“Adrian!” Ella’s voice cracked as she rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands trembled as she reached for his face, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. He was feverishly cold, his skin clammy under her fingertips, and his breaths came shallow and labored. “Please, hold on.”
The vulnerability she saw in him was jarring. Adrian, the proud and imperious leader of the de Vallière clan, looked utterly broken. For a moment, she forgot the chaos around her—the pulsing runes on the walls, the thick tension in the air, and the ominous groans of the manor itself.
Her fingers brushed against his cheek, and his lashes fluttered, those icy blue eyes barely cracking open. He stared at her as if trying to focus, his lips parting to say something, but no sound came out. A wave of helplessness washed over her. She didn’t know how to help him, didn’t know if there was anything she could do.
“Ella.” Vincent’s voice cut through her haze of panic, sharp and commanding. She looked up to see him standing a few paces away, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach twist. “Leave him.”
Her brow furrowed, anger flaring despite her fear. “What do you mean, ‘leave him’? He’s dying!”
Vincent stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving hers. “Adrian will survive,” he said firmly, though there was a trace of something softer beneath his words—something almost like doubt. “Right now, you need to focus on stabilizing the house’s magic. If you don’t, none of us will make it out of here.”
Ella stared at him, her chest heaving as she tried to process his words. The weight of the choice he was forcing on her felt unbearable. Save Adrian, or save the manor—and by extension, all of them.
“We need to move,” Vincent growled, forcing himself to his feet despite the weight of the magic pressing down on him. His dark eyes met Ella’s, filled with urgency. “Now.”
“But Adrian—” Ella began, her gaze darting to the eldest brother, who was still struggling to rise.
“I will stay with him,” Raphael said, his voice steady despite the strain in his features. He knelt beside Adrian, his hand glowing faintly as he pressed it to his brother’s shoulder. “Go. Finish the ritual.”
She hesitated, torn between the pull of Adrian’s fragile form and the weight of Vincent’s words. The trembling beneath her knees grew stronger, the vibrations rattling the ancient altar behind her and sending a cascade of dust from the ceiling.
“Ella,” Vincent said again, his voice softer now but no less urgent. He crouched beside her, his hand resting lightly on her arm. “Look at me.”
She turned her head, meeting his eyes. There was something in them that gave her pause—an unexpected vulnerability, a plea that cut through her panic. “We don’t have much time,” he said quietly.
Ella swallowed hard, her throat tight. She nodded slowly, her fingers reluctantly pulling away from Adrian’s still form. As she stood, Vincent rose with her, his grip on her arm steadying her as the floor beneath them shifted again.
“Lucien?” Vincent called, his voice echoing in the fractured chamber.
Lucien, who had been leaning heavily against the far wall, his hand pressed to his chest, straightened with visible effort. His normally impassive expression was strained, but his sharp eyes remained focused.
“The heart of the manor,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It is the only way to contain the magic.”
Vincent nodded, his jaw tightening. “Then we have to move. Now. Follow me.”
Ella hesitated for a heartbeat before slipping her hand into his. His grip was strong and steady, grounding her even as her thoughts spiraled. He pulled her to her feet, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and gestured toward the door.
She glanced at Adrian one last time, her heart twisting with guilt and worry, before Vincent gently but firmly guided her toward the chamber’s arched exit. The moment they stepped into the corridor, the temperature dropped sharply, the cold biting through Ella’s thin dress. The faint glow of the runes followed them, their light illuminating the twisting passageway in eerie, uneven flashes.
The manor seemed alive, its ancient stones groaning and shifting as if the building itself were in agony. Shadows danced along the walls, moving in ways that defied logic, and a faint whispering sound began to echo through the halls, words too indistinct to decipher.
“What is actually happening to the house?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It is reacting to the ritual,” Vincent replied, his tone clipped. “The bonds between us and the manor are tied to its magic. When you disrupted them…” He paused, his expression darkening. “You woke something up.”
Ella shivered, her arms wrapping around herself as they moved deeper into the manor. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and the shadows seemed to gather closer, their edges curling like smoke. She stumbled on a loose stone, and Vincent’s hand shot out, steadying her before she could fall.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice softer now.
“Thanks,” Ella whispered, her cheeks flushing despite the chill.
