The sun never rose properly in Blackwood Pines. It just sort of… hovered behind the clouds, uncertain if it was welcome. Aurora stood at the edge of her herb garden, arms folded tight, watching the sky try and fail to brighten.
She hadn't slept. Not after the thing at her window.
Not after Damien's warning.
Not after the note slid under her door.
The hunt has begun.
She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled the scent of wet soil and lavender. She needed clarity. She needed answers.
And she knew exactly where to find them.
The hidden grimoire was buried under the floorboards of her shop — beneath a loose plank in the back room, sealed with a protective glyph only her blood could open. Her mother had left it behind with one message:
"Do not open it unless you're ready to face the truth."
Aurora cut her finger with a silver blade and let a drop fall onto the rune.
The glyph flared with blue light… and the floorboard cracked open.
Inside lay a book older than anything she'd ever seen. The leather was cracked and weathered, bound by vine-wrapped bones. The title was etched in a language only witches remembered.
Her fingers hovered above it. Her magic thrummed beneath her skin, warning her.
She opened it anyway.
Ten minutes later...
Her hands trembled as she read the final lines of a faded ritual on page 237.
"The Luna Binding Spell. Meant only for witches of First Flame and Alphas born under a blood moon. It grants protection... and power. But once cast, their fates are forever entwined."
Forever.
That word echoed through her skull like a bell underwater.
She closed the book. "Damien didn't mention this part…"
She wasn't stupid. This wasn't just about politics or protection.
Damien needed her power. And this spell? It was ancient magic. The kind no one dared to use anymore.
Why her?
Why now?
A knock at her shop's door made her jump. Not the doorbell. Not the wind. Just three soft knocks.
She opened it with caution.
Of course, it was him.
Damien leaned against the doorway in another too-expensive suit. No tie. Top two buttons undone. Just enough to show the shadow of a scar across his collarbone.
"Morning," he said, voice low and unreadable.
"You don't knock like a normal person," she muttered.
"I'm not a normal person."
He stepped inside without waiting for permission. His gaze moved across her like he could smell her unease.
"You didn't sleep."
"I wasn't given the luxury."
He nodded once. "You saw it too, didn't you? The thing at your window."
Her pulse skipped. "What was that?"
"One of the Marked Ones," he said grimly. "A creature that hunts witches. It doesn't kill immediately. It taunts. Weakens the wards. Draws out the fear."
"It whispered my name."
"That means it's chosen you."
Her stomach turned. "Why me?"
"I think…" Damien paused, then stepped closer, "...because your magic isn't like theirs. It's old. Untamed. There's something inside you even you don't understand yet."
"And you do?" she challenged, looking up at him.
"I don't," he said honestly. "But I want to."
Their eyes locked, something tense and unspoken rising between them.
"I found a spell," she said softly, shifting the topic before the heat in her chest betrayed her. "In my mother's grimoire."
Damien's expression sharpened. "A binding spell?"
"You know about it?"
"I've heard of it. Never seen it done. Most witches are too afraid."
"And you think I should cast it?" she asked.
He stepped even closer — so close she could see the flecks of silver in his irises. "I think… if you do, I can protect you. We'll be stronger together. But it's not just power, Aurora. It's permanent."
"I'm not some pawn you can bind to make your life easier."
"I never said you were."
"Then what am I to you?" she asked, her voice rising, unsure if it was anger or panic.
Damien didn't answer right away.
Instead, he raised a hand — slow, unthreatening — and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers grazed her skin like static.
"You're the first person who's ever touched me and lived."
She sucked in a breath. "That supposed to make me feel special?"
"No," he murmured. "It's supposed to make you curious."
She hated that it did.
His hand fell back to his side. "The choice is still yours. But if you wait too long, that creature won't just whisper your name… it'll wear your skin."
He turned to leave.
She called after him. "If I cast it… what happens to you?"
Damien paused at the door. He didn't turn around when he said it.
"Then I belong to you... just as much as you'd belong to me."
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As Aurora prepares to make her choice, the Marked One doesn't wait. It attacks in the dream realm — where magic behaves differently, and death... is permanent.
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