The price of desire

The world felt heavier with every step Seraphina took back toward the cathedral.

The girl’s warning clung to her like a second skin, but she couldn’t — wouldn’t — turn away from Lucien. Not now. Not after the way he had looked at her. Touched her. Broken her.

She needed answers. She needed him.

The cathedral loomed ahead, silent and cold. The black rose still lay where she had left it, but Lucien’s cloak was gone — and this time, so was any trace of him.

Seraphina gritted her teeth.

If he thought he could disappear into the shadows again, he was wrong.

Before she could step inside, a voice echoed from the nave.

“Looking for a ghost, little dove?”

Seraphina spun, dagger flashing — only to find Lucien perched lazily atop a fallen pillar, his dark hair dripping wet from the mist, his clothes torn and bloodstained.

She froze. “You’re hurt.”

Lucien laughed, low and humorless. “Not in any way that matters.”

“You left me,” she said, voice raw.

“I saved you.”

He slid down from the pillar, landing lightly in front of her. His movements were wrong — too smooth, too silent, like something not entirely human.

“What happened last night?” she demanded. “What did we do?”

Lucien’s face darkened. He looked past her, as if the answer was written somewhere on the cracked stones.

“You tore the veil,” he said finally. “You woke the hunger inside me.”

Seraphina’s blood chilled.

“You mean…” she began, but couldn’t finish the thought.

Lucien stepped closer, until there was no space between them. His hand cupped the side of her neck, thumb brushing the frantic pulse in her throat.

“You are not safe with me,” he whispered. “I was bound once. I wore chains blessed by priests and sealed by ancient blood. But when you touched me… you undid centuries of silence.”

Tears stung Seraphina’s eyes. “I don’t care.”

“You should,” Lucien said, his voice breaking. “Because soon, there will be nothing left in me that remembers how to love without destroying.”

Still, she didn’t move. She only leaned into him, breathing in the scent of rain and smoke and something darker — something older.

“I’m not afraid,” she said.

Lucien let out a sound between a laugh and a growl, pressing his forehead against hers. “You should be, little dove. You should run. You should pray.”

Seraphina closed her eyes. “I only ever prayed for one thing.”

“And what was that?” he rasped.

She opened her eyes, locking her gaze with his.

“You.”

For a heartbeat, Lucien said nothing.

Then his mouth crashed onto hers, desperate and wild, as if he could devour the space between their broken souls. She clutched him back with equal violence, feeling his body tremble with restraint, with rage, with need.

Whatever came next, Seraphina knew one thing with blinding certainty:

She was already his — and soon, she would belong to the darkness too.

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To be continued.

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