A story about a place that neither exists in maps or history books, this place was called Athame.

•••

"The root of every fear is the unknown, yet how can one fear what they cannot grasp? Tch... how misleading." His voice, deep and rough, sent an involuntary shiver through her as he closed the distance between them with deliberate steps, his presence suffocating in its intensity.

With a slow, predatory grace, his fingers brushed along her jaw, settling on a strand of her scarlet hair, his touch deceptively tender. "Knowing me will matter little," he whispered darkly, his breath warm against her skin. "For even in the shadows of uncertainty, you will come to fear... and desire me all the same."

•••

Aricia, born with extraordinary abilities in a world that fears anything out of the ordinary, was destined for a marriage alliance to secure peace between kingdoms. 

But on the day of her engagement, her entire family is slaughtered—by the very family she was meant to marry into. 

Grief-stricken and consumed by vengeance, Aricia swore to destroy those who betrayed her. She would wield the very power they had feared against them, seeking justice with no mercy. After years on the run, she found shelter within an elemental clan, hiding her abilities and keeping to the shadows.

But her carefully constructed peace shattered in a single moment. A burning touch, a chance encounter with his haunting gray eyes—an unknown force within her stirred, threatening to unravel her carefully guarded secrets and the fragile balance of magic, madness, and vengeance she had built....

Vengeance Through Passion

Lady Livia knocked softly yet deliberately upon entering Vincent's chambers. The echo of her heels clicked against the polished marble floor as the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind her. She stepped into the room, her emerald gown swaying lightly with her every move. Her sharp eyes, always assessing, scanned the darkened room. 


"Are you busy?" she asked in a melodious voice, though it carried a hint of mischief. Vincent, reclined in a high-backed armchair near the window, didn't respond. His silver hair glimmered faintly in the dim light as he flipped a page of the tome in his hand. The soft rustle of paper seemed louder in the silence. He was engrossed, finding new intrigue with every passing second. 


Chapter 40| Power Of The Powerful