Page 67 of A Touch of Darkness

The fire crackles, the only sound in the room as his words sink in.

“I cursed you,” I say, the memory of it almost too much to bear. “Me.” The immensity of what he’s saying hits me full-force, like a car crash. “Idid this to you. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

“Yes. Like I’ve told you, you didn’t mean to curse anyone else, but your magic was... uncontrollable. You were an original witch. You were used to healing, that is what you knew. But when I hurt you, your magic was uncontrollable. So unbelievably powerful, and you didn’t know how to control those powers. You were still so young. You didn’t believe you’d hurt anyone else, but the curse spread. It created all of this.” He gestures vaguely, his expression raw. “You as Seraphina created the vampire curse, and it started with me and continued growing from there. When I was first turned, that same night when you saw us in the clearing, under the light of the moon, I was feral. I went absolutely mad, and I didn’t know what was happening. In the early years of me being a vampire, I was on a tirade, a rampage, and no one was safe.”

He pauses and takes in a deep, shuddering breath. The look in his eyes seems distant, like he’s back in the years he speaks of.

“I turned many unwilling humans into vampires without even knowing what I was doing. Many survived, many did not, simply because I did not even know what I’d become or the rules involved. It wasn’t until a group of powerful witches took me in and figured out what had happened that we started to piece things together. All signs—my thirst for blood, my rage, among other things—pointed toward Seraphina creating this substantial curse that was unintentional, but a curse all the same. The group of witches who helped me were the ones to name us as vampires and help me realize what had happened and how to live with it. Most of this life, since turning, has been trial and error.”

I shake my head, trying to absorb this new information.

“The vampire curse tied us, you and me, together, forever bound. Across lifetimes. We found each other in this lifetime, and I am certain we will find each other in the next. Simply put, it’s fate.”

“Fate?” His words hit me like a tidal wave, and suddenly everything makes a terrible kind of sense—the pull I feel toward him, the strange flashes of memories I don’t understand.

These are the answers I’ve been both trying to find and running from.

“But this is my life,” I say, my voice rising as heat blooms in my chest. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for any of it…” Tears spill down my cheeks as heaviness surrounds me.

“I know,” he says softly, his shoulders slumping. “And I’ll spend the rest of my existence trying to make up for what I did to you—to us. But you need to understand—you’re still in danger, Sylvie. I believe the Solstice Society wholly underestimated you, and they know that now. We all do.” He shrugs, as if he has nothing left to give me. “I needed you to know, no matter what you do with the knowledge. It’s for your own good.”

The air is blatantly suffocating. I want to scream, to cry, to run away, but there’s nowhere to go.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes.

Lucian shifts closer, his hand brushing against mine. “Sylvie, please.”

The sincerity in his voice cracks something inside me. I look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, I see the depth of his guilt, his regret, and something else—a beautiful, unforgiving hope. I can’t stay away from this man. Not after everything. Not now. Not even if we hurt each other in another lifetime.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in, and so does he. Our lips meet, and the world fully collapses around us. His touch is both fire and ice, searing yet soothing, and I’m lost in his frenzy. Anger and longing clash within me, but I can’t pull away. I don’t want to.

When we finally do pull apart, I’m breathless, my heart racing.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet,” I say softly. “And how could you ever forgive me?” A cry rips from my throat, and he pulls me into his chest.

“You aren’t Seraphina anymore, Sylvie. You are an entirely different person. You lived and died as Seraphina, and you’ve started anew. And while I may be the same man, I’m different in many ways as well. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust in this lifetime,” he says. “But as for me, you’re forgiven Sylvie. You’ve always been. You couldn’t have possibly known.”

The fire crackles softly, the sound between us as the maelstrom of revelations settles into a somehow easy calm. For the first time, I truly see him—not as Lucian, the vampire, but as the man who loved and lost me lifetimes ago.

The fire murmurs low in the hearth, shadows waltzing along the cold, austere edges of the study. The scent of burning wood lingers, mingling with the faint musk of old leather and parchment. I loiter at the window, my gaze lost to the moon’s glow, though I find no solace in its pale, indifferent light. The cool glass presses against my palm, grounding me in the present, though my thoughts drift to her—to Seraphina.

The name feels like a ghost on my tongue, a relic of a life both hers and not hers. Sylvie has needed time to wrestle with it, to come to terms with the weight I have placed upon her, though every moment apart has been a blade to my own chest. I know what she is facing—the storm within her, the questions clawing at the edges of her mind. I want to take it from her, to shield her from the burden.

But fate is cruel, and I am no savior.

It’s been two days since I told her.

I have stayed away because I must. Yet it has not been enough to silence the longing—how it gnaws, a beast in my chest, ravenous and unrelenting.

The air shifts behind me, subtle yet undeniable, like the faint rustle of leaves in a still forest. Her scent fills the room—wildflowers, vanilla, and something I cannot name but would kill to hold forever. My fingers twitch against the windowpane as I close my eyes and inhale her.

My name falls from her lips, a whisper cutting through the silence.

“Lucian.”

I turn to face her, and the sight of her roots me to the spot. She is pale, her eyes shadowed with the bulk of her thoughts, her lips pressed together as though holding back words that might shatter the very walls around us. Despite it all, she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon.

The faint tremor of her breath carries across the room. It’s almost imperceptible, but I feel it like a faint pulse against my skin. She hasn’t left my home—not because I forbade her, not necessarily, but because the outside world is no longer safe for her. I may have also strongly advised her against it. My greatest fear is they will get to her again, will take her. And this time, she might not escape. She was lucky to escape the first time, as was I. Although, was it luck or was it just her? She discovered the depths of her magic in that chamber. I shouldn’t doubt that she could do it again, but at what cost?

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