Chapter 2
1146 Words
The drive to the Blackthorn estate was long, quiet, and soaked in tension that stretched across the backseat like an invisible thread. Twilight sat pressed against the door, eyes fixed on the blur of the passing world, refusing to look at Slade beside her.
Slade didn’t look at her either.
Not directly.
But every time she shifted slightly or pulled her sleeves down to hide the faint glow on her collarbone, he felt his attention tug toward her like metal to a magnet. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want it. But he couldn’t stop it.
When the gates of the estate came into view, Twilight inhaled sharply.
The mansion didn’t look like a home.
It looked like a fortress carved out of shadow and wealth—tall iron gates, guards with silver weapons, and walls lined with stone wolves that watched with unblinking eyes.
The car rolled through the gates.
Twilight tensed.
Slade noticed.
“Relax,” he said quietly.
She didn’t.
He didn’t expect her to.
They stepped out of the car, and the cold night air hit instantly. But something else hit too—an instinct, a whisper, a warning.
Twilight shivered and took one step closer to Slade without meaning to.
He noticed that, too.
They walked toward the door, and just before they reached the stairs—
A sound cut through the night.
Hoofbeats.
Slow. Heavy. Purposeful.
Slade stopped.
Twilight froze behind him.
A black carriage—matte, old-fashioned, and entirely out of place in this century—was rolling up the driveway. No driver sat at the front. The horses were unnaturally still, their breath forming no mist in the cold air.
Twilight’s blood ran cold.
“What… is that?” she whispered.
Slade’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a dangerous low.
“Inside. Now.”
She didn’t move.
“Is that… for me?” she asked quietly.
“Inside,” he repeated, sharper this time.
Twilight obeyed.
The moment she stepped through the door, Slade grabbed her wrist—firm but not painful—and pulled her into a dark side room. The door shut behind them with a soft click.
“What’s happening?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes were fixed on the windows, watching the carriage stop in front of the mansion.
“It’s the Duvalls.”
His voice was cold steel.
“They shouldn’t be here.”
Twilight’s breath caught. “They’re the ones who wanted the marked girl.”
Slade turned to her sharply. “How do you know about that?”
Her lips pressed together. She didn’t answer.
Slade stepped closer—not threatening, but intense, commanding.
“Twilight. Whatever you’re hiding, whatever your mark is—this is not the time to lie.”
Her heartbeat stumbled. He could hear it, feel it, almost taste it in the air.
She whispered, “They’ll kill me if they find me.”
Slade’s eyes darkened.
“They’ll have to go through me first.”
Twilight didn’t know whether to feel relieved—or terrified.
A knock echoed through the mansion.
Not normal.
Not polite.
Three slow, deliberate knocks that reverberated through the hall like a curse.
A servant trembled as they opened the front door.
Twilight peered through a crack in the side-room door.
A man stepped inside, dressed in deep midnight velvet. He looked human, but there was something wrong about him—too pale, too smooth, too still.
His eyes were the worst part.
Black.
Completely black.
No iris. No white.
Just endless void.
He scanned the mansion slowly, like he was smelling the air for something—or someone.
Slade stepped forward to greet him, his expression unreadable and deadly calm.
“Blackthorn,” the messenger said, voice echoing unnaturally. “My masters send their regards.”
Twilight’s stomach twisted. The air around the messenger warped, like heat waves rising from invisible flames.
The Duvalls weren’t human.
She had always suspected it…
but now she knew.
Slade’s tone was polite in the way murderers are polite before striking.
“This is my home. Announce your reason.”
The messenger smiled, revealing sharp, inhuman teeth.
“My masters would like to confirm,” he purred, “that the item you acquired tonight… meets their requirements.”
Twilight’s blood turned to ice.
Item.
Slade didn’t flinch.
“What I purchase is my business.”
The messenger’s smile widened. “Is it? They seemed very certain you knew exactly what they were looking for.”
Twilight pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping.
Slade took one step forward—a silent threat.
The messenger tilted his head. “You’re unusually protective over a simple purchase.”
Slade’s voice was low. “Choose your words carefully.”
The lights in the hall flickered.
Twilight felt something move inside her—some instinct she didn’t understand—a warning that her mark was reacting to the presence of the Duvall magic.
No.
Not now.
Not here.
She pressed her hand hard against her collarbone, trying to smother the glow she felt rising under her skin.
Slade suddenly turned, eyes narrowing.
He felt it.
He felt her mark from across the hall.
Twilight froze.
The messenger noticed Slade’s reaction and followed his gaze—straight toward the hallway where Twilight hid.
Slade moved before the messenger could.
He stepped directly into the messenger’s path, blocking his view with the force of a storm.
“You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
The messenger’s smile vanished.
“We will return,” he whispered. “And when we do… we expect cooperation.”
Slade’s voice was ice.
“You’ll get nothing.”
The messenger stepped backward, dissolving into a mist of black smoke that drifted out the door and reformed beside the carriage. The horses pulled it away without a sound.
Twilight let out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Slade opened the door to the side room.
His eyes locked onto hers.
She stepped back instinctively.
“Twilight,” he said quietly, dangerously calm, “what did your mark just react to?”
Her heart raced.
“It always reacts to danger.”
“That wasn’t danger.” He stepped closer. “That was recognition.”
She swallowed hard, backing up until her spine hit the wall.
Slade braced one hand near her head, not touching her, but close enough that the air between them trembled.
“What are you?” he whispered.
Twilight’s voice broke.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes searched hers, looking for lies, for truths, for anything that would explain what just happened.
He found fear.
Real fear.
And something else—
The same pull he felt.
He exhaled sharply, stepping away before he did something reckless.
“We’re not done,” he said.
Twilight closed her eyes.
She already knew.
They were only just beginning.
- Writer
