Chapter 2 The Alpha's Lust And The Witche's Curse

She didn't let him touch her.

But she didn't pull away either.

"You're quiet," he said, still kneeling, still waiting.

Seraphina stared down at him, heart pounding like it wanted to claw out of her chest. "I'm thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

"I was raised by people who made thinking a punishable offense."

"I'm not them."

"No," she said slowly. "You're worse."

He tilted his head, not offended. "Because I want something from you."

"Because you think you're owed it."

He rose to his feet, gaze still pinned to hers. "I don't think I'm owed anything. I think fate carved you out of ash and gave you to me wrapped in fire."

"Romantic," she said flatly. "If you ignore the part where we're supposed to kill each other."

"I've thought about that too."

"And?"

"And I'd rather die loving you than live without touching you once."

A sharp breath caught in her throat.

"You don't even know me," she whispered.

"I've known you since the moment I stopped sleeping without hearing your voice in my head."

"That was the curse."

"No," he said. "The curse was surviving without you."

She looked away.

He stepped closer.

"Tell me to stop," he said, "and I will."

Silence.

Tell me to stop.

Tell me to stop.

She couldn't.

"You keep asking for permission," she murmured. "Why?"

"Because you were never given a choice before."

Her throat tightened. "And what if I don't trust myself to choose right?"

"Then let me trust you for both of us."

Her eyes flicked back to his. "You don't even flinch when you talk like that."

"Because I mean it."

"It's reckless."

"It's real."

She swallowed hard. "You don't know what I've done to survive."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I care that you survived it."

She blinked fast, heat stinging behind her eyes. "Stop saying things like that."

"Why?"

"Because I might believe them."

"Then believe me."

"You can't just waltz in and rewrite the way I see myself."

"I'm not rewriting anything. I'm just reading what's already there."

A beat.

Then another.

And suddenly she was speaking before she could stop herself. "You think you want me. But you want the version of me that's still hidden."

"Then show me the one that isn't."

She shook her head. "You think it's heat between us. Lust. Magic."

"I know what lust feels like," he said. "This isn't it."

"No?"

"No. Lust doesn't make your soul ache when you're not in the same room. It doesn't make you wake up feeling like a part of you was left behind."

"And what do you call this?"

"I call it a curse."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Fitting."

"Isn't it?" He took a slow breath. "I'm cursed to want you. You're cursed to kill me. Somewhere between that, I've decided to burn."

Her pulse fluttered like it was trying to escape her skin.

"You think I won't," she whispered.

"I know you will."

"And yet you're still here."

"I'd rather die by your hand than live untouched by you."

She stared at him, stunned.

It wasn't a line. It wasn't a threat.

It was the most dangerous kind of vow-honest, reckless, irreversible.

And somehow, it made her chest ache worse than anything else ever had.

"I should hate you," she said.

"You probably will."

"I should want you gone."

"Then tell me."

"I can't."

"Because your magic knows," he said quietly. "It's never lied to you."

Her throat worked. "What happens now?"

"That's your choice."

"I don't get choices."

"You do with me."

"And if I say yes?"

"Then I'll prove you were never meant to be locked away."

She sucked in a breath as if the air itself burned. "And if I say no?"

"Then I'll walk out, and you'll spend every night wondering why the walls never feel quite right again."

She let the silence stretch between them.

Let it weigh.

Let it choke.

Then she whispered, "Close the door."

He blinked.

"Seraphina-"

"Close it," she said again, voice low. "If you're going to ruin me, at least do it without the whole damn world watching."

Killian turned slowly, walked to the vault's massive stone doors, and dragged them shut. The sound echoed like a final promise.

When he turned back, she was still sitting on the altar. Still watching him with those otherworldly silver eyes.

But something in her was different now.

No more running.

No more hiding.

Only the slow, inevitable collision of fate.

"Now," she said, voice shaking and strong all at once, "come here."

And for the first time in his life, the Alpha obeyed.

The silence hung between them, thick with tension neither was ready to break.

Killian's gaze remained on her, unwavering. She stood, movements slow, every inch of her body tingling from the pull between them.

"You said I had a choice," she murmured. "So here it is."

He waited.

"I want to see the world outside these walls."

His eyes flickered. "Now?"

"If I wait, I'll talk myself out of it."

He didn't argue. Just pulled out a sleek, matte-black phone from his coat and typed a message with two fingers. "I'll take you somewhere safe."

"No one will follow?"

"They wouldn't dare."

She raised a brow. "Arrogant."

