissed her neck, the gesture automatic, desperate.
Her head lolled, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. Without thinking, I kissed it away, brushing my lips against her damp skin. I hated myself in that moment with a depth I hadn’t thought possible. I had sworn never to drag anyone into my darkness. And yet, I had bound her to it.
To me.
I carried her out of the chamber, her weight frighteningly light in my arms. Her breathing was labored, but at least shewasbreathing. The bond was forged, but the cost? It was too much.
I had won her life. But in doing so, I had sacrificed whatever sliver of my own soul still remained. And I’d never forgive myself.
Each step toward her room felt heavier than the last, a weight pressing on my chest that grew with every breath. I didn’t care. About anyone. Ever.
I didn’tdoconcern. I’d never botheredfeelingfor anyone or anything before. And yet, here I was, every instinct in me screaming to get her somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where she wouldn’t be teetering on the edge of the void I had shoved her toward.
The door to her room loomed ahead like a silent sentinel, and I kicked it open with more force than necessary. I carried her inside, cradling her limp body, her head lolling on my shoulder.
I laid her gently on the bed. The mattress barely shifted under her frail form. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Her hair clung to her damp forehead, her lips parted slightly as she struggled to breathe. I clenched my jaw as I pulled the blanket over her and tucked it around her like armor against the cold air. But it wasn’t enough. Not like this.
I moved quickly, scanning the room for anything that might give her comfort. My eyes landed on a clean pair of cotton pajamas folded neatly on top of the dresser. I grabbed them and returned to the bed, the weight in my chest growing heavier as I knelt beside her.
The oil on her skin glistened in the low light. It wouldn’t be right to leave her like that, considering the oil had burned her. Setting the pajamas aside, I fetched a basin of warm water and a clean cloth, determined to make this easier for her.
With slow, measured strokes, I washed the oil from her arms, her neck, the curve of her shoulders, and down her legs, careful not to jostle her too much. She remained silent, her breathing still too shallow, but I told myself that any relief I could give her mattered. Once that was done, I took a jar of healing lotion. It would soothe any inflammation or tenderness. I smoothed it over every inch of her, working it into her muscles, hoping itwould ease her pain. When I was done, her skin felt warmer, and I dared to think she looked just the smallest bit more at peace.
My hands moved with a care I hadn’t known I possessed as I slid the loose-fitting shirt over her head. I guided her arms through the sleeves as though she were made of glass because the thought of her shattering under my touch haunted me. When I reached for the pants, slipping them gently up her legs and over her hips, her head lolled to the side, and a pained groan escaped her lips.
I froze. “Vivian,” I said softly, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered, her lashes trembling like wings against her pale skin. Slowly, she turned her head, her hazy, unfocused gaze finding mine through the fog of her pain.
