Chapter 24 Chapter 24

Chapter 24 Chapter 24
Adrian
Vivian had changed. It was a rude realization, even as I hated to admit it.

The frantic edges of the woman so concerned about the future had softened. Vivian moved with a quiet grace now, her strange accent occasionally interrupting into the rhythmic lilt of the ton. Her eyes a piercing, defiant blue that belonged to no century I recognized.

“You are staring,” her voice cut through the silence. She didn’t look up from the book she was reading. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I am observing,” I corrected, my voice low. “It is the prerogative of a Duke to ensure his guests are… comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” She laughed a little. Closing the ledger she was holding, she stood, walking towards the window where I was standing.

“In a house full of werewolves, ancient curses, and a Baron who treats society like currency, I think comfortable is a bit of a stretch.”

When she stopped, she was only inches away from me, the air around us electric, a current that made my pulse throb.

Her hands reached out, her fingers hovering near the jagged scar that ran from my collarbone to the hollow of my throat, a wound I acquired from a fight ten years back.

“Does it still hurt?” she hushed.

“Only when the moon is high,” I replied. “It is a mark of the burden, Vivian. Every Northbrook carries them. We are a lineage of scars held together by silk and titles.”

I waited for her to pull away, but she didn’t. She pressed her palm against the scar instead. Her skin was cool against the heat of my skin.

In that moment, I saw the raw presence of sympathy in her eyes.

“I used to think you were a jailer,” she breathed, gaze locked against mine. “But you’re just… lonely. We’re both lost, aren’t we? Just in different ways.”

I reached up, letting my hands cover hers, pinning it against my chest so she could feel the frantic, heavy thud of my heart within.

“I have spent years waiting for a ghost, Vivian. I did not expect the ghost to have such a fierce, beautiful soul.”

I leaned in, her jasmine and other worldly scent filling my senses. The pull between us was no longer a cosmic mystery.

It was a physical ache now.

I wanted to tell her that I would burn every book in this library, just to keep her here, but as soon as a shadow crossed her face, the words died in my throat.

“Adrian,” she murmured, her thumb caressing the line of my jaw. “If the mirror… if there was another way… would you let me go?”

The question hit me like a stab of a sharp knife.

I looked at her, noting the conflict in her eyes, the desperate love for a world I couldn’t imagine clashing with the spark of what was growing between us.

“I would give you the world, Vivian, even if it meant I would no longer be in it.” My voice shook slightly.

The moment grew charged, emotions crackling like the power of lightning. Then something snapped us out.

Our heads turned to the direction of the sound, A raven sat on the sill, a scrap of bright red silk tied to its leg.

“The lilies,” Vivian cried. “Your journal mentioned red silk.”

I opened the window quietly. The bird hopped, about to escape when I caught it.

Carefully, I pried off the silk from the raven’s leg, then let it flutter away. When I handed the silk to Vivian, she sniffed at it a little.

“The Black swan,” she whispered. “She’s there. The fortune teller.”

“Vivian wait—” I tried to stop her.

But she was already moving, her hands clutching the skirt of the light yellow dress she wore.

“I have to know, Adrian,” she shot behind her. “I have to be sure that there is a window left for me.”

I followed her without thinking, my protective instincts flaring into a white hot roar.

We didn’t use the carriage. We walked on foot, and I led her through the secret hunters path that went through the village’s main route.

We reached the black swan, a dilapidated, sagging inn at the edge of the marshes, just as the sun began its descent.

The interior was a dark tomb. Behind a scorched, wooden table, a woman stood, her skin looking like crumpled parchment. She didn’t spare us a glance as we walked in.

“The clock is ticking, little bird,” the woman’s voice rasped, like a chorus of dry leaves. “Thirty days. The stars are aligning for the feast of Saint Valentine. The night of the great ball.”

Vivian took a step forward, her voice bearing a light tremor. “The portal. You’re saying it opens then?”

“On the night of the valentine ball,” the silver shall meet the glass once more,” the old woman said, her milky eyes finally fixing on me.

Old Madame Delacroix.

“But heed the tether, Duke of Shadow. You have found your mate. The bond is no longer a thread, it is a vein.” She added.
“If the girl steps through the light, the bond will snap, and a snapped bond is a spill of blood. It is a sentence of silence. A sentence to lie in the tomb without rising up. The heart that stays shall stop, and the heart that goes shall wither.” She leaned forward.

It took all the masculinity in me to stay standing. Vivian’s shoulder was set, her skin a little pale. This wasn’t what we expected.

The silence that followed was absolute. I felt the air leaving my lungs, weakness rushing through my limbs.

I knew how rare a mate bond was, but it never occurred to me that a mate bond was what pulled us together. It was the rarest, sacred occurrence in our kind. To sever it is to commit suicide.

I looked at Vivian, stiff on her spot. She had found a way home, but the price was blood.

Our blood.