TheDevilyouknow
672 Words
Arien Taloré hadn’t changed. He was still sharp angles in expensive layers, leather laced with threadbare magic and that maddening smirk she once fell for.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Lira hissed, stepping back instinctively. “This is coven ground.”
Arien shrugged, his gaze flicking to the golden bindings still curled around her wrists. “Didn’t think you’d be happy to see me. But I didn’t expect shackles either. Rough night?”
She tried to shove past him, but he caught her wrist-not hard, just enough that the golden vines pulsed in warning.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she warned. “They’ll sense it.”
“I’m not worried about the witches,” he said, voice dropping. “I’m worried about you.”
The false concern in his eyes burned her more than any real wound. “You lose the right to worry when you vanish with half a soulstone and leave your partner to face the fallout alone.”
Arien’s grin faded, something darker replacing it. “You’re still angry.”
“You betrayed me.”
“I saved you. You just didn’t see it.”
“I trusted you.”
Their words hit like spells, sharp-edged and reckless, echoing off the corridor walls.
“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” she whispered, voice brittle.
“Maybe I should’ve,” he said. “But then I wouldn’t have seen what you’ve become. And I gotta say, Lira… it suits you.”
She hated how that slithered into her skin-how familiar his voice still was in the dark. How her body, traitor that it was, remembered his touch like a secret.
He stepped closer. Too close.
“Tell me,” he said, “does he touch you the way I did?”
Her breath caught. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
“Why not? We burned, you and I. You think some vampire with a tragic past can erase that?”
She slapped him.
It echoed like thunder. His head turned, cheek blooming red, but he didn’t move away.
Instead, he smiled.
“Still fire in you. Good.”
She hated him.
She hated that he’d come back. That he could still twist her up inside with one damn look. That the dream had already unsettled her, and now he was here-tangible, provocative, and impossible to ignore.
“I should report you,” she said, backing away. “You’re breaking a dozen accords just being here.”
“And yet here you are,” he murmured, following her step for step. “Not screaming. Not casting. Not running.”
“You don’t know me anymore.”
“I know enough.”
She bumped into the wall. He was in front of her now, caging her in with nothing but heat and presence.
“Get out of my way, Arien.”
“I missed you, Lira.”
He leaned in, brushing his lips to her ear. “Don’t pretend you didn’t miss this.”
His hand slid down her side, slow and daring. Her magic pulsed in protest-but the bindings held. She couldn’t cast. Couldn’t stop him unless-
“I will scream,” she whispered.
“No,” he said softly. “You won’t.”
Because his mouth was on hers.
And for one harrowing second, she let it happen.
Fury. Nostalgia. Need. It all spiraled.
His kiss was deep, punishing. Her teeth caught his lip. His hand fisted the fabric of her robe. And something woke-not her magic, but the ache she’d buried long ago.
A sound escaped her throat-frustrated, wounded, wanting.
Then-
“Stop.”
It wasn’t her voice.
It was Darian’s.
She snapped back.
Arien was gone.
The wall behind her was smooth and cold. Her lips weren’t kissed. Her wrists weren’t bound. She was alone in her room, heart pounding, skin hot.
Another dream.
Another trap.
But this time, she’d felt guilt.
This time… it wasn’t just desire or illusion.
It was memory.
And it was her mistake.
- Writer
