Liora stood in the shadow of Blackthorn Manor, the gates now closed behind her, shutting off the path she had once known. Her torn gown clung to her body, stained with dirt and blood, but she paid it no mind. The cold stone beneath her bare feet felt like a living thing, as if the very ground beneath her had awakened at her arrival.
The manor loomed above, its towering form dark against the starlit sky, the windows like vacant eyes, watching her. A chill ran down her spine as a gust of wind swept through the twisted trees surrounding the estate, rustling the leaves like whispers in the night. The world around her was alive with sound—cicadas chirped, and the distant howl of a wolf echoed from the darkened woods. But there was something else, too, something deeper in the air, a presence that felt too ancient, too powerful to ignore.
"Once you step inside, there's no turning back."
The voice, low and smooth, sent a jolt through her chest, but she didn't flinch. She had heard it before, in the stillness of the night, like a shadow pressing at the edges of her mind. She had heard his words as they had slipped through the thick fog, pulling her toward him.
Turning, Liora saw him standing just beyond the entrance, framed by the dark doorway of the manor. Dante Blackwood. His silhouette was sharp and commanding, every inch of him radiating authority. He didn't move as she stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her with a quiet intensity that made her heart stutter. His eyes glimmered faintly in the dark—pale, almost ethereal, the eyes of someone who had long since shed any trace of humanity.
The air seemed to thicken around them as he spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it wrapped around her like a command. "You've come to me, Liora Winterborne. And you will remain."
Her pulse quickened, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from him. He wasn't like the men she had known. Dante Blackwood felt as if he had been forged from the very night itself—imposing, enigmatic, and untouchable. He was everything she had been running from, and yet… everything she couldn't deny.
She could feel the weight of his presence pressing on her, a thousand unspoken things hanging in the air between them. She knew he was the master here, that his power stretched through the walls of the manor and beyond. There was nowhere else to run.
"I didn't ask to come here," Liora murmured, her voice hoarse, though she barely recognized it as her own. Her body betrayed her, trembling under the weight of his gaze. She wanted to run, to flee back into the night, but something kept her rooted in place, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
"You don't need to ask." His smile was slow, dangerous, as if he relished the uncertainty in her voice. "You are already here."
There was no warmth in his smile—only the cold knowledge that she had crossed into his domain.
The heavy doors of Blackthorn Manor creaked open with a groan that seemed to reverberate through her bones. Dante didn't move, but his eyes never left her as he gestured inside.
"Come, then. Let's see what fate has in store for you."
Liora's heart pounded, each beat like a drum of war, but there was nothing left to do. She stepped over the threshold of Blackthorn, the door swinging closed behind her with a finality that made her breath catch in her throat. As she crossed the threshold, the air seemed to change—thicker, colder, like the house itself had embraced her. And in the silence that followed, she felt his presence all around her, as if Blackthorn Manor was already claiming her.