Pain throbbed in Lyria's wrists, a pulsing fire where the enchanted iron cuffs bit into her skin. Her knees hit the cold flagstones with a dull crack that echoed through the torch-lit hall. She tried to rise, but another guard shoved her down, the heavy chain rattling at her ankles.
Breathe. Just breathe.
That was what her grandmother had taught her, back in the Moon Clan's healing sanctum. In through the nose, out through the mouth, steady the heartbeat, calm the fear.
But there was no calm here. Only the stink of damp stone, blood, and the sour metallic tang of dark magic thickening the air.
A pair of boots stepped into her line of sight — polished black leather, sharp at the toe, laced with silver threads. Power radiated from the figure standing before her, prickling Lyria's skin until gooseflesh rose across her arms.
Then the witch spoke.
"You must be the healer," came a voice like silk drawn over a blade. Smooth. Deadly. Beautiful.
Lyria dared to look up — and the breath caught painfully in her chest.
Kaelith Nightshade.
Her name was enough to terrify entire kingdoms, but nothing could have prepared Lyria for the sight of her. Raven-black hair fell in thick waves around a face both cruel and breathtaking. Pale skin, unmarked by time, framed crimson eyes that gleamed with hunger — a hunger Lyria could feel crawling over her soul.
Their gazes locked.
Lyria tried to stand taller, tried to hold what little dignity she had left. "I am Lyria of the Moon Clan," she said, though her voice trembled. "A healer. Nothing more."
Kaelith's lips curled, amused. "Nothing more?" She stepped closer, until Lyria could smell her — roses, steel, magic. "Your people hide you well, little lightbearer. But I have ways of uncovering every secret."
Fingers — gloved in black — slid beneath Lyria's chin, forcing her to look up. A shock of icy magic shot through her skin at the contact, leaving a trail of tingling heat.
Lyria hated how her body reacted.
Kaelith's thumb traced her lower lip, smearing away a trickle of blood. "You heal with light," she murmured, leaning close enough that their noses almost touched. "And light is exactly what I need."
Lyria's heart slammed in her chest. "You can torture me all you like," she snapped, "but I will never help you destroy my people."
Kaelith laughed softly — a sound that sent chills through Lyria's bones. "Torture?" she echoed, as if tasting the word. "No, healer. I would never waste you on pain."
She leaned even closer, her breath brushing Lyria's lips, making her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"I will break you with pleasure."
Lyria's breath stuttered. The witch's scent, heady and intoxicating, wrapped around her. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to move, how to think.
"Why…why would you do this?" she forced out.
Kaelith's eyes glinted, a predator's gleam. "Because you belong to me now," she said, her voice dripping with possessive triumph. "And I intend to make you understand that — body and soul."
A warm flush of horror — and a darker, shameful heat — crawled up Lyria's throat. She jerked her head away, refusing to let Kaelith see the tears threatening to rise.
The witch laughed again, stepping back with the grace of a queen. "Bring her," she ordered the guards.
Hands grabbed Lyria's arms, yanking her to her feet. The chains bit harder, but she kept her head high.
She would not break.
---
They dragged her through twisting hallways, down staircases that seemed to spiral into the very earth. Carved runes flickered along the walls, glowing with a sickly purple light that made Lyria's stomach churn. She could feel the weight of the place pressing down on her, ancient magic older than the clans themselves.
The guards finally shoved her into a circular chamber lit by a single chandelier of blackened crystal. A massive bed stood in the center, draped with silken sheets so dark they seemed to swallow all light.
Kaelith dismissed the guards with a flick of her hand.
Then she turned back to Lyria, unhurried, eyes glittering with hunger.
"Take off your robes," Kaelith commanded softly.
Lyria flinched. "No."
Kaelith raised one perfect brow. "Do you wish me to rip them from you instead?"
Heat flooded Lyria's cheeks, and her body trembled. She had never been so exposed — even her own clan had treated her with respect, reverence. But Kaelith looked at her as if she were nothing more than a feast to devour.
Fingers fumbling, she undid the clasps of her pale healer's robe, letting the cloth slide from her shoulders. Beneath, thin linen clung to her curves, almost indecently translucent under the chandelier's cold glow.
Kaelith's gaze roamed her form, lingering on the scars at her sides, gifts from past raids. "Beautiful," she murmured, stepping closer. "So fragile. So bright."
Lyria swallowed hard.
Kaelith reached out, tracing a finger along her collarbone, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Do you know," she whispered, "that the stronger your light, the more it calls to my shadow?"
A tremor ran through Lyria's knees. "Stop this," she breathed.
Kaelith ignored her, pressing even closer until their bodies nearly touched. The heat was unbearable, the witch's magic mixing with her own until sparks danced in the air between them.
"Do you feel it?" Kaelith murmured. "The pull between us?"
Lyria refused to answer, but the way her lips parted told the truth.
Kaelith's hand drifted lower, to Lyria's stomach, tracing lazy circles. Lyria gasped, feeling the warmth twist low in her belly, shameful and unstoppable.
The witch leaned in, lips brushing Lyria's ear. "I can make you forget them," she whispered, voice husky and dark. "Your clan. Your people. I can make you remember only me."
"No," Lyria choked, but it came out weaker than she meant.
Kaelith smiled, slow and wicked. "You will beg for my touch before this is over," she promised.
Then she stepped back, letting the air rush in between them like a slap.
"Sleep," Kaelith ordered, her tone changing instantly to ice. "Tomorrow we begin."
Lyria's knees nearly buckled with relief as Kaelith turned away. The witch's shadow pooled and twisted around her like living smoke before vanishing through the heavy oak doors, locking behind her.
The moment she was alone, Lyria crumpled to the bed, burying her face in shaking hands.
She would not break.
She couldn't break.
But somewhere, deep under the terror, a terrible curiosity burned — what if Kaelith could truly make her forget everything?
And what if she wanted that, even for just a moment?