KISS THE DARK

CHAPTER 3

Darkness.

Not the kind that comes with nightfall, but the kind that swallows. Heavy, suffocating, endless. Selene drifted in it, her body limp, her breath shallow. The pain in her chest had dulled to something distant, almost forgotten. Only warmth remained—the memory of Lyra’s hand on hers, her smile when she whispered promises Selene had believed with her whole heart.

Best friends forever.

The lie echoed louder than the slowing thud of her heart.

Her blood soaked into the earth, seeping down into roots and stone, leaving her hollow. The world around her blurred: trees fading into smudges, the night sky bleeding into one black canvas. She blinked, or thought she did, but nothing cleared.

Her mind fought to cling to fragments. The orchard in spring, Lyra braiding wildflowers into her hair, the whispered laughter in the dormitory when everyone else had fallen asleep. Each memory burned.

Then came the cold. It crawled up her arms, coiling around her lungs, pressing down on her chest. Death. She knew it, tasted it in the copper on her tongue.

And in that silence between heartbeats, she heard it—

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy. Unhurried.

Something ancient stirred in the trees. The shadows shifted, peeling themselves from the bark, taking form. A man—or the shape of one. Cloaked in black, tall, with eyes that gleamed faintly crimson as though they reflected a fire she could not see.

He stopped over her, looking down, expression unreadable.

Selene tried to move, to recoil, but her body betrayed her. Only a weak breath escaped her lips.

The figure crouched. Pale fingers, long and elegant, hovered just above her cheek as though testing the warmth of dying embers. His head tilted, and he studied her as one might study a painting left to decay in a ruined hall.

“You are not ready,” his voice was low, smooth, carrying centuries in its weight. “Yet the hunger in you is louder than the blood spilling into the dirt.”

Her lips parted. No sound came.

“Do you wish to live?”

It wasn’t mercy in his tone. It was a curiosity. A test.

Selene blinked hard, summoning what little strength clung to her bones. The answer was not yes, not no—it was the flame still burning inside her chest. The betrayal, the anger, the vow forming even as death dragged her under.

Her throat rasped, a whisper of broken glass: “Vengeance.”

The stranger’s lips curved, not into a smile but into something sharper. Approval. He leaned closer, the scent of ash and iron wrapping around her.

“Then you shall have it.”

And with that, his mouth descended.

Fangs pierced her neck. Fire exploded through her veins. She would have screamed if her body hadn’t gone rigid beneath the storm of sensation—pain so bright it was almost ecstasy, her heartbeat racing then stuttering as blood poured out of her.

The world snapped into fragments. She saw stars spiraling above, her own hands twitching helplessly, Lyra’s face—smiling, cruel—burning in her mind’s eye.

The darkness yawned wider, swallowing her.

And then—

His blood.

It was forced past her lips, hot, metallic, intoxicating. The taste burned down her throat, flooding her hollow veins, setting her insides alight. Every nerve ignited, every inch of her screamed, her body convulsing as though rejecting and craving it at once.

Her heart stopped.

Then thundered back to life—once. Twice. And then it shattered, breaking into silence.

Selene lay still, her body dead.

But inside, something clawed awake.

The silence stretched.

No heart. No breath. No warmth.

Selene floated in that abyss where the living could not reach. Yet unlike before, the dark was not empty—it pulsed. Something foreign curled through her veins, clawing, twisting, reshaping. Her body convulsed against the earth, back arching, fingers digging into the dirt as though the ground itself could anchor her.

Her throat burned. Not with thirst for water, but something sharper. A hollow ache spread in her chest, gnawing, consuming. It was hunger, but greater than anything she had ever known, hunger that screamed louder than grief, louder than pain.

Her eyes snapped open.

The world was no longer the same.

Every detail sharpened: the rough veins in the bark of the tree beside her, the silver thread of moonlight tangled in the branches, the frantic heartbeat of a hare hiding in the underbrush. It pounded against her skull, rhythmic, maddening.

She gasped, but no air filled her lungs. Breath was an illusion. What filled her instead was scent. She smelled the animal’s fear, its blood coursing beneath fragile skin. The aroma hit her like wine spilled in a room of starving men.

Selene staggered upright, dirt and blood clinging to her, her body trembling. Her hands trembled against her lips, feeling the sharp points where teeth had not been before.

“No…” Her voice cracked, broken.

From the shadows, he was there again. The stranger. Pale and composed, as though the sight of her breaking apart was nothing more than a performance he had watched countless times before.

“You burn,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Good. Fire suits you.”

Selene turned toward him, eyes wide, red bleeding into their once-brown depths.

“What—what have you done to me?”

His gaze was unyielding. “What you begged for. Life. Power. A chance to see your vengeance fulfilled.”

Selene shook her head, clutching her stomach as the hunger ripped through her like knives. “This isn’t life—this is—” She doubled over, teeth bared in a gasp, her body screaming for what she did not yet understand.

“Drink,” he ordered, his voice a command edged with ancient steel. “Or burn from the inside until nothing remains.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

He flicked a hand, and the hare darted from its hiding place, frozen in unnatural stillness before her. Its pulse thundered in her ears. One step and she was over it, her body moving faster than her mind could catch. Her hands caught the creature, and without thought—only need—she sank her teeth into its neck.

Blood.

It flooded her mouth, hot and wild, sliding down her throat, silencing the fire in her veins for the first time since her rebirth. She drank desperately, greedily, until the animal went limp in her arms.

When at last she pulled back, her lips stained red, the carcass limp, she stared at her hands in horror.

She had killed.

But worse—she had enjoyed it.

The stranger’s eyes glowed faintly in the night, his mouth a line of cool satisfaction. “Now you understand.”

Selene dropped the hare, trembling. “I’m a monster.”

“No.” He stepped closer, so close she could feel the chill rolling from him. “You are a beginning.”

Her eyes burned as tears she no longer could shed threatened but never came. She touched her face, realizing her body would never again respond the same way. No tears. No heartbeat. Only hunger and fury.

She turned toward the stream running through the clearing, stumbling to its edge. Moonlight rippled across its surface. She bent down, desperate to see.

The reflection that met her was not her own.

Her face was sharper, eyes glowing faintly red, fangs bared, her skin pale as snow against the dark.

Selene staggered back, hand clamping over her mouth.

Then, slowly, the fear twisted. Hardened.

Because in that reflection, in those crimson eyes, she no longer saw the girl who trusted Lyra, who believed in loyalty and love. That girl was dead.

What rose in her place was something else.

Something stronger.

Something vengeful.

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting her palms as she whispered, voice low and sharp with promise:

“Lyra Caelis will bleed for this.”

Behind her, the stranger tilted his head, crimson eyes narrowing with quiet interest.

The night itself seemed to hold its breath, as though aware a monster had been born.