"Confident," he corrected, tucking the phone away. "Do you need time to pack anything?"

She gave him a bitter smile. "I've never owned anything I'd miss."

He didn't say anything to that.

Just offered her his hand.

This time, she didn't hesitate.

She took it.

---

The city was a blur of wet streets and red lights. Seraphina watched it through the tinted windows of the obsidian SUV as they sped through Astoria's neon arteries. The further they drove from the estate, the more her nerves buzzed-not with fear, but awareness.

Every stoplight, every corner, every flash of chrome was new.

Alive.

She kept glancing sideways at Killian.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console, fingers inked with faint symbols she didn't recognize.

"You drive yourself?"

His lips curved faintly. "Don't like being driven."

"Control freak."

"Control keeps people alive."

She looked back at the skyline. "And lonely."

He didn't answer.

She didn't push.

---

They arrived at a skyscraper that cut through the clouds like a blade. Draven Tower, she guessed. There was no name on the building, just smooth black steel and windows tinted to hide sins behind reflections.

An elevator whisked them up past floors she couldn't even count.

No buttons. No numbers. Just a biometric scan and a voice that recognized him as Alpha Draven.

The doors opened into silence.

No assistants. No guards.

Just one room.

One impossibly vast, obsidian space lined with glass walls that overlooked the entire city-and a corner drenched in shadows and books. At the center, a massive desk carved from dark, veined stone. Behind it, a sleek leather couch and fireplace flickering low.

"This is your office?" she asked.

"One of them," he said. "But this is the only one no one enters unless I allow it."

"Do you always bring witches you're cursed to kill to your private floor?"

"You're the first."

She wandered slowly, fingertips grazing the edge of his desk. "Looks like the lair of a villain."

"Maybe I am."

"No," she said, turning back to him. "Villains don't ask for consent."

His jaw twitched.

"You keep doing that," she said.

"What?"

"Surprising me."

"You haven't even seen the worst of me yet."

"Neither have you," she said softly.

And there it was again-that tension, taut and unspoken, coiled between them.

He took a step forward. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't remember."

His eyes darkened. "Then sit. I'll get something brought up."

She opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. The couch felt sinfully soft beneath her, almost too luxurious. Too foreign.

She'd grown up on stone and cold wood. Softness made her suspicious.

He vanished through a side door, and moments later the quiet hum of a smart kitchen activated. It was surreal-this man who held power like a weapon, making her a meal in silence.

"Do you cook too?" she called.

A low chuckle answered. "Don't push it."

She smiled-genuinely this time.

When he returned, he handed her a plate of warm, delicate pasta laced with herbs and rich cream. She stared down at it.

"What is this?"

"Food."

She raised a brow.

He sat across from her, elbow on the armrest, shirt sleeves pushed up, the watch on his wrist gleaming like it cost more than her entire life.

"You're not eating," he noted.

"I don't trust it."

"I had it scanned before I brought it up."

She blinked. "You... scanned your own food?"

"You're important."

Her lips parted.

He continued, tone even, "I'm not losing you to an allergic reaction. Or poison. Or bad taste."

"You expect me to believe a cursed Alpha CEO knows how to pick out herbs?"

He leaned forward. "I expect you to believe I don't half-ass anything I care about."

The room went quiet again.

She took the first bite.

And nearly moaned.

"Good?"

"Shut up," she muttered around the next forkful.

His eyes darkened. "That mouth is going to be the end of me."

Her pulse skipped.

This time, she didn't hide it.

---

They ate in near silence after that. The air buzzed with unsaid things. When she finished, he took the plate without a word and returned minutes later with two glasses-one filled with blood-red wine, the other with something clear and biting.

"Wine for you," he said, handing her the glass. "Scotch for me."

They drank slowly, sitting close, but not yet touching.

"I should hate you," she whispered.

"You already said that."

"And you still haven't left."

"I told you," he said, voice low. "I'd rather die here than live without tasting what you are."

She didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

Because she was starting to feel it too-the unraveling.

Of fear.

Of loneliness.

Of every wall she'd built around herself.

She didn't ask him to come closer.

But when he did, she didn't stop him.

The distance between them vanished like breath on glass.

Seraphina's glass trembled in her hand, forgotten, the wine's warmth nothing compared to the searing heat of his nearness. Killian leaned in, eyes locked on hers, the space between their mouths a heartbeat away from sin.

"I should stop," he murmured, voice velvet wrapped around a blade.

"But you won't," she breathed.