They continued in silence for a time, the only sounds the soft scuff of their footsteps and the distant groaning of the manor’s walls. As they turned a corner, Ella’s breath caught in her throat. The corridor ahead was lined with mirrors, their once-polished surfaces now cracked and tarnished. In the fractured reflections, she saw herself and Vincent—but the shadows around them moved independently, twisting and writhing as if alive.
“What… what is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The manor’s magic,” Vincent said grimly. “It is testing us.”
“Testing us?” Ella echoed, her stomach twisting.
Vincent glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “The manor is tied to us in ways you cannot imagine. It senses your presence, your intentions. And it doesn’t trust you.”
Ella’s heart sank. “Because of what I did?”
“Partly,” Vincent admitted. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to one of the mirrors. “But also because you are… different.”
“Different how?” Ella asked, frustration creeping into her voice.
Vincent didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the surface of one of the cracked mirrors. The glass rippled like water, distorting his reflection into something monstrous—a dark, hulking figure with glowing red eyes. He pulled his hand back quickly, his jaw tightening.
“The manor does not like change,” he said finally. “And you… you are a disruption it was not prepared for.”
They turned a corner, and Ella felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The shadows ahead of them seemed to shift and ripple, forming shapes that dissolved the moment she tried to focus on them. Faint whispers echoed through the air, too quiet to make out but unmistakably there.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Vincent’s hand moved to the hilt of the dagger at his side, his jaw tightening. “The manor’s magic is unraveling. It’s creating… manifestations. Do not stop. Do not listen.”
Ella swallowed hard, her grip tightening on Vincent’s sleeve as they continued deeper into the labyrinthine halls. The whispers grew louder with each step, interspersed with faint laughter that sent chills racing down her spine. At one point, she thought she saw a figure standing at the end of the corridor—a tall, pale woman with eyes like glowing coals—but when she blinked, the figure was gone.
Leave.
Unworthy.
Traitor.
Ella stumbled back, her hands flying to her ears. “What is that?” she cried, her voice barely audible over the cacophony. “Do you hear them?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Vincent said grimly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “But they are not real. Keep moving. It is just trying to scare us.”
“Well, it is working!” Ella shot back, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Vincent’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “Do not let it. Fear gives it power.”
Ella took a shaky breath, her hands dropping to her sides. She stepped closer to Vincent, drawing comfort from his steady presence. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the chaos around them seemed to fade, replaced by an unexpected calm.
“Stay close to me,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
They pressed on, the whispers fading into the background but never entirely disappearing. The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly, the air growing colder with each step. Ella’s legs ached, and her fingers were numb from the chill, but she forced herself to keep moving.
Then the corridor opened into a vast chamber, its walls covered in more glowing runes. A faint blue light emanated from the center of the room, where an ornate pedestal stood, its surface carved with intricate patterns that seemed to ripple and shift when Ella looked at them.
Eventually, they reached a massive iron door, its surface etched with runes similar to those in the ritual chamber. Vincent paused, his hand resting on the cold metal, his expression conflicted.
“What is wrong?” Ella asked, her breath visible in the icy air.
Vincent hesitated, his fingers brushing the runes. “This is it. The heart of the manor.”
Ella frowned. “Then why do you look like you do not want to go in?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened, and he turned to face her. “Because once we are inside… everything changes.”
“What do you mean?” Ella pressed, her voice soft.
Vincent’s gaze held hers, the intensity of his dark eyes stealing her breath. “The bonds that tie us to the manor… they define us. Losing them would mean losing a part of ourselves. And if this ritual goes wrong…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Ella’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Vincent… I am really sorry. I promise, did not mean to—”
He cut her off, his hand covering hers. “I know,” he said quietly. “But it does not change what is at stake.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them.
“This is where the magic flows strongest. If we can stabilize it here, we can stop the house from collapsing,” Vincent finally said, his voice reverent.
Ella stepped forward, her gaze drawn to the pedestal. The air around it felt electric, crackling with raw energy that made her skin tingle. She turned to Vincent, her throat tight.
“What do I do?”
Vincent hesitated, his dark eyes meeting hers. For the first time, she saw something in his expression that startled her—vulnerability.
“I will guide you,” he said. “But you have to trust me.”
