The Locked Room

The hallway was quiet again.

Too quiet.

It was the kind of silence that wrapped around your bones and made you feel like you were being watched—even when you weren't. I stood barefoot on the polished floor, a glass of half-drunk water in one hand, the pendant under my skin pulsing faintly against my chest.

The house was asleep. Adam hadn't returned yet from whatever brooding, moon-soaked errand he'd taken himself on. But I didn't need him here for the storm inside me to rage.

The mark on my shoulder still glowed faintly in the dark. Celestial gold. A sun with wings. It hadn't stopped burning since the night in the ruins.

I should have been afraid. But I wasn't. Not off the mark. Not anymore.

What I was afraid of… was what I already knew. The truth I hadn't dared to face.

I stood again in front of the locked door.

No wind this time. No whispers. Just the door, patient and unmoved, as if it had been waiting centuries for me.

I touched it.

It pulsed—faintly at first, like a heartbeat in reverse. I felt warmth at my fingertips and a shiver down my spine. There were symbols faintly etched along the edge of the frame. I traced one absently, and my lips moved before my mind caught up.

"Devana reth i'mara," I whispered.

Click.

The door unlocked.

The room was nothing like I imagined.

There was no coffin. No throne. No ceremonial altar or pool of vampire blood. Just… memory.

A museum of grief.

Weapons lined the walls—some of them ancient and cruel, forged from obsidian and silver. Others looked ceremonial, carved with runes I half-recognized. Scrolls and maps were neatly stacked along the left side, illuminated by a single overhead skylight that shouldn't have been glowing in the middle of the night.

In the center was a glass pedestal.

On it sat a cracked crystal pendant. It's a twin.

My hand drifted to my chest, where mine pulsed silently beneath my skin.

I moved closer. My breath fogged the glass.

Beside the pendant was a book, old and bound in dark green leather. I didn't hesitate. I lifted it, fingers tingling the moment I touched it.

The title was pressed in gold:

The Chronicle of the Forsaken Line.

I opened it carefully. The pages whispered like dry leaves.

"He who binds a soul to his blood condemns himself to eternal hunger—but grants the other eternal life."

I stopped breathing.

The words pulsed on the page.

"If the ritual is completed, the bond shall be eternal. No death, no time, no separation shall break it. The price, however, shall be madness."

I closed the book slowly.

My heart thundered.

"Adam," I whispered, "what have you done?"

I sat cross-legged on the floor for what felt like hours. I read every page of that damned book. The Chronicle wasn't just about some ancient curse—it was about me. About us. Or more specifically, the people who came before us. My ancestors. 

His bloodline. And the choices that were made in the name of protection, love, and desperation.

One entry made my skin crawl.

"The Guardian's Oath shall bind the Protector to the Devani heir in all ways—body, soul, magic, and time. The guardian shall not feed from another. The heir shall not bond with another. To break the vow is to shatter the seal. And once the seal is broken, so too is the realm."

I stared at the words.

Was that why Adam always kept his distance? Not because he didn't want me—but because he literally couldn't break the vow?

Was this why his eyes always burned after we touched?

Was he cursed… because of me?

The door creaked softly.

I turned.

He stood in the doorway, cloaked in shadow.

"You opened it," he said.

My voice was quiet. "You let me."

Adam didn't move. "You were always going to."

I rose to my feet. "How long were you going to keep it from me?"

"As long as I could."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

The silence stretched between us like a chasm.

"You bound yourself to me," I said.

His jaw tightened. "Yes."

"You took the vow."

"Yes."

"Without asking me."

"I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice, Adam. That's what makes us human—or at least what's left of us."

He stepped into the room slowly. His eyes weren't red. They were something worse—haunted.

"I made that vow when you were still in your mother's womb," he said. "When the Order found your family, I came to Devana too late. The castle was in flames. Your parents were dead. And you—just a child—were hidden in a cradle of light, wrapped in your mother's blood. The pendant had already chosen you."

I swallowed. My fingers tightened around the book.

"I thought I could protect you from afar. I watched for years. But when you turned sixteen, the mark began to rise. The Order would have sensed you. So I brought you here."

I didn't move. My heart ached in a way that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with sorrow.

"You gave up your freedom for me," I said.

He met my eyes. "You are my freedom."

We didn't speak again for a long time. The storm between us quieted. He let me read in silence. He stood with his back against the wall, watching the moonlight move across the room, like he was counting the ways not to touch me.

Eventually, I spoke again.

"This bond between us. Is it why I feel everything stronger around you? The magic. The heat. The fear."

He nodded. "The bond amplifies what you are. Your elemental cores awaken faster. Especially when we're near."