His fingers brushed her jaw, slow and reverent-like he was touching something ancient, something sacred and damned.

She didn't move. Didn't dare.

His thumb ghosted over her lower lip. "You taste like rebellion."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough."

Their lips barely brushed-

And then-

BANG.

The door swung open, fast and loud.

"Sir-!" a woman's voice rang out, breathless and panicked.

Killian was on his feet before the syllable finished, fury snapping through the room like a whip.

The assistant-tall, efficient, and visibly trembling-stood frozen at the threshold, eyes wide as she took in the scene she'd clearly interrupted.

Seraphina stayed seated, eyes narrowed, wine glass still trembling in her hand.

Killian didn't yell. Didn't need to.

The drop in his voice was enough to slice air.

"I told you. No one disturbs this floor."

The assistant swallowed hard. "I-I know, Alpha, but the Elders-Draven Council-they're demanding contact. It's urgent. They said it concerns her."

His eyes flicked to Seraphina.

Her spine stiffened. "What do they know about me?"

"They shouldn't know anything," Killian snapped, voice colder than the grave. "I buried the trail myself."

The assistant looked like she wanted to vanish. "They're invoking the Writ of Accord. They said if you don't respond, they'll-"

"Tell them to wait," Killian growled.

"But-"

"I said. Wait."

The door slammed shut behind her, the click echoing in the silence like a gunshot.

Seraphina stared at him, breath shallow.

"What's the Writ of Accord?"

"An ancient override," he said tightly, dragging a hand through his hair. "They want leverage. They want you."

She stood, slow and sharp. "Why now?"

He crossed the room in two strides, crowding her space again, but this time his touch didn't meet skin. It hovered-tense and aching.

"Because they can sense what I did the moment I touched you," he said. "I invoked the Bond. The moment I let you feel me."

"That was a choice?"

"No," he said darkly. "It was an instinct. And instincts... can be fatal."

She stared up at him, silver eyes stormy. "You risked everything?"

"You're not a risk," he said. "You're a reckoning."

She could still feel the heat of his lips near hers.

And now-after everything-they couldn't go back to cold.

Not anymore.

The silence that followed the slammed door was a coiled, throbbing thing.

Killian stood still, fists clenched, his breath controlled with unnatural precision. Seraphina, across from him, hadn't sat back down. Her glass was on the table, untouched now. Her hands were by her sides-but not still.

"Do they always interrupt when you're about to kiss someone?" she asked, voice deceptively light, but something wickedly daring shimmered beneath it.

Killian turned, his gaze raking over her like she was the problem and the solution all at once.

"I don't usually let anyone close enough for that," he said.

She tilted her head. "Pity."

He crossed the room in two strides and pressed a button on his desk. The office door locked with a firm, final click.

"No more interruptions."

"Confident."

"Desperate."

There was no playfulness in his voice now-just the raw strain of someone standing on the edge of a cliff, and loving the wind at his back.

He stepped closer again, slower this time. Controlled. And this time, she didn't freeze.

Seraphina's heart pounded as he stopped inches away. His scent-warm, dark, like the woods at midnight-curled into her senses, addictive and disarming.

"You asked me earlier what I felt," he said softly, "when I touched you."

She looked up at him, silver eyes full of challenge. "Yes."

Killian's voice was low, threading between restraint and ruin.

"I felt... like I'd spent every lifetime looking for a war like you."

The air vanished from the room.

"You should stay away from me," she whispered.

"You should've run the second I opened the cell."

She didn't flinch. "And yet... here we are."

Their faces were inches apart. His hand came up slowly, brushing her hair back, the contact electric.

"I can't undo the bond," he said. "Not now."

"I didn't ask you to."

A pause. Tension thickened.

"Then tell me to stop," he whispered.

She didn't.

His lips descended like a question-but before they found their answer-

His comm panel buzzed.

A sharp sound. Invasive. Inevitable.

Killian groaned, forehead falling to hers. "I will throw that out the goddamn window."

Seraphina laughed, low and reckless, and it hit him harder than any spell. "Maybe we should change the location," she murmured. "Unless your tech likes to watch."

A growl rose in his throat.

"I'm taking you home," he said.

She arched a brow. "To your lair?"

"To my sanctuary," he corrected, tone dark and possessive. "Somewhere the world doesn't get to interrupt."

---

They left the office in silence, but the air between them crackled with everything unsaid. Every glance down the corridor was a pull. Every brush of their shoulders a spark.

By the time they stepped out into the cool night, Seraphina's pulse was a war drum.

