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The ritual chamber beneath the Mortaine estate was carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Torches burned with white flames that gave off no heat, casting the space into a landscape of dancing shadows and sharp, ethereal illumination. Stone pillars rose to a vaulted ceiling covered in runes that pulsed faintly, hurting to look at directly. An oppressive weight, older than memory, pressed down on Lilith.
Lilith stood at one end of the chamber, dressed in robes of deep grey silk that clung to her form like liquid shadow, cool against her skin. Her silver hair had been bound back with silver cord, leaving her face exposed and vulnerable in a way she despised. Her mother, Seraphina Mortaine, stood to one side, her expression revealing nothing, a mask of cold expectation. Michael Dwayne, Damian’s father, stood on the opposite side with a smirk of chilling satisfaction, his eyes fixed on his son.
Damian entered last, moving through the chamber with the arrogant grace of a man who had never in his life been uncertain. He wore black silk that absorbed light the same way the stone walls did, and his dark hair fell loose past his shoulders. Their eyes met across the chamber, and a familiar jolt, a forbidden warmth, bloomed through her chest before she could suppress it.
The Arbiter stood between them, robed in silver that seemed to exist partially outside of normal space, her form shimmering at the edges of perception. She held a silver knife that gleamed with ancient enchantments, its blade catching the white torchlight.
“The blood pact initiates the bond,” the Arbiter stated, her voice filling the entire chamber with resonant power. “It will show you the origin of your families' feud, not as it has been told, but as it actually happened. It will bind your magical signatures together. It will force the both of you into a shared vision of the memory that began your hatred.”
Lilith stepped forward, her every muscle protesting the movement. Damian did the same, his stride confident, though his golden eyes held a predatory intensity. They met in the center of the chamber where a silver circle had been inscribed into the black stone, its etched lines glowing faintly.
The Arbiter took Lilith's right hand and Damian's left, pressing their palms together within the circle. Their skin met, and Lilith had to bite her tongue against the sharp jolt of electricity that ran through her entire body. A searing warmth spread from their joined hands, radiating through her.
Heat. He was burning hot, his palm calloused and warm against her ice-cold skin. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to pull away, to break the contact, to run. But the image of Lucy’s fading eyes flashed in her mind, steeling her resolve.
She did not move.
The Arbiter began to chant in a language that predated human speech, ancient and guttural. The silver circle beneath their feet began to glow, casting a blinding light upward through their joined hands. Lilith felt the magic rising like an unstoppable tide, pressing against her from all directions, an invisible force seeking to merge their very beings.
Then everything went white, the chamber dissolving into pure, unadulterated light.
The vision hit like a physical blow, an immersion into a past she had never known.
Lilith was standing in a hall she had never seen, dressed in clothes that belonged to another era. The stone around her was warm instead of black, and sunlight streamed through windows that showed a landscape she did not recognize. Around her stood people in the colors of both covens, but the animosity between them had not yet crystallized into hatred, only a wary tension.
She understood, with the strange certainty of dreams, that this was the memory of the Rite's original creation, when the covens had sought to bind themselves through the marriage of two heirs, hoping to forge peace.
The female heir stood beside her now, though Lilith did not remember seeing her enter. Her eyes were silver like Lilith's own, but kinder, softer. She looked afraid, her gaze darting to the doors.
The male heir came through the doors at the far end of the hall. He had golden eyes and dark hair, and he moved with the arrogant confidence of a man who had never known doubt. Lilith's breath caught, because he looked so much like Damian that her heart stumbled in her chest. The resemblance was uncanny, a ghost from centuries past.
They approached each other slowly, and Lilith understood that this was the moment before the ritual was to begin. This was the moment before everything changed, before hope curdled into eternal enmity.
The Mortaine heir reached out and took the Dwayne heir's hand. The gesture was hesitant, uncertain, but filled with a fragile, desperate hope.
Then the vision twisted violently, like a mirror shattering.
Betrayal ripped through the memory like lightning through a storm. The Mortaine heir had been poisoned, her magic turning dark and corrupt in the moments after the blood pact was sealed. The Dwayne heir had watched her collapse and instead of trying to save her had stepped back, his face twisted with revulsion, and let her die.
Her scream echoed through the stone hall, a piercing sound of agony and despair, and Lilith heard it with a clarity that made her want to vomit, the pain of it raw and visceral.
Then she was somewhere else, seeing the same moments from a different perspective. She was the Dwayne heir now, feeling his emotions instead of observing them. She felt his shock at the sudden poisoning, his cold calculation of what had happened, his dawning realization that he had been trapped, implicated in a murder. He stepped away because staying close meant being pulled into the dark, virulent magic that was consuming his intended bride, a magic that threatened to taint him as well.
