The candle in Serena's grip trembled. The cold from the stone wall seeped into her fingertips, but she barely registered it.
Lucian had walked through this wall.
She wasn't mistaken.
She took a slow step back, inhaling deeply to steady herself, but the knowledge clawed at her mind. Every rational part of her wanted to explain it away—shadows, tricks of the dim light, exhaustion.
But she knew better.
The manor had always felt off, but this? This was something beyond hidden doors and unspoken tragedies.
She needed answers.
And she knew exactly where to get them.
The Library
The Blackmoor family library was impossibly vast—towering shelves that seemed to stretch forever, swallowing even the dim candlelight.
Serena pulled the heavy doors shut behind her, the faint scent of aged parchment and leather-bound books settling around her like a whisper of ghosts.
Blair.
If there was one person who knew every secret this manor held, it was Blair—the librarian with lavender hair and sharp, knowing eyes.
And, thankfully, she was here.
Blair stood near a desk, skimming a book with casual grace. The moment Serena stepped forward, she looked up.
A faint smirk tugged at Blair's lips. "Couldn't sleep?"
Serena hesitated before answering. "Something like that."
Blair closed the book with a soft thud. "What is it you're looking for?"
Serena considered her words carefully. Blair was perceptive—too perceptive. Asking the wrong question could mean tipping her off.
"I want to know about Ashthrone Manor's structure," she finally said. "Hidden passageways, secret rooms. That sort of thing."
Blair arched a brow. "Strange request for a journalist. I thought you were after history, not architecture."
Serena forced a smile. "Can't history be hidden behind walls?"
For a moment, Blair said nothing. Then, with an amused hum, she gestured for Serena to follow.
The two wove between the endless shelves, stopping near a section of books so old the spines barely held together. Blair pulled out a single volume, placing it gently in Serena's hands.
"The Veins of Blackmoor," Serena read aloud.
Blair nodded. "An outdated study on the manor's design. Old enough that it still contains everything—before certain parts of the house were 'forgotten.'"
Serena's fingers tightened around the book.
"Be careful, though," Blair added, watching her. "Not every hidden thing is meant to be found."
Serena swallowed. "Are you warning me again?"
Blair's smirk returned. "No. I'm wondering how long it'll take for him to find out what you're up to."
Serena didn't have to ask who he was.
Hours later, Serena sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping through the book by candlelight. The illustrations were meticulous, filled with hand-drawn maps of the manor—every hall, every chamber.
And then—
Her breath hitched.
A hidden section beneath the manor.
Not just tunnels.
The diagrams hinted at a structure deeper underground, almost like another house beneath Ashthrone Manor itself.
But there was no record of its entrance. No doors. No staircases.
Except—
Her eyes locked onto the final note scrawled in the margins. A single sentence.
"The house beneath does not open unless the blood remembers."
A chill wrapped around her spine.
Blood.
The Blackmoor family's blood?
The candlelight flickered as Serena exhaled, pressing her fingers against her head.
What are you hiding, Lucian?
Serena knew she wasn't alone before she even looked up.
The weight of his presence settled over the room like a storm cloud.
She slowly closed the book.
"I assume you're here to tell me to stop," she said.
Lucian stood by the door, the dim light casting sharp angles over his face. His storm-gray eyes were unreadable, but there was something different tonight.
Something heavier.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "What did you find?"
Serena studied him.
He wasn't asking because he didn't know.
He was asking because he wanted to know how much she had uncovered.
"I think you already know," she countered.
Lucian exhaled softly. Not quite irritation. Not quite amusement.
Then, before she could react, he reached out—
Fingers brushing the underside of her chin, tilting her face up just enough to meet his gaze.
Her pulse skipped.
"Curiosity," he murmured, his voice dark silk, "is a dangerous thing, Serena."
She refused to flinch. "So is withholding the truth."
His thumb ghosted over her jaw. "Truth isn't always kind."
"Neither are lies."
Lucian let out a quiet hum, something between approval and warning. Then, as quickly as he had touched her, he pulled away.
But the silence between them shifted.
Then—
"If you really want to know the truth…" He turned toward the door. "Follow me.
Serena followed Lucian down the manor's halls, the candlelight stretching their shadows against the walls.
They stopped before an unremarkable section of the corridor.
Lucian placed a hand against the wall.
And—
With the faintest click, the stone shifted.
The wall parted.