Killian's car was black, sleek, and clearly custom-like the man himself. As the driver opened the door, Killian shook his head.

"Not tonight," he muttered. "We drive ourselves."

The driver vanished. Obedient. Silent.

Inside, the car smelled like leather and danger. She sat beside him, tension curled in her spine, watching the city blur past.

He didn't touch her. Didn't speak. Just drove.

But the heat?

It built like a storm.

The road twisted beneath them, swallowed by forest and fog. No city lights. No witnesses.

Just the beast and the witch, sealed in a cocoon of heat and silence.

Seraphina didn't ask where they were going. She didn't need to. Every mile they drove further from the city, the clearer it became-they were headed somewhere no one would dare follow.

Killian hadn't looked at her once since they entered the car. But his grip on the wheel was bone-white. His jaw locked like a man at war-with himself.

And yet the tension between them was alive. Breathing. Feeding off the silence.

She finally spoke, voice a blade in the stillness.

"Afraid of what happens if you touch me again?"

His knuckles flexed.

"No," he said, gravel in his throat. "Afraid I won't stop."

That should've been a warning.

It sounded like a promise.

---

The house was nothing like she expected.

Not glass and steel and corporate power. No, this was older. Wilder. A mansion nestled between shadowed woods and sheer cliffs-like it had clawed itself out of the earth and dared anyone to claim it.

It didn't shine.

It brooded.

And when he opened the tall iron doors, ushering her inside with nothing more than a glance, the air changed.

She stepped in.

And she felt it.

The pulse of something ancient in the walls. The hush of secrets not yet spilled. The sense that no one, not even his wolves, crossed this threshold without being invited.

"You live here?" she asked softly, turning to face him.

Killian's eyes didn't leave her. "No one else does."

The air between them vibrated.

She took a step deeper inside. Her heels clicked softly against marble. "I expected... glass towers and designer rugs."

"I don't bring war home."

She stopped.

He moved.

One step. Then two. Closing the distance in slow, deliberate silence. Until she could feel him again, like heat behind her. Like breath.

"Why did you bring me?" she asked.

His hand ghosted over her hip but didn't touch. Not yet.

"Because I wanted to see if this-" his voice dipped low, rough, intimate "-was only fire in a cage."

She turned to him, silver eyes unreadable. "And?"

His lips hovered at her cheek, his breath feathering against her skin.

"It's worse in the wild."

Then finally-he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't soft.

It was a storm uncaged. A hunger made flesh. It was the kind of kiss that shattered oaths and burned down defenses. The kind that tasted like danger and left you begging for more.

She moaned into it-low, involuntary-and his hands were at her waist, pulling her flush against him like he couldn't bear a breath of distance.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body met his in a language older than words.

But just as his mouth moved to her jaw, just as her knees weakened beneath the weight of him-

A sharp knock shattered the moment.

Then the door opened.

"Alpha-"

The assistant froze.

Killian's head snapped toward him, a snarl breaking from his throat. "Out."

"But the summit-"

"Out."

The door slammed again.

Seraphina pressed her forehead to his chest, breathless, biting back a laugh.

"You weren't kidding about the interruptions."

"I'm starting to take it personally."

His arms didn't let go. If anything, they pulled her tighter.

"Where were we?" she whispered.

Killian smiled-dark, slow, feral. "Just getting started."

Killian didn't say another word as he led her up the staircase.

No handlers. No guards. Just the two of them and the low hum of something that felt like inevitability.

The walls whispered of old power. His power. Not the kind that came from bloodlines or throne rooms-but from something primal. Something earned in darkness and fed with pain.

Seraphina didn't ask questions. Didn't need to. Every step told her who he was.

And every step she took beside him told her she wasn't afraid.

They reached his office.

He opened the door, letting her walk in first. The space was massive-bookshelves towered around them, thick velvet curtains draped like secrets, and in the center stood a desk of black obsidian, cold and gleaming like it had been forged from night itself.

But it wasn't the room she noticed.

It was the silence.

Charged. Loaded. Waiting.

He stepped in after her and closed the door behind them. The click echoed through her spine.

Then... stillness.

She turned slowly, heart hammering in her chest.

"I can't tell if this is your sanctuary," she murmured, "or your cage."

Killian leaned against the door, his gaze locked on her like he could see every shadow she kept buried. "It's both."

She took a step toward him. "And you brought me here because...?"

He didn't move. "Because I can't keep pretending I don't want to touch you every time you breathe."

There it was. No mask. No pretense.

