CHAPTER 5

FALLING INTO DARKNESS

The cabin was quiet except for the crackling fire Lysander had lit in the small stone hearth. Amara sat on a worn couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring into the flames. The events of the day played on a loop in her mind—the attack, the mark, and Lysander's cryptic warnings.

Across the room, Lysander leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. His dark, brooding eyes studied her in silence, as though he were weighing his next words carefully.

Finally, Amara broke the silence. "You keep telling me I'm in danger, that this mark makes me some kind of target. But you're not telling me why you care so much. Why are you even helping me?"

Lysander's jaw tightened. "Because if I don't, you'll die."

"That's not an answer," she shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "You keep acting like you have all the answers, but you're just as much a part of this mess as I am, aren't you?"

He took a step closer, his voice low and deliberate. "You don't understand what you're dealing with, Amara. The mark is a beacon. It's calling things far worse than the creatures you saw tonight. And if you don't keep your emotions in check, they'll find you faster."

She rose to her feet, her anger giving her courage. "So what? I'm just supposed to sit here and hide? Pretend none of this is happening? You don't get to control me, Lysander."

"I'm not trying to control you," he said, his voice softening. "I'm trying to keep you alive."

Their eyes locked, the air between them charged. Amara could feel the pull again—that strange, magnetic force that seemed to draw her to him despite her better judgment. She didn't understand it, but it was undeniable.

Later that night, the tension between them remained thick as they sat together in the small cabin. Amara tried to focus on the book in her lap, but her eyes kept drifting to Lysander. He was seated by the fire, his profile illuminated by the warm glow.

"Can I ask you something?" she said hesitantly.

Lysander glanced at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Go ahead."

"Why do you keep pushing me away?"

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the flames. "Because I've seen what happens when I get close to people like you."

"People like me?" she echoed, confused.

"Catalysts," he clarified. "Your kind and mine… we're not meant to mix. The bond between us is dangerous, Amara. For both of us."

"Then why do I feel like this?" she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Why do I feel like… like I can't stay away from you?"

Lysander's gaze snapped to hers, and for a moment, the mask he wore slipped. There was a raw intensity in his eyes, a battle between desire and restraint. "That's the mark. It ties us together. The bond is stronger than you realize, but that doesn't make it right."

Amara's heart raced as she stood and crossed the room toward him. "Maybe it's not about what's right," she said softly. "Maybe it's about what's real."

Lysander stood abruptly, putting distance between them. "You don't understand what you're saying, Amara. The mark… it doesn't just connect us. It feeds off our emotions—anger, fear, desire. The more you give into it, the more power it draws. And if you lose control…"

He trailed off, his expression grim.

Amara's frustration flared. "So what, I'm supposed to just bury everything I feel? Pretend none of this is happening?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Because if you don't, it could destroy you. Or worse, it could destroy me."

The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy fog. She wanted to argue, to push back, but the fear in his voice stopped her.

"Why are you so afraid of this bond?" she asked quietly.

Lysander's gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. "Because I've seen it ruin lives. I've seen it ruin mine."

Before she could press him further, a faint sound outside caught their attention—a low, distant howl that sent a chill down her spine.

"We're not alone," Lysander said, his tone shifting instantly to one of alertness.

Lysander moved quickly to the door, peering out into the dark forest. Amara followed, her heart pounding. The night was eerily still, the trees casting long, twisting shadows under the pale moonlight.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Something's out there," he said, his voice tense. "Stay here."

"No way," she said, grabbing his arm. "I'm not just going to sit inside while you—"

A shadow moved at the edge of the clearing, too quick for her to follow. Lysander swore under his breath and stepped in front of her.

"Stay behind me," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The shadows seemed to gather, coalescing into a single form. Amber eyes burned in the darkness, and a cold, mocking voice broke the silence.

"Well, isn't this cozy?"

Amara's blood ran cold. The voice belonged to Azriel.