Page 61 of A Touch of Darkness

I fight it, trying to move, to resist, but my limbs grow heavier with each passing second. The world blurs around the edges, darkening like the twilight of a starless sky.

The last thing I hear before everything fades into shadow is her voice, like the closing of a tomb.

“Sleep, Lucian Draedon. You’ll need your rest.”

The chamber door violently crashes open, the metal groaning as it slams against the stone walls. I don’t have time to move before a barely recognizable Lucian is thrown in, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. My breath catches in my throat, and I rush toward him on my hands and knees, panic and dread curling in my chest. His once-strong frame is now limp, like a ragdoll discarded by careless hands.

Two figures—men, shadows in the dim light—stand just inside the doorway, watching intently. One of them mutters under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face in irritation. “We were supposed to put him in the other chamber.”

The other shrugs, indifferent. “Nah, let him die in here with his witch. Maybe she’ll kill him first.”

Their words hit me like a blow.Die? Lucian? I can’t—no, I won’t let that happen.

As I kneel beside Lucian, my heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst from my chest. He’s pale—too pale—and there’s afaint sheen of sweat coating his face. I push his dark hair from his forehead, my fingers trembling, small earthquakes under my skin, as I touch his flesh. It’s warm under my touch, but there’s something wrong—he’s too warm, like his body is trying to fight something inside.

As my fingers linger in his hair, I feel it. A faint, almost imperceptible glow beneath his skin—just enough to make my heart skip a beat. I press my palm against his forehead, and the glow intensifies, a strange warmth spreading beneath my fingers.

I breathe in sharply. His blood—his life—is still here, and I can feel it. The magic, his pulse, they’re both in my hands, flowing through me. I run my fingers over his wounds, deep gashes that look as though they were torn open by something brutal and sharp. His blood soaks into my hands, dark and sticky. The sight doesn’t disgust me—it pulls at something deep inside of me. His pain, his suffering, it’s mine now too.

I can feel it—his suffering—seeping into me like a cold wind, sharp and biting. It's as though our very souls are tied together, his agony twisting through my veins. Each wound, each tear in his skin, feels as though it's slowly being carved into my own body. His breath, shallow and broken, stirs something inside me. I take it on, feel it, as though it's my own burden to bear. I wish I could take it all away, but I can’t. I only know this pain. And it's... overwhelming.

I can’t lose this impossible man I’ve come to know.

I can’t.

A thought suddenly flashes through my mind—a thought I can’t ignore:Heal him.

I’ve read the books. I’ve studied the magic. Over the past week or so, I’ve healed other things, plants and fruit and small cuts. Healing is within my grasp, I feel it deep in my bones. Although I have no idea what I’m doing, I close my eyes,focus, drown out every other thought, and press my hands firmly against his open wounds and do as Professor Roth has instructed. As I do, I feel the magic stirring in the air around us, just waiting for me to call on it. Slowly, I pour my power into him, beckoning it to flow from my veins to his. I can feel the warm hum, the vibration of it, as though the blood in my hands is fusing with the power in the air. His skin quivers slightly beneath my palms, the gashes starting to mend, though it’s slow.

His pulse is still faint, barely there, but the warmth under my hands is undeniable. Something is happening. My power is surging through him.

I think it’s working…

But then doubt creeps in. I look down at Lucian’s face, his pale lips parted slightly, his body still so lifeless. What if I’m not enough? What if it doesn’t work? I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

A shudder runs through me, and for a brief moment, I can’t breathe. I need help. I need someone to tell me what to do.

“Lara, please,” I cry out, running my hands through my hair and shaking my head, not even able to look at Lucian anymore. He’s so different from the man I’m used to. So weak.

And then, I hear it. A whisper—soft but clear—like a thread of light cutting through the suffocating darkness around us.

Sylvie…

Lara’s voice. She’s here.

The one constant in this chaos.

I close my eyes and let her presence fill me, wrap around me like a protective cloak.

“I’m here, Lara. I need you,” I whisper aloud, though I already know she’s with me. “Please, Lara. I can’t lose him. I can’t. This is all my fucking fault!”

Her voice comes again, calm, unwavering.You already know what to do. Don’t ask me for answers—you have the power to heal him. You know this, Sylvie.

The words cut through the fog of fear clouding my mind, and I feel something click within me.

She’s right. I’ve always had the power. I’ve always known. I’ve already started the process. I need to trust myself.

The power I hold in my hands isn’t just magic—it’s life itself. It flows from me, flows from the blood that courses through my veins. I stand and run over to the metal door, to the bars separating me from potential freedom. I look at anything that may be sharp enough to slice my skin. Examining each bar, I finally find a seemingly useless metal notch, an imperfection in the metal, but it’ll do. I press my tender wrist against it and grind it back and forth until the recently healed cut splits back open, screaming in agony as my skin tears apart.

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