"And the consequences?"

His voice was steady. "If we consummate the bond, your transformation will complete. You'll be eternal. Like me. No turning back."

I stared at him.

And I felt it—an ache so raw it almost undid me. Because I wanted to. I wanted to cross that line. But part of me still didn't know who I truly was.

"I'm not ready," I whispered.

"I know," he said.

"But I will be."

His expression softened. "That's why I waited."

Later that night, long after he left me alone again, I returned to the pedestal one last time.

I reached out and touched the cracked pendant.

It pulsed. A vision hit me instantly.

Fire. Screams. A child in white. A man with red eyes standing over her, a sword dripping with blood, his face torn between agony and devotion.

I gasped and ripped my hand away.

The pendant flickered—and then went dark.

Something had been sealed in this room.

And now… it had begun to awaken.

I didn't sleep.

How could I, knowing what I now carried inside me—this buried truth, this ancient bond that tied me to Adam in ways I had no say in? The Chronicle lay open beside me on the bed. I'd read the same passage again and again, hoping the meaning would change if I just blinked long enough.

But it never did.

No death. No time. No separation shall break it.

It should've sounded beautiful. Poetic. Eternal. But it didn't. It sounded like chains.

And yet, somewhere under all that fear… was something worse: longing. 

The dangerous, breathless kind that pulled you toward the fire, even though you knew you'd get burned.

I didn't notice the lights flicker until the shadows in the hallway grew sharper.

A storm was rolling in. Not outside—but inside.

The pendant warmed again. Not burning—but breathing. I felt it all the way down my spine.

I stood.

Moved like I wasn't controlling my limbs.

The hallway wasn't empty.

Adam stood there.

In the dark.

Watching me.

His eyes glowed—not red, not silver, but something in between.

He didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

I walked straight past him and back toward the locked room—our room now, the one that carried the scars of a history we barely understood.

"You said if we complete the bond, I become eternal," I whispered without turning.

"Yes."

"And what happens to you?"

"I lose the last part of me that's still human."

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

He exhaled slowly. "I'm not afraid of becoming more like them. I'm afraid of what I'd do to you."

I turned to face him.

His hair was slightly wet from the shower. Barefoot. Simple black shirt. He looked… raw. Like the armor he always wore had been shed for a moment. A man, not a monster.

"You think I'm breakable?" I asked.

"I know you're powerful," he said. "But power doesn't mean invincible."

I stepped closer.

"You're not the only one who's afraid of what this could mean."

He stared at me. And in that moment, I saw it.

Not a predator.

Not a protector.

Just a soul—aching like mine.

I reached up and touched his chest, right over where a heartbeat should be.

And something pulsed.

Not his—but mine. And it echoed in him.

He closed his eyes like it hurt.

"You were never meant to be my weakness," he said hoarsely.

"I don't want to be your weakness," I whispered. "I want to be your equal."

That's when it happened.

He pulled me into him—not roughly, not possessively—but with reverence.

His lips brushed my forehead first. Then my cheek.

And finally, my mouth.

The kiss was nothing like the one in the ruins. This wasn't the desperate blaze of first temptation.

This was deeper.

Slower.

A surrender.

He held me like he was still trying to decide if I was real. Like I was some part of him he thought had died long ago. My hands slid into his hair. His breath caught.

And the moment our skin truly touched—bare skin to bare skin—the pendant exploded in light.

The room around us pulsed. Wind howled through the hallway. Magic sparked at our feet like embers.

But we didn't stop.

He backed me against the wall, breath ragged, lips trailing fire down my throat.

"You undo me," he whispered against my collarbone.

"You bind me," I breathed back.

And then he pulled away—not fully, just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

"Not like this," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

He opened his eyes, and for once they weren't glowing. They were… his.

Dark. Warm. Unbearably human.

"If we go further, you'll cross the threshold. There'll be no turning back."

"I'm not afraid," I said.

"But I am," he replied. "Afraid that the moment I take you, I'll be too far gone to protect you from what's coming."

I closed my eyes. My body was trembling, not with fear—but restraint.

When I opened them again, I nodded.

Not because I didn't want him.

But because—for once—I wanted to choose the right moment.

For us.

We stood in silence again for a long while. The storm outside finally matched the one inside.

Adam eventually pulled away, just far enough to give me space to breathe again.

Then he spoke. "The Order is moving. The mark on your shoulder isn't just a warning. It's a beacon."

"They're coming for me," I said.

"No. They're coming for what's inside you."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

But Adam just looked out the window, jaw tight.

"I have to take you somewhere," he said. 

"Somewhere even I swore I'd never return to."

"Where?"

His gaze met mine.

"Devana."