Bound in shadows

Isla Pov They warned no one should enter Graven Hollow after dark. I didn’t listen. The wind sighed through brittle trees as I pressed the key into the lock. My hand trembled—cold, or nerves, I couldn’t tell. The iron gate creaked open, its moan swallowed by the thick fog curling over the old Blackthorn estate. Graven Hollow had waited for me. My grandmother’s voice rang in my mind: “One day this place will be yours. But beware the blood beneath the stone.” I thought it was just superstition. A tale to scare a curious girl into obedience. But now, with her will clenched in my coat pocket, her words felt heavier. The manor loomed ahead—black stone, twisted ironwork, ivy crawling like veins. Its windows stared back, hollow and watching. I stepped inside. The door groaned. The air was stale—dust, rot, and something else… something spiced and smoky, clinging to the edges of my breath. You can do this, I told myself. Catalog the estate. Sell it. Move on. I was supposed to spend just one night. I didn’t expect the dreams. They started as whispers. Then heat. A pulse through my body like breath on bare skin. I woke tangled in sheets, heart racing. Candles flickered on the mantle—candles I hadn't lit. I sat up. “Hello?” No answer. Just the echo of my voice and the feeling—undeniable—that I was being watched. The second night was worse. I wandered the manor by daylight—grand halls, torn curtains, portraits veiled in dust. One wing was chained shut, silver nails hammered into the wood. I didn’t ask why. But that night, I saw him. He stood at the foot of my bed—tall as the dark, eyes like molten gold. Raven hair. Sharp features. A mouth curved in a smile that felt both ancient and hungry. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. His voice was deep, like the bones of the earth. I couldn’t move. He reached for me, fingers grazing my cheek. A single touch. My skin ignited. I woke alone, breathless—but the heat lingered, curling low and heavy inside me. By the third night, I found the crypt. It started with the mirror—silver-backed, old. When I passed, the reflection shifted. Not me. Golden eyes, watching. A whisper trailed behind: Below. Beneath the stone… I searched until dusk. In the library, behind a loose shelf, I found a stairwell spiraling down. Lantern in hand, I descended. The air thickened—colder now, denser. That spiced scent stronger. At the bottom, a door waited. Stone, ancient. Sealed by a rusted sigil, symbols etched in something dark and dried. I should’ve run. But a voice inside me whispered: Free me. I pressed my palm to the seal. Pain shot through me—sharp and bright. The sigil cracked. The earth trembled. The door stayed shut. But something bled through. Power. Hunger. When I returned upstairs, the house no longer felt empty. That night, he came. Not in a dream—in flesh. The candles flared without flame. The air swelled hot. Then—he appeared. Rael. Pale as moonlight. Dark silks flowing around him like smoke. Eyes burning like gold fire. “You’ve broken the seal,” he said. “Now, I’m bound to your presence.” I backed away. “Who—what are you?” He smiled. Slow. Devouring. “Once, I was a prince of the lower realms. Your ancestors bound me here. Now, thanks to you, I stir.” “I didn’t mean to—” “But you did.” He stepped closer. “And now… we’re connected. A bond forged in blood.” I felt it—deep inside. A pull. A recognition. “You feel it too,” he whispered. Heat flushed my skin. “Stay away.” But he didn’t touch me. Not yet. He leaned close. Voice low and intimate: “You woke me, Isla Blackthorn. And now, I hunger. For freedom… and for you.” Terror twisted inside me. But so did something else. Desire. “You will resist,” he murmured. “You’ll deny it. But soon…” His hand hovered beside my cheek. So close, I felt its heat. “…you’ll beg me not to stop.” Then he vanished. Smoke and shadow. I collapsed to the floor, shaking. My heart wouldn’t calm. My skin burned. And part of me—traitorous, trembling—ached for his return. "Blackthorns were cursed." My grandmother's voice kept ringing in my head. “Never go to Graven Hollow. Your blood is bound there.” Now I knew why. The library door sighed shut behind me. I searched for answers for hours—tomes, scrolls, ledgers written in old hands. Dust choked the air. And then I found it. A cracked black ledger. The Blackthorn Record. I read by candlelight until the world outside vanished. The truth hit like ice. My family hadn’t just been landowners. They were demon-binders. The first patriarch, Elias Blackthorn, made a deal. He summoned Rael—a prince among demons. In exchange for power, he offered a bride every generation. One Blackthorn. Every century. Until the last bride—Annabeth—refused. She bound him beneath the house. Broke the pact. The price? Ruin. Plague. Madness. The line dwindled. Until only I remained. And now… I’d undone the seal. I should’ve fled. But the house called to me. So did he. The dreams grew stronger. Sometimes, I swore I saw him—out of the corner of my eye. Heard his voice when I was alone. By the fourth night, I stopped pretending I was in control. Something pulled me back to the library. Deeper this time. Past the shelves. To a stone wall I hadn’t noticed. There was a seam. Hidden. When I pressed against it, it shifted. A hidden passage revealed. Cobwebs choked the air. I followed. Downward. The steps wound deep beneath the manor. The air turned cold—thick with that spiced smoke. And at the bottom—another door. Stone. Carved with glowing sigils. At its center, a handprint. Stained deep red. “Blood of the heir will unseal.” I remembered those words. I should have turned back. Instead, like I was caught in a trance, I pressed my hand to it. Pain. Fire. The stone cracked. The sigils blazed. The seal broke. A voice, dark and honeyed, slid through the breach: “Isla…” I stumbled back, gasping. “You’ve tasted my power. There is no turning away.” I fled. But his voice stayed with me. Inside me. That night, I didn’t dream. I woke to him. The bedroom was cloaked in unnatural dark. No moonlight reached the floor. Only one candle burned—and beside it, Rael. No longer hidden. No illusions of humanity. His skin gleamed like marble. His eyes—golden fire. He was beautiful. Terrible. Mine. “You learn quickly,” he said, smile curling like smoke. “Your blood remembers. You were made for this.” I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Because some deep, ancient part of me believed him. Wanted him. And feared I might already belong.