Anneliese sat in the single chair before the desk, the chair’s low back framing her in stillness. Her fingers hovered near the edge of the table, careful not to brush the map, though her gaze lingered on it with a quiet mix of curiosity and unease.
Vincenzo stood at her side, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the other braced against the desk as he studied the markings. Morning light spilled through the lone window, cutting across the sharp planes of his face and catching in the dark depths of his eyes as they traced the strange patterns.
"They are not roads or borders," he murmured at last, voice low, as though speaking too loudly might stir sothing hidden within the parchnt. "These are ancient seals. Symbols older than even the wars that divided our lands."
Anneliese tilted her head, brow furrowing as her gaze followed a jagged line that cut across the map like waves or wandering winds, yet revealed no aning. "Seals?" she repeated softly. "They look... more like broken patterns. Or mistakes."
"They are neither," Vincenzo said, his posture sharpening though his eyes never left the page. "Whoever drew this—whoever hid it here—they were guarding sothing far older than we can anticipate."
She felt the weight of his words, though their aning slipped beyond her grasp. To her, the symbols remained nothing but curls of ink—shapeless, voiceless, unreadable. Her lips parted, then pressed closed again as silence stretched between them.
As she traced another symbol resembling an eye, a faint stir in the air reached her—almost imperceptible, a subtle vibration that made the hair on her arms rise. At first, it felt like a single whisper... then several, layered and indistinct, brushed against the edges of her senses. The voices were neither near nor far, neither male nor female. She could not shape them, yet she felt them.
Anneliese froze. The whispers spoke in a language far older than ti, alien and otherworldly. They wound through the stillness of the room like a living current, slithering around her senses, pressing against her mind. Each murmur struck sothing deep inside—cold, sharp, and unrelenting—pulling, tugging, calling, as if sothing beyond the world itself were reaching for her.
Her chair scraped softly against the stone floor as she rose. Before she knew it, her feet were moving—drawn to the window where the morning light poured in.
Vincenzo straightened at once, but said nothing. He gathered the map and slipped it into his coat, his eyes narrowing as he tracked her steps. He followed her a step behind but did not interrupt. She moved as though listening to sothing far beyond his reach.
She laid her hands against the glass. She did not realize it, but the mont her feet had touched Haselburg, warmth had sparked in her hands—now it climbed, unnaturally, sizzling. Her gaze went distant, unfocused, as though she were seeing beyond the room, beyond even this world.
The whispers surged, louder, flooding her ears. Her breath quickened, her lips parting as though she might answer. Heat licked her skin, then red blooming across her palms where they burned against the pane.
And—a sharp crack split the air. The window burst outward in a rain of shards. So shards skittered across the desk, ringing faintly as they struck the stone floor. Her vision blurred, light and sound collapsing in waves around her.
Vincenzo was there in an instant, pulling her into his embrace before the shower of fragnts could reach her. His body wrapped around her, shielding her from the shards that still clattered across the floor.
His eyes darkened. With her still in his arms, the air folded in on itself. The study blurred, bookshelves and broken glass dissolving into nothing as shadows surged around them.
In the next heartbeat, the weight of silence pressed in again—this ti within the safety of her chamber. The curtains stirred with the gust from the sudden arrival, and the bright light of the sun spilled across the floor as though it had been waiting for her.
Vincenzo did not pull away instantly. He held her still—protective, as though she were the most precious thing he had known in his centuries of existence. She didn’t know how long they remained like that. When her breath finally eased, she tilted her head upward, eting his gaze. His crimson eyes burned with uncontrolled worry, yet his voice was steady—softer than she expected. "Your magic is still unknown to you. It can harm you, Ann, and we cannot afford that. You need to learn how to command it."
Anneliese blinked, her gaze flicking between his crimson eyes, searching for sothing she could not na.
Without moving away, Vincenzo slid his hands to her wrists, guiding them forward. Her palms were still hot, leaving faint, searing marks on his skin. He did not flinch, though the heat pressed against him—a warning, a whisper of power she could barely grasp.
She shifted, noticing the faint marks left on his hands by her magic, tangible and destructive even in his careful hold. When she took a step back, a shard crunched under her foot.
Vincenzo’s head snapped down, his eyes tracking the faint trickle of red glistening on the marble floor.
Neither of them noticed the thin sliver of glass that had pierced the sole of her shoe, buried deep and unseen, earlier in the study.
Without a word, Vincenzo scooped her up and carried her to the bed, setting her gently upon it. He bent down, carefully removing her shoe, and his eyes fell on a shard of glass embedded in her left foot.
He placed her foot on his lap, tilting it gently. His voice was low and gentle. "Hold still." His fingers hovered, steady and precise, as he gripped the fragnt. "Don’t move. It will hurt, but I need to remove it cleanly."
Anneliese bit her lip and nodded, her body tense. The mont he pulled the shred, a sharp pain shot through her foot, and she let out a strangled gasp, clutching the edge of the bed that seed to burn beneath her touch. Her toes curled instinctively as the shard slid free.
He set the glass aside with a soft clatter. Blood began to trickle from the wound, dark and glistening. Without warning, Vincenzo leaned in and pressed his lips to it. His crimson eyes fluttered closed as the tallic-sweet taste of her blood t his tongue—warm, rich, and intoxicating—sending a ripple of sensation through him unlike anything he had felt before. Her blood was thick with texture, sweet yet biting, sharp yet enticing, pulling him deeper into its strange, irresistible allure.
Anneliese’s breath hitched, caught between the sharp sting and the intimate closeness of the mont. Her pulse thrumd through her body, and though she tensed, she could not look away from him. She watched the way his lips covered her cut, the hollow suction of his mouth drawing the blood in. A warmth and tingling sensation blood across her cheeks, spreading to the tips of her ears, and the faint tallic scent of her own blood filled the air around them.
When the flow slowed, he pulled back just enough to lift his gaze to hers but did not release her ankle. Slowly, deliberately, his tongue traced the last drop of blood from the edge of her heel up to the wound. A shiver ran through her at the contact, spreading warmth and a tingling that radiated up her leg, her fingers curling against the sheets as her breath caught again. When he finally pulled away, his dark crimson eyes remained locked on hers—unflinching, consuming, utterly intent—and he licked the remnants of her sweet blood from his lips.
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