Blackthorn Eternal Bind

DNA

Police report dropped mid-week: cause of death undetermined—blunt trauma inconclusive—but ruled homicide. Local news exploded. "Lorian Blackthorn's 121-Year Curse Broken: Body Unearthed in Blackthorn Manor Shed!" Reporters swarmed driveway. Drones buzzed cliffs. Ellen stonewalled porch. Luke stayed unseen by day. Faded to ether safe.

Nights belonged theirs. Manor sealed shadows. First: post-news exhaustion. He materialized bed-edge. Cold hands traced curves reverent. Mouth sealed n****e—ice suckle bloomed fire. Thighs parted wide. Thrust claimed deep, chilled steel velvet grind. Climax shattered rune-spark, waves synced roar.

Second: Storm lashed windows. Spooned fierce. Fingers circled pearl slick. Back arched his palm. c**k nudged rear—slow invade stretched divine. Hips snapped savage. Peaks tandem cry, frost etched headboard 1905 haze.

Third: Turret candle-glow. She straddled dominant. Nails raked chest runes. Rode grind desperate—cold invaded hot pulse. Mouths devoured salt. Release flooded eternal bind hum.

Their connection pulsed real. Ghost fire thawed curse ache.

One night after they finished making love—sheets tangled slick, breaths heavy—Ellen propped elbow. Moon silvered his pale form. "Luke, we need something with DNA on it."

He breathed heavy still. Chestnut waves damp. "In the attic. Pictures of my life. Or clothes."

Ellen sat up quick. "Come on. We need to look."

Dust-choked attic creaked under beams. Cobwebs veiled trunks. Ellen pried box lid. Faded photos spilled. Sepia Lorian grinned boyish—waistcoat sharp, gray eyes spark. "You are so cute in this one."

Luke stared another: girl lace gown, auburn curls, soft smile. Ellen peered. "Is that Amelia?"

"Yes." Voice wistful centuries.

"She is very pretty."

"I hope she does not think I ran from her."

"You didn’t run. You were murdered. She knows that now." Ellen squeezed hand chill. "Luke, there was a rumor she was pregnant. Could she have been?"

"Possibly." Gray eyes shadowed.

"We can see if she did?"

He nodded quiet. They rifled deeper. No DNA yield—fabrics dust-ruined. Ellen eyed glint. "Luke, your watch. Did you always wear it when you were alive?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That must have DNA on it."

He unclasped chain. Rune glowed faint. "Amelia gave it to me."

"I promise I will get it back."

"No. It’s okay. It’s time to move on." He handed it to her gentle.

Ellen shipped it days later. Lab rushed. Report pinged Friday eve: perfect match. Lorian Blackthorn confirmed. Manor sighed deep. Justice etched graves.