Clara's hands shook as she brought the silver tray down the long hallway. Five days in this strange castle, and she still jumped at every shadow. The red drink in the fancy glass looked like blood, but Clara knew better now. It was Lucien's special mix—the one he drank instead of feeding on people.
"Don't spill it this time," she whispered to herself. Yesterday, she had tripped on the carpet and spilled half the drink. Lucien hadn't punished her, but his cold silver eyes had made her feel small.
The big wooden doors to Lucien's study loomed ahead. Clara took a deep breath and knocked.
"Enter," came his deep voice.
Clara pushed the door open with her shoulder. Lucien sat at his desk, writing in a big book. He didn't look up as she walked in.
"Your drink, my lord," Clara said, trying to keep her voice steady.
She moved carefully across the room. The fire from the fireplace made the shadows dance on the walls. As she reached his desk, Clara noticed something odd—a small picture that looked like... her? She leaned closer.
That's when it happened.
Her finger caught on the edge of the tray. Sharp pain shot through her hand as the silver cut into her skin. A drop of blood fell into Lucien's drink, making the red liquid darker.
"I'm so sorry!" Clara gasped, putting the tray down quickly.
Something changed in the room. The air felt heavy, like before a storm.
Lucien's head snapped up. His silver eyes locked on her bleeding finger, then slowly changed color—turning from silver to deep red.
"Your blood..." he whispered.
Clara backed away, heart beating. "I didn't mean to—"
Before she could finish, Lucien moved. One second he was at his desk, the next he was right in front of her. Clara hadn't even seen him move—it was too fast for human eyes.
He towered over her, his face inches from her neck. Clara could feel his cool breath on her skin. This was it. He was going to bite her.
But he didn't.
Instead, Lucien reached up with trembling fingers and touched her face. So gently. Like she might break.
"Impossible," he whispered. His red eyes slowly faded back to silver. "The scent... it's the same."
Clara stood frozen, confused by his words and the strange look on his face—like he had seen a ghost.
"Your wound needs treatment," Lucien said, stepping back suddenly. His voice became cold again, but Clara had seen something else in his eyes for a moment. Something like... pain? Recognition?
He pulled a button on the wall, and seconds later, an older woman with kind eyes hurried in.
"Madame Dumont, see to Clara's injury," Lucien ordered. "And bring her to the east wing afterward. I need to speak with her alone."
The woman bowed. "Yes, my lord."
As Madame Dumont led Clara away, Clara looked back. Lucien was looking at her blood on his fingers with a strange expression.
"He didn't hurt you?" Madame Dumont asked as they walked down the hallway.
"No," Clara said, still confused. "He just... touched my cheek."
The woman's eyes widened. "That's not possible. Lord Lucien never touches humans."
In a small room filled with medicine bottles, Madame Dumont cleaned and wrapped Clara's cut finger.
"Why did he look at me that way?" Clara asked. "Like he knew me?"
The woman glanced at the door anxiously. "I shouldn't say this, but... there was a woman, long ago. She looked just like you."
Clara's heart skipped. "What happened to her?"
"She died. That's all I know." Madame Dumont finished the patch. "Now, I must take you to the east wing."
Clara had never been to the east wing before. As they climbed a circular staircase, she felt a strange pull, like she had walked these steps before.
At the top, Madame Dumont pointed to a door. "He's waiting for you there."
Clara knocked softly. When no one answered, she pushed the door open.
The room inside made her gasp. It was filled with mirrors—dozens of them, in all shapes and sizes. Some looked old, with tarnished frames and cloudy glass.
Lucien stood in the center, watching her.
"Close the door," he said.
Clara obeyed, her heart racing.
"Do you know why I brought you here?" he asked.
Clara shook her head.
"Look at this mirror." He pointed to an old, cracked mirror with symbols carved around its frame.
Clara stepped closer. At first, she saw only her image. Then, the picture changed. It showed a different version of her, wearing old-fashioned clothes, shaking hands with... Lucien? But Lucien looked different too—his hair was longer, his clothes from another time.
"What is this?" Clara whispered.
"That's you, Clara. From 1745." Lucien's voice was quiet. "And that's me, standing beside you."
Clara backed away from the mirror. "That's impossible! I wasn't alive then!"
"Weren't you?" Lucien stepped closer. "Your blood—I would know its scent anywhere. The same blood that ran through her veins runs through yours."
"You're saying what? That I'm... her?"
"I don't know what you are," Lucien said. "But when I touched your cheek, I felt it. The same spark. The same connection."
Clara's hand went to her neck, where a strange tattoo had always been. Shaped like a half moon.
Lucien's eyes followed her movement. "She had that same mark."
"This doesn't make sense," Clara said, feeling dizzy.
"There's more." Lucien went to a desk and picked up a locket—exactly like the one Clara's aunt had given her before dying.
"How do you have that?" Clara reached for her own locket, hidden under her shirt.
Lucien's eyes widened when he saw she had one too. "Open them," he said. "Together."
With shaking hands, Clara opened her locket as Lucien opened his. Inside hers was a tiny picture of a silver-eyed man—Lucien. Inside his was a picture of a woman with Clara's face.
"Who am I?" Clara whispered, feeling the room spin.
Before Lucien could answer, the castle shook. A loud blast came from somewhere below.
"She's found us," Lucien said, his face turning hard. He grabbed Clara's arm. "We need to move. Now."
"Who's found us?" Clara asked as he pulled her toward a secret door.
"Erynn," Lucien said, his voice grim. "She's been hunting you for centuries. And she'll kill you again if she gets the chance."
"Kill me... again?" Clara's blood turned cold.
As they rushed through the secret tunnel, Clara heard a woman's laughter echo through the castle.
"Run all you want, lovers," the voice called. "Your blood will be mine today!"
In the darkness of the tunnel, Lucien's eyes glowed silver. "Stay close to me," he whispered. "And whatever happens, don't trust your memories. They're not all yours."
Clara wanted to ask what he meant, but then the wall beside them burst in a shower of stone and magic.