Page 41 of A Touch of Darkness

“Your bloodline is unique,” I say. “Do you remember when we talked about the prophecy?” I ask in case I need to reiterate it. She’s been thrown so much information and so quickly. “Twins born into your family have always carried an even deeper connection to the supernatural. But you and Lara… you’re different. There’s a prophecy tied to your birth, one that speaks of a hunter born of twins who will tip the scales in the war between humans and vampires.”

“I remember,” she says. “How could I forget.”

I nod. “None of this makes you helpless, you know,” I say.

Her gaze snaps to mine, fire in her eyes. “I’ll decide what makes me helpless.”

A flicker of a smile tugs at my lips as I watch the woman in front of me grow stronger through her fear. Through everything trying to take her down. “Fair enough.”

As we sift through the texts, she finds a passage I hadn’t noticed before. It mentions a celestial event—an eclipse that aligns with the Solstice Society’s plans.

“If you’re serious about uncovering the truth, there’s something else you need to see,” I tell her, and my words, their cadence, come out darker than I intended.

I lead her to a hidden section of the library, where an ancient artifact lies encased in glass. The object—a pendant etched with symbols similar to those in her vision—pulses faintly with an otherworldly light.

“This belonged to Seraphina,” I say quietly. “The witch who created the vampire curse. This could be a valuable tool to you eventually, and I wanted you to know it’s here.”

Sylvie’s breath catches. “So Seraphina is the witch you told me about when you explained the vampire curse,” she says, connecting the dots. “Why do you have this?”

“Because I was there during the creation,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Because I am the first to be cursed. It started with Seraphina and me. I am the man who denied her in front of my father,” I tell her, watching as she realizes I am the man I told her about. That I am the one it all began with. “And because it’s tied to both of us in ways you can’t yet understand.”

Her eyes narrow, suspicion mingling with curiosity. “What are you hiding, Lucian?”

The sound of my name from her lips feels like an unknown heaven. I step closer, the burden of centuries pressing against my chest. “Everything you’ve ever known is about to change,Sylvie. And if we’re not careful, the world as you know it will burn to the ground.”

“I want to know more about her. More about Seraphina,” she says, and as much as I don’t want to talk about that time in my life, I do believe she is owed answers.

I sigh and take her hands in my own. “Seraphina and I had a love affair that was not meant to be, according to my powerful family. Her family were direct descendants of the original witches, and mine were nobles who hired them to be our healers, among conducting other duties for us. My father regarded her as the help, and he’d caught me being slightly”—I search my mind for the correct word—“infatuated with her. She and I became pregnant and reality hit me. I knew when my father found out, if I did not deny her in front of him, she and the baby would be killed. And I would suffer a grim fate as well. But to me, it was always more about her. About the child we created.”

Sylvie stares at me, her eyes and features displaying a mixture of shock and confusion as she nods. “So you did? You refused her?”

“I did. It was to protect both of us—and our child—but it hurt her in ways she never recovered from. She and I had one more meeting after my father caught us together, and then I never allowed myself to see her again.”

A long stretch of silence fills the room, and it nearly suffocates me, just as it did all those years ago. The regret warring with the love I had for the woman. Sylvie doesn’t push for more details about Seraphina, and I don’t give them freely, as it still feels like a fresh wound, even after all the time that’s passed. I watch her as she digests what I’ve told her and seemingly moves on, but I’m sure there will be more questions eventually—once she processes.

She admires the artifact and allows the soft hum of the overhead lights to fill the silence between us as I move back toward the tome to give her space.

After a few more long, drawn out moments, Sylvie finally says, “There’s one more thing.”

I can’t quite place the way it makes me feel. I nod, as if to persuade her to continue. “I had a strange vision with you in it, too.”

“Do tell, Sylvie,” I say, knowing this would come eventually, because as much as she may not want to be, at least right now, she is drawn to me. We’re connected. And it’s not something she can run from.

“If you believe that my vision of Lara is truly just that—a vision—last night, after you showed me to my room, I saw something else, too.”

I close the tome in front of me and erase the distance that separates the two of us, unaware of what she’s getting at but feeling a distinct need to be closer to her.

“I think I saw the night you became a vampire. Maybe. The night you were cursed by the original witch. And it might have been a silly dream, but I need to know. Because if what I saw is correct, and I really am capable of thesevisions, then I have to have hope Lara really is suspended somewhere in time and not dead. That’s what it could mean, right? That these truly are visions…”

I take in a deep breath as she continues to prattle on about the potential vision. I don’t want Sylvie to see me in that state. If she’s seeing me acting on my newly developed disease, the night Sera condemned me to this hell, it won’t be pretty.

When she finally tells me of it—of the moon, the way it hung low in the sky when she closed her eyelids, and of the clearing in which I stood and begged Seraphina to spare me…I know she’s experiencing her abilities. Not silly dreams, as she suggested.

“Seraphina, the one who cursed you…in my vision it was me. She was me. I mean, I looked different in many ways—the way I dressed, how I styled my hair— but I was her. We were one and the same. Down to the coloring of our eyes and hair, to our bone structure. It felt so real…” She trails off, her eyes seeming somewhere so far away, as if she’s recalling the vision. “Why was I putting myself in place of the witch? Does that mean anything?” she asks, and I long to tell her the truth.

But I truly fear it might break her before she has the chance to save her sister—and herself.

I’ve been here for an hour, nursing a lukewarm cup of lavender tea, the steam rising from it twisting into shapes that seem almost as restless as my mind. The Raven’s Quill is quieter now, late afternoon sun filtering through the high windows, casting shadows across the weathered oak tables. I’m glad for the stillness. It gives me a moment to think, but even that feels out of reach—like my thoughts are running faster than I can catch them.

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