Her throat went dry. "Then stop pretending."

In an instant, the space between them evaporated.

He crossed the room like a storm breaking. One hand at her waist, the other sliding into her hair, tilting her chin back just enough to see her eyes.

"You think I'm safe enough to play with?" he rasped.

"No," she whispered. "I think you're dangerous enough to ruin me."

He smiled. Cruel and intimate. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because I want to burn too."

He kissed her again-harder, deeper, like he was trying to possess the breath from her lungs.

She met him with everything she had. Fire for fire. Hunger for hunger. And somewhere in the pull of his mouth and the slide of his hands, she forgot what it meant to be untouched.

His jacket hit the floor. Then hers.

She pushed him against the desk, and he let her, chest rising fast, eyes wild like a man unchained.

"You don't scare me, Alpha," she whispered at his throat.

"You should," he growled.

"Then make me."

And he did.

His hand found the back of her thigh, lifting her to sit on the edge of his obsidian desk like she belonged there. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively. She arched into him, head thrown back as his mouth claimed the line of her throat-slow and devastating.

But just as his hands slid beneath her blouse, just as her nails sank into his shoulders-

The comm rang. Again.

A sharp, irritating buzz from the desk console.

Killian didn't move.

Didn't even blink.

Seraphina looked at him through half-lidded eyes, panting. "If you answer that, I swear-"

He crushed the comm with one slam of his hand.

Silence.

She grinned. "Better."

"I've waited too long for this," he said, voice dangerous.

"You mean to seduce me?" she teased.

"I mean to unmake you."

And when he kissed her this time, it was with all the restraint of a man who'd broken his own chains.

She didn't stop him.

Didn't move when his fingers brushed her cheek like he was memorizing her skin.

His hand slid down, tracing the curve of her jaw, the slender column of her throat, resting over the frantic rhythm of her pulse. His thumb pressed lightly there, as if he could feel how wild she was beneath the surface. Her breath hitched. His own chest rose and fell heavier, slower.

"Tell me to go," Killian murmured, voice rough. "Say the word, Seraphina, and I'll vanish."

She didn't say it.

Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, knuckles whitening as if the silence itself had turned into chains. The distance between them vanished-not in a crash, but in a slow, molten draw. His lips brushed hers once. A test. Then again, firmer. Her mouth opened on a gasp, and he drank it in like he'd been starved for years.

It was a kiss of hunger and haunting-his hand buried in her hair, her nails clutching his chest. She moaned against him, soft and broken, and he swallowed it like a vow. His mouth moved to her neck, kissing down to the pulse he'd earlier claimed, tongue flicking against the skin as she trembled.

"I feel you everywhere," he growled, lifting her easily into his arms.

She didn't protest as he carried her across the room. Didn't flinch when her back met the cool leather of the lounge. Her legs wrapped around his waist with instinct that felt older than her bloodline. She dragged his blazer off his shoulders, fingers frantic, breathless.

"Killian-"

He kissed the name off her lips.

His shirt joined the growing pile on the floor. Her hands moved over the hard lines of his chest, the scars that marred perfection like war stories. She kissed one near his shoulder, and he shuddered.

"You don't have to be gentle," she whispered. "Just... don't stop."

His eyes darkened, and the air shifted. His hand skimmed the hem of her dress, sliding beneath, tracing the bare skin of her thigh, moving higher.

"I won't stop," he promised. "Not until I've had all of you."

He undressed her like she was a prayer-reverent and slow, kissing each inch he uncovered. She was shaking by the time he pulled the silk over her head. Naked under his gaze, Seraphina felt bared in more ways than skin. Exposed. Seen.

He came down over her like a storm, mouth on hers, hands mapping every curve, every tremble. Their bodies aligned, heat pooling between them. She arched into him, breathless, and he groaned against her throat.

"Please," she gasped. "Killian-"

Their hips met in a perfect, devastating slide, and she broke under the weight of it-body arching, mouth parting in a silent cry. He moved slowly at first, like worship, every motion controlled, anchoring. Her fingers dug into his back, his name spilling from her lips again and again.

They moved in rhythm, the tension building-raw, consuming. He whispered things in her ear she wasn't meant to hear. Promises of ruin and devotion. Of power. Of forever.

And when the storm broke between them, it wasn't just bodies that came undone.

It was destiny unraveling, thread by aching thread.

The world didn't stop.

But it felt like it did.

For a heartbeat... then two... there was silence, thick and golden between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the soft thrum of rain against the tall windows in the distance.

