Chapter 11
1038 Words
The moon rose higher over the Devlin estate, casting a pale blue glow that bathed the centuries-old architecture in shadows. Calla stood on the marble balcony, her fingers trembling as she gripped the edge, her breath forming clouds in the cold night air. Below her, the gardens shimmered with frost, but her body felt aflame, trapped between the heat of everything Ares was—and the chill of what she had just learned.
Ares had left abruptly after the storm of lust that consumed them in Chapter 10. But it wasn’t the taste of his mouth or the scorch of his hands that lingered—it was the way he looked at her after. Like she was a puzzle he had almost solved... or a curse he was afraid to touch again.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
It was Cain.
Calla turned slowly, her spine straightening like a drawn bow. The man before her wore tailored black—suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, and eyes sharp like he could split the night with a glance. Cain had never looked more dangerous. Or more beautiful.
“Did you follow me?” she asked, voice cool.
He stepped onto the balcony, the light slicing across his angular face. “No. But I knew you’d come here after what Ares said.”
She clenched her fists. “He didn’t say anything. That’s the problem.”
Cain leaned against the railing beside her. “He doesn’t have to. The truth always spills in the silence.”
She hated how right that sounded. Hated the way Cain’s presence soothed her just enough to make her drop her guard.
“I’m tired of being lied to,” she whispered.
Cain’s gaze dropped to her hand, still trembling. He didn’t reach for her—but his voice softened. “Then stop looking to him for answers.”
“You’re not any better,” she snapped. “You’ve been hiding things too. Don’t pretend you’re some savior in this.”
He let out a dry chuckle. “Calla... I’m not a savior. I’m a warning.”
She turned to him fully, her fury flashing like a blade. “Then give me something real. One truth. Anything.”
Cain stared at her for a long moment. Then he said, “The night you were born, the stars stopped moving.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Your existence disrupted time itself,” he continued. “That’s why the curse won’t die. It didn’t begin with Ares. It didn’t even begin with the Devlins. It began with you.”
Silence fell. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that vibrated with unraveling realities.
She shook her head. “No. I’m not—no. I’m just a girl.”
“You were never just anything,” Cain said. “You were made. Forged for something old. Something deadly.”
“And what are you?” she whispered.
He stepped closer. Too close.
“I’m the balance,” he murmured. “Or at least, I was supposed to be.”
The door slammed open again.
Ares.
His presence electrified the air. His eyes locked onto Cain, then Calla. Something raw flickered across his face—possession, pain, hunger.
“Get away from her,” Ares growled.
Cain didn’t flinch. “You’re too late, brother.”
Calla staggered back, breath catching in her throat. “Brother?”
Neither man answered her.
The wind howled through the balcony, as if the house itself sensed what had been unearthed.
“You lied to me,” she whispered, looking at Ares now. “All of you.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” Ares said, stepping toward her. “It was a protection.”
“I don’t need protection,” she said. “I need the truth.”
He stopped inches away. “Then let me show you.”
He reached out—not for her hand, but for her mind.
The world tilted.
Suddenly, they were somewhere else. A ballroom lit by chandeliers, packed with masked strangers from centuries past. She stood between two reflections—Ares in crimson and Cain in silver—both staring at her like she was the center of the world.
A memory. A vision. A past life.
A scream tore the illusion apart. Calla gasped as they snapped back into the present.
She was in Ares’ arms. Trembling.
“Why did I see that?” she demanded.
“Because your soul remembers,” Ares said. “You’ve lived this before. Over and over. And each time, we lose you.”
Cain spoke from the shadows. “This time, maybe we don’t have to.”
Calla pulled away from both of them. Her mind raced. Past lives. Time disruption. A curse that started with her. It was too much.
“I need to think,” she breathed. “Alone.”
She ran. Through the halls. Down the marble staircases. Past portraits that now felt like watchers instead of ancestors.
She didn’t stop until she reached the old library.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and secrets. She found a hidden drawer in the fireplace mantle and pulled out a weathered book—the Devlin Grimoire.
Her name was inside.
Callista Reyes. The Harbinger.
Her fingers trailed over the ancient ink. The truth was undeniable now.
Her blood didn’t just awaken the curse.
It was the curse.
Behind her, something stirred.
A woman. Pale as bone. Dressed in funeral lace. Her eyes black voids.
“You shouldn’t have remembered,” the ghost hissed.
Calla stumbled back, but the ghost lunged—then shattered into smoke.
Cain appeared in the doorway, holding a burning talisman.
“You’re not safe anywhere now,” he said.
Calla stood slowly, the book clutched to her chest. “Then I won’t run anymore.”
Cain nodded. “Good. Because the next blood moon rises in two days. And when it does, either the curse ends... or everything ends.”
She looked at him. Then at the book. Then out the tall, arched windows where the sky bled with starlight.
Calla Reyes wasn’t just a girl anymore.
She was a reckoning.
And the reckoning had begun.
- Writer
