The fire crackled in the hearth, but it was nothing compared to the heat that burned between them.
Anastasia stood in the moonlit bedroom, Antoine's coat draped over her shoulders. It smelled like him—cedar, leather, danger. Her lips still tingled from their kiss, the memory of his mouth on hers seared into her bones.
He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, but his gaze was anything but casual.
Predatory. Possessive.
"I should go," he said huskily, but didn't move an inch.
Anastasia's fingers curled around the coat. "Why did you kiss me?"
Antoine's jaw tensed. "Because I hate how much I still want you. Because every time I look at you, I forget you're the reason I burned."
"I didn't know," she whispered.
"I know." He stepped closer. "But my body doesn't care."
Silence fell.
Then she said the words that cracked his restraint.
"Then stop pretending you don't want me."
---
He was in front of her in a blink.
Hands cupping her face.
Breath ghosting over her lips.
"Don't tempt me, little witch," he growled. "I might not stop this time."
Her voice trembled. "Then don't."
That was all it took.
He crushed his mouth to hers, and the room spun. Her back hit the wall, his hands sliding down her sides like he was relearning every inch of her body.
Anastasia gasped against his lips as his fangs brushed her skin.
"Bite me," she whispered.
He stilled.
Her pulse thundered beneath his hand.
"You want the mark," he said darkly. "You want to bind yourself to me."
"I want to feel something real," she breathed. "Even if it kills me."
His eyes glowed crimson. "You're playing with something dangerous, Anastasia."
"So play me."
That broke him.
He kissed her like a storm—biting, claiming, desperate. When he sank his fangs into the curve of her neck, she cried out—but not from pain.
It was pleasure. Pure. Blazing. Overwhelming.
Her magic exploded.
The runes on her body ignited in glowing silver, filling the room with radiant heat. A protective pulse surged outward, knocking over the candle stands and cracking the glass.
Antoine tore his mouth from her throat, stunned. "Your magic—"
"Is bonded to yours," she panted. "Isn't it?"
He touched the mark on her neck, which now shimmered like molten metal.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It is now."
---
She woke the next morning tangled in silk sheets, her body aching in ways she hadn't known were possible. Her fingers reached for the bite mark.
It was gone.
But something deeper had been left behind.
A connection.
She could feel him—his emotions, his hunger, his pain.
And… his fear.
She found him outside again, shirtless, training with a blade under the golden sun. Sweat clung to his skin. He moved with impossible speed, the muscles in his back flexing as he sliced the air.
She watched him silently.
Until he stopped and said, without turning, "You feel it too, don't you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He dropped the sword, finally facing her. "The bond is ancient. Not just physical—it's emotional, magical, eternal. I didn't want to do this to you."
"But you did," she said.
He stepped closer. "I gave in. I always do with you."
Anastasia placed her palm over his heart. "Then stop fighting me."
His hand covered hers. "It's not you I'm fighting. It's what's coming."
"What is?"
Antoine's eyes darkened.
"The Crimson Council. They know you've awakened. They'll come for you, for your magic… for the child you'll carry."
Her heart stopped. "What?"
He looked down at her, expression unreadable.
"I saw it in a vision, Anastasia. Our child. The heir of fire and blood."
---
Far away, cloaked figures gathered in a circle of black stone.
"She has remembered," a woman in white said coldly.
"And he has marked her," said another, "which means their child will inherit both the curse… and the prophecy."
A third voice hissed, "Then we kill them before it's too late."
---
Back at the house, Anastasia stepped back from Antoine, her lips trembling. "You saw a child?"
"Yes," he said, softly. "And she was powerful. A beacon. The one who ends the curse that began with us."
She shook her head. "I'm not ready—"
"Neither was I," he whispered, brushing her cheek. "But fate never waits."
Then he kissed her again—softly this time. Reverently.
Because now it wasn't just passion between them.
It was destiny.