Aria had always thought that dying was the worst thing that could happen to a person. That was before she found herself bound by some mysterious, otherworldly magic to the man who had killed her. Now, as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands—which still glowed faintly with residual golden magic—she was rethinking her entire philosophy on suffering.
Her hands still shook as the energy coursing through her veins refused to settle. It was like her body was trying to adjust to a new rhythm, and the magic was out of sync with everything she'd ever known.
"*Bound to Caine,*" she muttered under her breath, the words tasting like poison. Her heart clenched at the thought of him.
What had she ever done to deserve this? Sure, she wasn't perfect—she'd stolen some jewelry here, slapped a noble there—but this? This was just cruel.
Her door creaked open, breaking her spiraling thoughts.
"Your Majesty," Emory greeted with a crooked grin, stepping inside as if he owned the place. He was wearing his usual cocky smirk, his tunic half-unbuttoned, and a careless swagger in his step that screamed trouble.
Aria groaned. "I told you to knock!"
"I did," Emory replied, plopping down on the chair in the corner of the room. "Twice. But I figured, since you're glowing like a cursed lantern, you'd want company." He gestured at her still-flickering hands. "So, what's the story? Did you finally accept that you're an immortal goddess and embrace your divine light, or is this just a side effect of some really bad stew?"
Aria shot him a glare. "Funny. Really funny."
"I aim to please," he said with a wink. "So, what happened? Did you accidentally blow something up again?"
Aria sighed and rubbed her temples. "No, Emory. Something much worse happened. Caine showed up."
Emory's smirk faltered, and his easygoing demeanor shifted instantly into something much more serious. He leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. "Caine? As in *that* Caine?"
"Do we know any other Caine?" she snapped, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "Yes, *that* Caine. The psycho who murdered me. The one who's apparently decided he owns my soul or something!"
For a moment, Emory just stared at her, blinking. Then, he burst out laughing.
"Of course he did," Emory managed between laughs, clutching his sides. "Only you, Aria. Only you could manage to come back from the dead and immediately get magically tied to your homicidal ex. Truly, your talent for chaos knows no bounds."
Aria grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, her cheeks burning. "This isn't funny!"
"It's a little funny," he said, dodging the pillow with an irritating amount of ease. "I mean, come on. 'Hi, I'm Aria, and my hobbies include dying tragically, resurrecting dramatically, and being stalked by a lunatic.' It's gold, really."
"I will kill you," she growled, though she couldn't stop the ghost of a smile from tugging at her lips.
"Too late for that, sweetheart," Emory said with a grin, leaning back in the chair. "Besides, I think you've got bigger problems. What does Caine want? Aside from his usual creepy obsession with you, I mean."
Aria hesitated, her mind flashing back to Caine's parting words. *"You're mine. And I will always find you."*
She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. "He said I've bound myself to him. That the magic in me belongs to him now."
Emory's grin vanished entirely, replaced by a look of genuine concern. "That's… not good," he said carefully.
"Wow, Emory. Thanks for the insight," she said dryly, flopping back onto the bed. "What would I do without your brilliant analysis?"
"Probably die again," he quipped, but his tone lacked its usual playfulness.
Before either of them could say more, a faint ripple of energy swept through the room. Aria sat bolt upright as the temperature seemed to drop, and a familiar, dark presence filled the space.
"Oh, no," she whispered, her heart sinking.
The shadows in the corner of the room twisted and coalesced until they formed the unmistakable figure of Caine. His piercing eyes locked onto hers the moment he appeared, and the faintest smile played at his lips.
"Miss me?" he asked, his voice as smooth and dangerous as ever.
Emory shot to his feet, drawing the dagger he always kept strapped to his side. "You've got some nerve showing up here, Caine."
Caine didn't even glance at him. "You're still alive?" he said, his tone flat. "How unfortunate."
"Funny," Emory said, his grip tightening on the dagger. "I was about to say the same thing about you."
"Emory," Aria said sharply, holding up a hand to stop him. "Don't. He's not here to fight."
"How do you know that?" Emory demanded, not lowering his weapon.
"Because he doesn't fight," Aria said, her eyes never leaving Caine. "He manipulates. Isn't that right, Caine?"
Caine's smile widened slightly. "You know me so well, darling."
Emory made a noise of disgust. "I'm going to be sick."
Caine ignored him, stepping closer to Aria. His presence was suffocating, a mix of raw power and unshakable confidence that made her want to scream and hide at the same time.
"You've been busy," he said, his eyes flicking to her still-glowing hands. "Discovering your newfound abilities, I see."
"What do you want, Caine?" she demanded, refusing to let him see how much he unnerved her.
He tilted his head, as if considering her question. "What I've always wanted," he said simply. "You."
Emory made a gagging sound in the background.
"Shut up, Emory," Aria snapped.
"Sorry, sorry," Emory said, though he didn't sound remotely sorry. "Please, continue your little lovers' quarrel. I'll just be over here, trying not to throw up."
Caine's gaze flicked to him, and for a moment, Aria thought he might actually incinerate Emory on the spot. But instead, he turned back to her, his expression unreadable.
"You have a choice, Aria," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a chill down her spine. "You can fight this—fight me—but it will only make things harder for you. Or you can accept your place at my side, and I can help you master the magic you've been given."
Aria stared at him, her mind racing. She didn't trust him—not even for a second. But the magic inside her was wild and untamed, and the thought of trying to control it on her own was terrifying.
"What's the catch?" she asked warily.
Caine's smile was razor-sharp. "No catch. Just an oath."
Emory groaned loudly. "I'm sorry, *another* oath? Is this guy running some kind of magical pyramid scheme?"
Caine shot him a withering look. "Must he always talk?"
"Must you always exist?" Emory shot back.
"Emory," Aria said through gritted teeth, "shut up before he kills you."
"Fine, fine," Emory said, holding up his hands. "But if he so much as breathes in my direction, I'm stabbing him."
Caine ignored him, focusing entirely on Aria. "You're running out of time," he said, his tone deadly serious now. "The longer you resist the magic, the more unstable it will become. You've already felt it, haven't you? The power growing stronger, harder to control. If you don't accept my help, it will consume you."
Aria's stomach twisted. She hated that he was right.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you care what happens to me?"
For a moment, Caine's expression softened, and she saw something in his eyes that almost looked like regret. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he always wore.
"Because you're mine," he said simply.
The words sent a jolt through her, equal parts anger and something else she didn't want to name.
"Get out," she said, her voice shaking.
Caine's gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he disappeared, leaving behind only the faintest trace of his dark magic.
Aria sank onto the bed, her head in her hands.
"Well," Emory said after a long pause, "that was... something."
"Shut up, Emory," she muttered, her voice muffled.
"Hey, I'm just saying," he said, flopping into the chair again. "If you're going to have a creepy stalker, at least he's hot."
Aria threw a pillow at him.