The weight of his words hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. Ella nodded slowly, her pulse quickening as she stepped closer to the pedestal. Vincent followed, his presence steady and grounding despite the chaos swirling around them.
As she placed her hands on the pedestal, a jolt of energy surged through her, sharp and searing. She cried out, but Vincent’s hands found her shoulders, steadying her. His touch was firm but gentle, and his voice was a low, soothing murmur in her ear.
“You are doing fine,” he said. “Just breathe.”
Ella closed her eyes, focusing on his voice. The energy coursing through her was wild and chaotic, but she tried to channel it, to steady it, as Vincent instructed. The runes on the walls pulsed in time with her heartbeat, their glow growing brighter and more stable.
“You are stronger than you think,” Vincent said softly, his breath warm against her ear.
Ella’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his expression made her heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the chaos around them seemed to fade. His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin.
Then, slowly, Vincent leaned closer, his breath warm against her chilled skin. Ella’s heart raced as his lips hovered near hers, the intensity of his gaze making her forget the cold, the danger, everything but him.
He leaned in more, his dark eyes searching hers, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Her breath caught, her heart pounding as his lips hovered just a whisper away from hers.
“Eleanor,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You are…”
But before he could finish the kiss, the chamber shuddered violently, a deafening crack splitting the air as part of the ceiling collapsed. The ground beneath them shifted, sending Ella stumbling backward, away from Vincent’s reach.
“Eleanor!” Vincent’s voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos as dust and debris rained down between them.
“I am okay!” she shouted, coughing as the thick cloud of stone dust filled her lungs. She blinked against the haze, trying to make out Vincent’s figure through the settling rubble, but the fallen stones had created an impassable divide between them.
“Stay there!” Vincent’s voice came from the other side, strained but commanding. “I will find another way around.”
Ella’s heart pounded as she called back, “Be careful!” Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to stand, brushing the dust from her dress and glancing around the now-dim chamber.
The runes on the walls flickered weakly, their light uneven as if the magic sustaining them was faltering. The air was warm here, a sharp contrast to the icy corridors they had traversed, and it carried a faint, metallic tang that set Ella’s teeth on edge.
Turning her attention forward, she spotted a narrow archway she hadn’t noticed before, partially concealed by fallen debris. A faint glow emanated from beyond it, beckoning her forward. Swallowing hard, Ella steeled herself and stepped through.
The hidden passage was claustrophobic, the walls pressing close on either side. The glowing light grew stronger with each step, illuminating intricate carvings etched into the stone. Ella’s breath caught as she recognized the shapes—figures entwined in strange, serpentine patterns, their limbs and torsos blending into streams of flowing blood.
Her fingers brushed against the carvings as she moved, and a jolt of recognition rippled through her. The figures weren’t just any people. They were familiar.
The passage widened suddenly, opening into a small chamber. Ella froze as her eyes landed on the centerpiece of the room: an ancient carving that stretched across the far wall, its detail so lifelike it seemed to shift under the flickering light. The image depicted five men, their sharp features and commanding postures unmistakable.
The brothers.
Ella’s breath quickened as her gaze moved to the woman standing among them. Her hair flowed like liquid silver, and her eyes, even in stone, seemed to pierce through the centuries. It was her. The woman was her.
Around the figures, tendrils of carved blood connected them all, twisting and spiraling into a single, intricate knot at the center of the mural. The knot pulsed faintly with a reddish light, as if alive.
“What… is this?” Ella whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.
The whispers returned, faint and ghostly, circling her like a gentle wind. The words were clearer now, though fragmented.
Bound… forever…
Blood… unity… destiny…
Ella stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch the carving of herself. The moment her fingers grazed the cold stone, the knot at the center flared brightly, the reddish light spilling out and bathing the room in a crimson glow.
A rush of images flooded her mind—moments that weren’t hers but felt intimately familiar. The brothers’ faces flashed before her, their expressions a mix of anguish, passion, and devotion. She felt their emotions as if they were her own: Adrian’s desperate need for control, Vincent’s simmering anger and longing, Sebastian’s playful but sharp-edged affection, Lucien’s cold calculation masking a deeper vulnerability, and Raphael’s gentle yet enigmatic sorrow.
Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath as the images faded. The whispers grew louder, almost deafening now, their words swirling around her in a chaotic storm.
Bound by blood… forever… chosen…