But the Mortaine coven saw it as abandonment. They saw it as proof that the Dwayne heir had poisoned her himself, a monstrous act of treachery. The two versions of the memory overlapped and intertwined, a kaleidoscope of conflicting truths, and Lilith understood the devastating truth that had been buried beneath centuries of rhetoric: Both sides had been set up. Both sides had been betrayed by someone they trusted. And neither side had ever known what had actually happened.
The vision shattered completely, breaking apart like fragile glass.
Lilith gasped and found herself on her knees, the black stone cold beneath her. Damian was kneeling across from her, their hands still locked together, his golden eyes wide with shock, reflecting the shared horror. The magic between them was screaming, surging like a living thing that wanted to consume them both, raw and uncontrolled.
The Arbiter was still chanting, her voice growing louder, more urgent, fueling the volatile magic.
The magic pulled at Lilith from all directions. She felt herself being drawn toward Damian, her body responding to forces she did not understand, an invisible tether binding them. The space between them seemed to shrink, the air growing hot and thick, charged with potent energy.
Their hands were still locked together, an unbreakable chain. The magic was flowing back and forth between them now, light and dark intertwining in patterns that hurt to perceive, vast currents of power. Lilith could feel his heartbeat through their joined palms, a frantic rhythm mirroring her own. She could feel the shape of his magic, vast and terrible and beautiful in a way that made her want to scream from the sheer overwhelming force.
She was being pulled forward, inexorably drawn into his space.
Damian's eyes were wide, locked on hers, and she could see the moment when he realized what was happening, could see the moment when he stopped fighting it, his resistance crumbling.
The magic pulled harder, an irresistible force.
Their bodies were inches apart now. She could feel the radiating heat from him, could smell the sharp scent of ozone and smoke that clung to his skin, a primal aroma. His free hand reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her face, to claim her.
Their lips were inches apart, a single breath of air separating them, the culmination of centuries of hatred poised on the brink of an unwanted union.
The Arbiter's chant reached a shattering crescendo, the sound vibrating through her bones.
Then the magic detonated, not an explosion of destruction, but a violent surge of connection as their signatures forcibly integrated.
The force of it threw them apart so violently that Lilith slid across the black stone floor and slammed into the base of one of the pillars. The impact drove the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping. She lay there, her entire body shaking with the raw aftershocks of the magic, every nerve ending aflame.
Across the chamber, Damian was slowly pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, his golden eyes blazing with residual power. When he looked at her, his expression was unreadable, a mixture of shock and dawning comprehension.
“It is done,” the Arbiter announced, her voice sounding exhausted in a way that suggested the ritual had cost her something, an expenditure of ancient power. “The blood pact has been sealed. Your magical signatures are now bound. You will begin the second stage in three days' time.”
Lilith pushed herself up off the floor, every muscle aching in protest. She could feel the presence of the new bond like a second heartbeat in her chest, a constant thrumming awareness of Damian that had not been there before. It made her want to vomit and scream in equal measure, a raw, invasive connection.
“So, the truth of our feuds was a setup,” Damian stated, his voice raspy, his gaze fixed on Lilith. “Both our ancestors were pawns.”
Lilith nodded, still breathless. “Someone wanted us to destroy each other. And we obliged, for centuries.” The realization was a bitter pill to swallow.
“The second stage requires sustained physical contact and focused intention,” the Arbiter continued, oblivious to their shared revelation. “You will meet in the ritual chamber in the neutral territory designated by your covens. You will not leave until the stage is complete or until one of you loses consciousness.”
Damian had gotten to his feet now. He was watching Lilith with an intensity that made her skin prickle, a dangerous glint in his golden eyes.
“What exactly are we supposed to do?” Lilith demanded, her voice still hoarse. “We do not even know how to proceed with such intimacy.”
“You will know when the moment comes,” the Arbiter said. “The magic will guide you. It always does.”
She turned and left the chamber, vanishing into the shadows as completely as she had appeared. Lilith and Damian were left alone in the white firelight, their families watching from the shadows with unreadable expressions.
Michael Dwayne stepped forward, his face a mask of cold satisfaction, a chilling smile playing on his lips. “Well done, son. I knew you would not disappoint me by failing at the first hurdle.”
Lilith felt Damian's entire body go rigid, a subtle tremor running through him. She saw the moment when he clamped down on his response, forcing himself to bow slightly to his father, a gesture of grudging obedience.
Seraphina Mortaine approached Lilith with her characteristic grace, her silver eyes assessing. “This is acceptable, Lilith,” her mother said, her voice a cold whisper, devoid of warmth. “You will perform this ritual flawlessly. Failure is not an option. Your sister’s life, and our coven’s future, depend on your ruthlessness.”
“I understand,” Lilith said, and she did. She understood perfectly that she had just bound herself, magically and perhaps permanently, to the one man in the world who represented everything she hated. She understood that in three days, she would have to touch him again, would have to let him inside her mind, would have to trust him with secrets she had never told anyone. And she understood that if she did not survive this, Lucy would die, her life fading into the blight’s grasp. There was no other choice, only endless surrender.