Page 60 of A Touch of Darkness

The night is late as I turn onto the road, the wheels of my car grinding against the pavement in the darkness. Suddenly, something feels off. Every instinct in me screams. I try to ignore it, to lose myself in the cold hum of the engine, but it clings to me like smoke, suffocating, relentless.

I’ve barely gone a few miles from Blackthorne, my last class ran late and then I was stopped by a fellow teacher on my way out, when her scream pierces through the silence of my mind—a wail so raw, so desperate, that it feels like a part of my very soul is torn in two. My hands fly from the wheel to my ears, trying to silence the deafening noise, but it’s no use.

My heart slams in my chest.

No.

I slam my foot onto the brake and swing the wheel in a sharp U-turn, tires screeching against the road. Every fiber of my being screams at me to get back to her. That feeling, that presencein the air—it’s wrong. Something is happening, something that shouldn't be. I can feel it, the danger, closing in on her, on us.

Damn it, Lucian, I curse myself, my thoughts spinning with confusion and guilt. I should have begged her to stay with me after we knew they were after her. I should’ve offered my home as a safe haven.

The road flies by in a blur of lights and shadows, and with every second, my unease grows. I should have known—why didn’t I know?

I don’t know how much time has passed by the time I reach the entrance to Blackthorne. My heart pounds as if it’s trying to escape my chest. The faculty building looms in the distance, dark and silent, but I know something is wrong.

I step out of the car and feel it again—the pull. I turn, my gaze sweeping the lot, the shadows—watching, waiting. But it’s too late. The night isn’t silent anymore. It’s alive.

The dark witches are already here.

My eyes narrow, every muscle in my body tensing as I scan the parking lot. There is nothing, no sign of movement. Not even the usual hum of the night, the faint whisper of wind through the trees. All is silent.

All is wrong.

I turn. The feeling of being watched is palpable, too intense. I scan the shadows, but there is nothing to see. Then, that whisper, barely audible, a spell carried on the wind. My instincts violently scream, but it is too late.

It’s a ferocity I am not prepared for.

Silver.

One of the only ways my kind can be killed—aside from a stake to the heart.

It’s not just any silver, but heavy chains of silver, like a cumbersome blanket. There are runes, ancient symbols etchedinto the links, glowing faintly with malice—dark magic written all over it.

They coil around my chest, my arms, biting into my skin and burning, slashing my flesh, searing with a pain that makes me growl deep in my throat.

I move, but the heaviness of them is too much. Another set of chains is thrown around my legs, pulling me down to one knee with an unnatural strength. A thousand curses gather at the tip of my tongue, but they catch in my throat as three figures emerge from the shadows.

Dark witches. Cloaked in midnight, their presence radiates dark power, the magic humming in the air like a tangible force. They are not alone, though.

More follow. Slayers draped in black, moving with precision, their eyes cold and calculating.

“You thought you were the hunter,” one of the dark witches purrs, her voice a silk-clad blade. “But tonight, you are the prey.”

I bare my teeth, every inch of me still screaming for release as I barely grit out, “You’ve made a grave mistake.”

Her eyes flash with amusement, and she steps closer. “Oh, no. This is precisely what we wanted. A creature like you, so... consumed with your little slayer-witch, so tethered to her. What a strange paradox, hmm? It makes this all the more fun.”

A snarl breaks free from my chest. “Untie me, witch. And I’ll show you just how consumed I am.”

She laughs, the sound echoing like glass shattering in the dead of night. One of the witches performs an incantation and the chains tighten again, digging deeper into my skin. Damn them.

Before I can move again, one of the slayers steps forward, and a bolt flashes from his crossbow, catching me in the shoulder. The wound burns, the venom-coated tip seeping into my veins, and within mere seconds, paralysis takes hold.

The witch before me kneels, holding something small in her hand. A syringe, filled with liquid as dark as the night.

“No...” I try to speak, but the words die in my throat.

She smiles, so cold, so certain. “You are not so strong now, are you?” She presses the needle into my neck with a slow, deliberate motion, and the venom seeps into my blood. It’s ice, freezing my very marrow.

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