Chapter 2 Echoes in My Skin

I woke alone.

The sheets were a twisted mess beneath me, the air thick with a scent I couldn't name-feral, metallic, and intimate.

My body ached in places no dream should have touched. The kind of ache that came with bruising... and blood.

I shifted carefully, pain blooming sharp and deep between my hips.

The soreness wasn't imagined. It never was.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I snatched it up with shaking hands.

"Clara-open the garage. Now. Dad's hurt," my brother's voice snapped through.

Panic ripped through the fog in my mind.

Still barefoot and reeling, I stumbled downstairs.

When I opened the garage, my brother's SUV skidded inside, caked with mud and streaked with something darker.

Blood.

My father was slumped in the passenger seat, his face gray and hollow, his clothes torn and soaked.

"Get hot water," my brother barked, hauling him out. "As hot as you can. Don't ask questions."

I didn't.

My hand shook as I boiled the kettle, and in my distraction, I scalded the side of my palm.

The sting didn't even register. Not compared to the way my blood pounded in my ears.

I brought the steaming pot upstairs, just in time to see my father bite down on something-

A coin.

Not just any coin, but one of the old iron ward-coins we kept locked in the vault.

Embossed with warding runes, forged from blackened silver. Meant to keep them out.

"What the hell were you two dealing with?" I whispered.

My father couldn't speak. His lips were sealed shut-by pain or by magic, I wasn't sure.

My brother saw the question in my eyes and just shook his head.

"Not here," he said grimly. "It followed us back."

Then he closed the bedroom door and locked it behind me.

I sank onto the floor outside, heart racing, the weight of everything pressing down-

My cursed birth.

My blood-bound bridehood.

And now, something dark enough to wound the men in my family... something even they couldn't name.

I tried to sleep that night. I really did.

But something inside me wouldn't let me.

It started as a pulse.

Not in my chest-no, deeper. Somewhere beneath my ribs, like a second heartbeat, ancient and deliberate.

The warmth never reached my skin.

Instead, I felt cold. Not from fear, but from within-like my blood had turned to chilled mercury.

My fingertips tingled. My teeth ached.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror and flinched.

There was a shadow behind my eyes.

A shimmer in my irises that hadn't been there before-too bright, too red.

Was this what it meant to be claimed?

Was he changing me?

I pulled open my nightstand drawer, reaching for the blood-red ring-the one they said appeared the night I was born.

It had once looked like a stone. Now it pulsed, faintly. Like it was breathing.

Like it was... listening.

My great-grandfather had called it a Crimson Seal.

A relic from before recorded bloodlines.

A key, he'd whispered once, when he thought I couldn't hear.

"A key to what should never be opened..."

I never asked what he meant.

Now, I wished I had.

Because something inside me had turned.

And I had the feeling it had nothing to do with the dreams.

Or the man who came in the dark and called me his bride.

That night, I didn't sleep.

Not because I was afraid-though I was-but because I couldn't take it anymore.

The dreams weren't dreams. The touches weren't illusions.

And the pain... it lingered long after I woke.

So when the cold came again, curling through my sheets like mist from the grave, I didn't scream.

Not this time.

He came like always-without a sound, without a shadow-except the kind that filled the room when he stepped in.

Tall. Silent. More midnight than man.

I couldn't see his face. I never could.

But I felt him.

That impossible cold, pressing in around me like drowning in ice.

His hand reached for me, and for the first time-I grabbed his wrist.

"Wait."

My voice trembled.

So did my fingers.

But I held on.

"We need to talk."

A pause.

He didn't pull away.

But he didn't speak, either.

So I pushed on. "Who are you? What do you want from me? I'm not your... your toy." I swallowed hard. "You say I'm your bride. But I never agreed to anything."

A beat.

And then he laughed.

It was a low sound-smooth, bitter, and old. Like stone grinding against bone.

"Clara Duskgrave," he said, slowly, like tasting the name.

"You agreed the day you were born."

I flinched.

He stepped closer.

"Your blood carries the Seal. The Key. That makes you mine."

My grip faltered.

"You belong to me. Because your ancestors made sure of it."

"Then take it back!" I snapped, voice cracking. "Take your mark, take your curse-whatever it is-just leave me alone!"

He didn't move.

His next words were soft. And cruel.

"The bond is sealed in death, Clara."

"Only when your mortal life ends will the Crimson Bond be complete."

The air vanished from my lungs.

I stumbled back, heart pounding like a drumbeat from a coffin.

"So... I have to die?" I whispered.

He didn't answer.

But I saw it in his eyes-those cold, ancient eyes glowing faintly red.

He never needed to say yes.

I woke drenched in sweat that didn't feel like my own.

My body ached-not just from his visit, but from something deeper, something I couldn't name. My bones felt brittle, like they'd been hollowed out. My heartbeat-too slow, too loud.

Four days.

That's what he left me with.

A whisper. A promise. A death sentence.

By the seventh night, the Crimson Bond would be sealed.

And I would either belong to him entirely-or I would stop existing altogether.

No in-between.

******

Classes started that morning. My first semester at university.

While other girls worried about roommates and majors, I was wondering if my body was still human.

I threw on a hoodie, trying to cover the red marks bruising my collarbone. My legs still trembled. My neck still burned from where his breath had kissed it.

Even the sunlight looked different.

Brighter. Sharper. Like the whole world had been tuned to a frequency I wasn't supposed to hear.

The hallway was too loud.

The classroom-too warm.

The people-too alive.

I sat down next to my only real friend, Sophie, and tried to pretend I belonged.

Our class advisor walked in a few minutes later-a tall, smug man who barely looked older than us. I'd met him once, at orientation. He remembered me a little too well.

"Clara Duskgrave," he said, eyes lingering too long. "Late already? First day of class, and I'm making a note."

Laughter. Low and lazy.

I smiled weakly. Said nothing.

After class, he asked me to stay.

"Just a little help organizing enrollment forms," he said. "Won't take long."

I should've said no.

But I was tired. I was slow. And I didn't want to explain why I wasn't myself.

The office was empty.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I stood by his desk, flipping through a list of student IDs, when I felt him behind me.

Too close.

His breath skimmed my neck.

"You smell... sweet," he murmured.

I froze.

Then his fingers brushed the back of my shirt, and I snapped.

"Don't touch me."

He laughed. "Relax. Just admiring the view."

His hand slid lower-until I spun and shoved him back into the desk.

"I said don't."

But he was faster.

He caught my wrist, and his smile curled in something cruel.

"Feisty little thing, huh? Maybe that's why you've got those marks. Someone already claimed you?" His hand yanked at my collar.

He saw the bruises.

He grinned.

"Damn," he said. "Didn't take you for a kink girl."

That was when the lights flickered.

The shadows in the room shifted-too fast, too wrong.

The air turned cold.

He. Was. Here.

The class advisor gasped, stumbling back.

His eyes darted to the far corner of the room where nothing stood-nothing I could see.

But I knew.

I could feel it.

The pulse in my spine. The ice in my blood.

He was watching.

Claiming.

Warning.