Revealing a staircase leading down.
Serena inhaled sharply.
She turned to Lucian, but he was already watching her.
"This is your last chance to turn back," he said quietly.
Serena met his gaze.
And stepped forward.
The descent was silent. The air grew colder.
And when they reached the bottom—
She understood.
This wasn't just a hidden chamber.
It was another manor.
A perfect, eerie reflection of Ashthrone.
Only this one was filled with portraits.
And each one—
Each single painting—
Was of Lucian.
Different ages. Different expressions.
As if he had existed forever.
Serena's breath hitched.
Her fingers curled into her palms.
She turned slowly, facing Lucian.
"What are you?" she asked.
Lucian tilted his head ever so slightly.
The candlelight flickered.
And then—
He smiled.
A slow, deliberate, knowing smile.
Like she had finally asked the right question.
The Devil's Invitation
The flickering candlelight barely touched the underground chamber's cold stone walls, leaving most of the space swallowed in darkness. Shadows stretched unnaturally, twisting along the ground like living things.
Lucian stood there, his gray eyes locked onto Serena with an intensity that made it impossible to breathe.
"You should leave," he murmured, though the way his fingers curled at his sides told a different story.
Serena tilted her chin, stepping into the space he refused to retreat from. "And yet, you keep letting me in."
A slow exhale left him, sharp and controlled. "Perhaps I enjoy watching you struggle."
She almost laughed, but there was something wrong with his voice—something dark, something dangerous—that didn't just thrill her. It unraveled her.
Lucian Blackmoor was many things. A mystery. A storm contained in human form. A man whose past was tangled in blood and secrets, too deep for the light to reach.
And yet, she didn't step away.
Not when his hand finally moved—just a fraction—his knuckles grazing the back of her wrist.
Barely a touch, yet it burned.
"You make it sound like you're the monster in this story," she said.
Lucian's gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Maybe I am."
Serena inhaled slowly, pulse hammering between them. She should be afraid. Maybe she was. But not in the way that mattered.
"You don't scare me, Lucian."
His lips parted, a slow, wicked smirk forming. "Liar."
His fingers trailed to her chin, tilting her face up—forcing her to meet his gaze.
And then, he moved.
One second, there was space between them. The next, Serena's back hit the cold stone wall, her breath catching as Lucian pressed into her, his body a firm, unyielding barrier.
There was nothing soft in the way he touched her. Nothing gentle in the way his fingers slid into her hair, tangling at the base of her skull.
It was possession.
It was control.
It was him.
"You're playing with something you don't understand," he murmured, his voice quiet, like a warning wrapped in silk.
Serena lifted her chin higher. "I want to understand it."
Lucian let out a slow, dark chuckle—one that vibrated against her skin before his lips finally crashed against hers.
The kiss wasn't hesitant. It wasn't sweet.
It was devouring.
A claiming.
His fingers tightened in her hair as he deepened it, his other hand sliding down to grip her waist—pulling her flush against him, molding every inch of her to him as if he could carve her into his existence.
Serena gasped against his mouth, her nails biting into his shoulders as heat coiled in her stomach, liquid and dangerous.
Lucian didn't kiss like a man who wanted something.
He kissed like a man who needed it.
Like he needed her.
His teeth scraped against her lower lip, a sharp nip that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core before he soothed it with his tongue.
Serena felt herself unraveling, piece by piece, beneath his touch.
And then—
A flicker.
The shift in the air was sudden, electric.
Lucian stilled.
His breath was uneven against her lips, his grip on her tightening rather than letting go.
Serena swallowed hard, forcing herself to turn her head—just enough to see it.
The mirror.
She had barely registered its presence before, but now—it was watching.
It reflected them.
Lucian, standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her, his face partially buried in her neck. But there was something wrong.
Something off.
In the reflection, his eyes weren't gray.
They were black.
And his expression—
It wasn't one of longing.
It was hunger.
Possession.
Serena's breath hitched, a new kind of shiver racing down her spine.
Lucian didn't move. Didn't flinch.
His fingers traced down her spine, slow, deliberate—like he wanted her to feel every second of the silence stretching between them.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. Darker.
"You wanted to understand, didn't you?"
Serena swallowed, her heart pounding.
She turned back to face him, expecting hesitation. But there was none.
Lucian was watching her the way a wolf watches something it's already decided to consume.
His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Then let's begin."