Chapter 14
1139 Words
Calla could still taste the ash on her tongue. The dream—or the memory—had not faded even hours after she awoke. Her skin buzzed with a fever not of the body, but of something deeper. The sensation of the past clung to her like smoke. And when she opened her eyes that morning, it wasn’t the sun that greeted her but a cold breeze leaking through the stone cracks of the ancient mansion.
Ares was gone.
Not gone in the way that caused alarm—no, his presence still echoed in the space. The scent of leather and spice lingered, and his discarded suit jacket was draped across the edge of the velvet armchair. But his absence left a void that made her breath hitch.
She walked barefoot across the cold marble floor, the hem of her silk robe whispering behind her. She was beginning to know this place better—every carved doorframe, every gold-dusted hallway, every shadow that stretched far too long after dusk.
In the great hall, the fire was low, casting a dull orange glow across the polished floor. A tray of breakfast sat untouched on the table, beside a single folded note.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
“I had to go out for a few hours. Don’t leave the estate. We’re being watched. - A.”
Her fingers tightened around the note.
Watched?
The idea should’ve sent ice down her spine, but she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. Fear had become familiar company—so familiar, it was almost comforting. What unsettled her now wasn’t the idea of being watched. It was the gnawing certainty that her dreams were not dreams at all.
She had lived before. She had loved Ares before. And she had died for it.
The visions were growing stronger, more vivid. It was like watching a film play behind her eyes—one she couldn’t turn off. Images of blood, moonlight, a velvet noose tightening around her neck. Her hands clasped in Ares’s, his lips whispering a promise that time could not hold.
“We break the curse this time, Calla. Even if I have to burn the world.”
She touched the pendant at her neck—the same one she wore in every lifetime, the same one buried with her body in the 1800s, in the shadow of a ruined chapel in Vienna. The circle of the curse was closing again. And they had little time.
---
When Ares returned, night had fallen. His face was lined with exhaustion, and blood stained the collar of his black shirt. He didn’t speak at first—only looked at her. Something stormed in his eyes.
She walked to him. “Was it them?”
He nodded. “The Council knows.”
Her stomach turned. “Then they’ll come for us.”
“They already have.”
He pulled something from the inside of his coat—a velvet pouch, heavy with magic. When he unwrapped it, a silver dagger gleamed against the firelight.
“The original blade,” he said. “From the first death.”
She reached for it. Her fingers grazed the hilt, and a shock tore through her—flashes of another lifetime: a dark forest, rain pounding down, the taste of Ares’s blood on her lips.
“This is what killed me.”
“And what brought you back.”
He stepped closer, brushing hair from her face. “Calla, we’re running out of time. The curse renews at midnight on the blood moon. That’s in three nights. We either sever it then—or we begin again.”
“You mean, die again.”
He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
---
The next day, the mansion grew colder.
Even with the fire roaring, even with Ares pressed against her in bed, Calla couldn’t shake the chill. Time had become a thief, each hour stolen beneath the illusion of calm. Every touch between them was more desperate, more sacred—an act of rebellion against fate.
And then, the arrival came.
The sound of hooves echoed in the night. Ares met the intruders in the courtyard, sword already drawn. Calla watched from the window, heart hammering as robed figures stepped from a black carriage. Seven of them. Council members.
Old. Pale. Eyes that glowed red beneath the hoods.
Ares didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. They had come to collect the debt of blood.
The leader stepped forward, voice hissing like smoke. “You’ve defied the balance long enough, Devlin. Love was never yours to keep.”
Ares growled, “She is not a bargaining chip. She is mine.”
“No one is yours. Not even yourself.”
Lightning cracked across the sky.
Calla ran.
Down the stairs, past the library, through the garden doors that led to the altar grounds. She didn’t know why—only that she had to move, had to do something. She could feel the curse pulsing beneath her skin now, waking fully.
Blood for blood. Love for eternity.
She collapsed at the altar, gasping, the dagger clutched in her hand. The stone beneath her shimmered with ancient runes, glowing faintly as her tears fell onto them.
“Please,” she whispered to the universe. “Let this end. Let us live.”
Behind her, footsteps.
Ares.
He knelt beside her, bloodied, panting. “It’s time.”
“No,” she cried, grabbing his wrist. “There has to be another way.”
“This is the only way. You must cut the bond yourself. The blade must taste your blood, willingly.”
She stared at him. “And if I do? What happens to us?”
“We either survive… or we forget.”
She trembled. “I don’t want to forget you.”
He pressed their foreheads together. “Then remember me now.”
She raised the dagger. Her hands shook.
“I love you, Ares.”
“I’ve loved you through lifetimes, Calla.”
And then she drove the blade into her chest.
---
The pain was not of flesh.
It was deeper, ripping through her soul. Fire swallowed her body. Light exploded behind her eyes. She screamed—but there was no sound. Only white, endless white.
And then—
Silence.
---
When she opened her eyes, the world had changed.
She was lying in a bed of wildflowers, beneath a silver sky. Ares knelt beside her, whole, untouched by blood or time.
She gasped. “It worked?”
He smiled, tears falling freely. “You broke the curse, Calla. We’re free.”
But something in her ached. A hollow space.
“I don’t remember,” she whispered.
He took her hands, pressing them to his lips. “Then I’ll help you remember. Every day. Every lifetime.”
And he did.
- Writer