Killian rested his forehead against hers, his hand still tangled in her hair, the other cradling her waist like he feared she might vanish. Seraphina didn't move-not because she couldn't, but because she didn't want to. Her body hummed with heat, her skin flushed and glowing, and yet somewhere deeper, beneath bone and blood, something else stirred.

Not magic.

Something older.

Bound.

"Seraphina," he whispered her name like a confession, a prayer. "You're mine now."

She should have bristled. Fought the possessive tilt of his voice. But instead, she closed her eyes and let the weight of the moment press into her chest like a brand.

"I think I always was," she breathed.

Killian kissed her again-softer now, lips lingering like a promise. His hands roamed with less hunger, more reverence. She could feel the tremor in him, the war between beast and man, fire and restraint.

"You don't understand what you've done," he said, voice low against her skin. "When an Alpha claims... it isn't just desire. It's fate sealing itself."

"I'm not afraid of fate."

His eyes met hers-coal and ice. "You should be."

She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. "Don't ruin this."

He stilled.

And then slowly-very slowly-he nodded.

They lay like that for a while. Skin to skin. No words. Just the heat of their bond winding tighter. But in the shadows of that quiet, something began to creep in. The edges of magic. The faint echo of a curse uncoiling.

Killian's body tensed.

"You feel it, too?" Seraphina whispered.

He nodded once, grim. "The prophecy doesn't rest. Even now."

"Then let's not rest either," she said, voice like steel under silk. "Let's fight it. Together."

A knock shattered the quiet like a blade through glass.

Killian snarled, the beast in him stirred. "What-?"

The door cracked open a sliver, and a sharply dressed woman with ice-blonde hair and high heels peeked inside, visibly flustered. "Apologies, Alpha, but there's a situation on the thirty-second floor. Urgent. They say it's about the girl."

Seraphina sat up, the sheet falling away from her shoulders. "Me?"

The assistant's gaze flicked to her and quickly away. "Yes. Something... something's happened at the Vale estate."

Killian was already moving-muscles tense, jaw clenched, power radiating off him like heat. His phone lit up with a dozen alerts. He threw on his shirt, but his eyes never left Seraphina.

"Stay close to me," he said, the command in his voice absolute.

She rose from the lounge, draping the sheet around her like a makeshift cloak, eyes burning silver. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere."

Not anymore.

The elevator doors sealed shut with a metallic hiss, casting a pale golden glow over their figures. Killian stood tall and silent beside her, shirt half-buttoned, the raw force of dominance leaking from every inch of him like smoke from a cracked inferno. Seraphina gripped the edge of her borrowed coat tighter around her-her skin still tingled from his touch, but her mind sharpened now with every floor they descended.

Thirty-two floors felt like a hundred.

"They wouldn't have called us down unless something broke through," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "The estate is shielded by six layers of blood-warded sigils. Only something ancient... or suicidal... would dare."

Seraphina turned to him. "You think it's about the prophecy?"

Killian didn't answer.

Because the moment the doors opened, the truth answered for him.

The hallway was in chaos-guards sprawled unconscious, glass splintered across the floors, red sigils bleeding smoke from the walls. The assistant from earlier stood to the side, trying-and failing-to mask the fear in her voice as she barked orders into a radio.

But it was the middle of the hall that stole all air from Seraphina's lungs.

A man stood there-tall, cloaked, unmoving.

Not Killian.

Not human.

His face was hidden in the hood's shadow, but his aura was unmistakable-corrupted, cold, ancient.

Seraphina froze. Every hair on her body lifted.

She didn't know how she knew him. Only that he had once stood in the dreams that haunted her childhood... and now he was real.

Killian stepped in front of her, protective and lethal. "Who the fuck are you?"

The figure tilted his head slowly. And then-he spoke.

"I am the one they buried beneath your kingdom's lie. I have waited twenty-one years to reclaim what was stolen."

His voice wasn't a sound. It was a feeling-like a grave being exhumed.

Seraphina's mark burned, searing into her chest like fire beneath her skin.

"You're not supposed to be alive," she whispered.

"I wasn't," the figure said softly, "until your blood woke me."

Then he vanished.

Not fled. Not ran.

Vanished.

And in the seconds of silence that followed, one thing became horrifyingly clear.

Whatever bound Seraphina to Killian... was also bound to something far darker. Something older. And now?

It was awake.

Killian turned to her, his expression unreadable.

But she could feel it between them-what they both knew.

Their bond wasn't just a curse.

It was a doorway.

And someone had just stepped through.