Chapter 3 The first rule

The folder sat heavy in Eira's lap.

Inside, she expected to find something legal, clinical-pages of sterile clauses and confidentiality agreements.

What she found instead was ink written in two colors: black for text. Crimson for signatures. It wasn't typed. Every word was hand-written in a script that felt too precise, too elegant. The parchment smelled faintly of something sweet-like roses steeped in fire.

The first line read:

> This is a contract of flesh and will, binding two cursed lineages in pursuit of balance.

She looked up sharply. "What is this?"

Lucien didn't answer right away. He watched her, unmoving, the way predators study prey before deciding how they want them to scream.

"That contract was written centuries ago," he said finally. "Your bloodline is one half of it. Mine is the other."

"That's not possible. I've never-"

"Your mother never told you. Your grandmother didn't either. That's how it works. The Lang women are born with a hunger. The men they touch get weaker. Obsession. Madness. Sometimes death. Sound familiar?"

Her throat dried.

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I've seen it before. Felt it." His voice softened. "You're not the first Lang I've touched."

The room seemed to tilt. Eira tried to stand, but her legs were heavy, heat pooling low in her stomach like thick syrup. This wasn't just arousal. It was... deeper. Elemental. She could feel the energy between them vibrating, charged and invisible.

"Why me?" she whispered.

"Because I'm dying," Lucien said simply.

The air shifted.

"My curse feeds on control. On dominance. I bind people to me-emotionally, sexually, spiritually. The more they give, the longer I live. But it's temporary. Each bond burns out. Except one."

He took a slow step toward her.

"The Lang bond. Yours."

Eira looked down at the parchment. Her name was already there, faintly scrawled at the bottom as if inked in memory.

"What happens if I sign?"

Lucien stood in front of her now. He didn't touch her. He didn't need to. "Then your addiction becomes sacred. Ritualized. I feed you. You feed me. Pain becomes power. Pleasure becomes prophecy. And together... we rewrite the contract."

She should run. This was madness. A part of her-what was left of reason-screamed for the door.

But she didn't move.

Lucien leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek.

"There are rules," he whispered.

She turned toward his voice. "Tell me."

His lips brushed her ear. "You don't say no, unless I ask you to."

A shiver ran down her spine.

"And if I break that rule?"

"Then I'll break you," he murmured. "And you'll love every second of it."

Eira's hand moved on its own. The pen glided across the paper, her signature forming with unnatural ease.

The moment the ink dried, the lights dimmed.

Lucien exhaled slowly. His eyes turned darker-almost black.

"Good girl," he said.

The words hit her like a drug. Her knees buckled.

Lucien caught her before she fell. His hands were firm. Possessive.

She didn't struggle.

"From this moment," he said, lifting her effortlessly into his arms, "you belong to me."

And Eira, for the first time in her life, felt something terrifying.

Relief.