The sun had just dipped below the horizon, staining the sky with hues of violet and wine when Anastasia stepped barefoot onto the stone floor of the training hall.
She wore a simple sleeveless tunic Antoine had left for her—black, soft, and far too revealing for her comfort. It hugged her curves like a second skin, and with every step, she could feel the way it shifted against her bare thighs.
Antoine stood at the center of the room, shirtless, his body glowing faintly in the dusk light. The runes carved along his arms pulsed slowly, syncing with hers like a heartbeat.
"Ready to lose control again?" he asked, smirking.
Anastasia rolled her eyes, but a blush crept up her neck. "You're the one who made me lose it last time."
"You called down a lightning storm inside my bedroom," he said, circling her like a panther. "That's not on me, love. That's your magic craving release."
She swallowed. "What if I hurt you?"
"You already have." His voice was velvet and knives. "But I'm still here."
---
He moved behind her, breath hot at her neck.
"Close your eyes," he murmured. "Feel the energy rising."
Anastasia obeyed.
The air thickened as he placed his hands over her hips, grounding her.
His voice was low, hypnotic. "You are flame. You are storm. But you control the fire—it doesn't control you."
She shivered.
Magic sparked at her fingertips.
"Focus on the feeling in your belly. That heat… let it build."
His hands glided to her stomach.
"You feel it?"
"Yes."
"It's me."
Her eyes flew open.
Antoine's lips were a breath from hers, his fingers splayed over her abdomen. Magic buzzed beneath her skin, pulsing where his touch lingered.
"I can't think," she whispered.
"You're not supposed to." He pressed his forehead to hers. "You feel too much. That's the problem. You're trying to suppress it."
"Because when I don't, I want things I shouldn't."
His grip tightened.
"Like me?" he asked hoarsely.
She nodded.
And then everything unraveled.
---
He kissed her like he was starving.
Her power surged, flaring silver and wild. The torches blew out. The air crackled. But this time, Antoine didn't flinch. He swallowed her magic like it was oxygen.
He lifted her onto the edge of the stone altar at the center of the room, hands exploring with reverence and hunger. Her thighs parted, welcoming him between them.
"Antoine—"
"Say it again."
She moaned, the sound half-spell, half-surrender. "Antoine."
He kissed down her throat, over the fading bite mark.
"I dreamt of this," he whispered. "Every goddamn night. The taste of your skin, the way you arch when I touch you—"
"You don't have to wait anymore," she breathed. "I'm yours. I always was."
---
Clothes vanished like smoke.
Skin met skin.
His body moved with hers in a rhythm older than time.
The room glowed silver and red—her witch light fusing with his vampiric flame, creating something divine and forbidden.
Each time he whispered her name, her magic flared.
Each time she cried out, his runes pulsed with crimson.
It wasn't just lovemaking.
It was a ritual.
A claiming.
A bond deepening beyond blood and soul.
---
After, they lay tangled on the altar, chest to chest, sweat cooling on their skin. The silence was heavy with everything unsaid.
Then she whispered, "What happens now?"
Antoine stroked her hair, expression unreadable. "Now… we survive the Council."
"And if we don't?"
He kissed her temple. "Then we burn the world together."
"Even in another life, I would still choose you… even if it destroyed us again."
---
Long ago, before blood oaths and betrayal, before kingdoms burned and curses fell, she had waited barefoot in the moonlit courtyard of the Crystal Temple, her magic humming against her skin.
She was Karena Beurie — heir to the Beurie witches, chosen daughter of the High Circle, destined to marry the High Warlock and continue the ancient bloodline of white flame.
And yet she waited for him.
Antoine Vellaria, Crown Prince of the Vellaria Vampire Empire. The Crimson Heir. The boy with war in his smile and eternity in his touch.
A witch and a vampire—sworn enemies, cosmic opposites.
But love never bowed to bloodlines.
---
He arrived like smoke, shadows curling at his boots.
"Careful, Karena," he murmured, stepping into the moonlight. "You keep summoning me like this, I might think you want me."
Her breath caught.
He was dressed in all black—leather and silver buckles—his midnight hair wind-tousled, his crimson eyes drinking her in.
"I shouldn't want you," she said, voice trembling.
"But you do," he replied, moving closer, until her back met the pillar and his hand settled over her waist.
"I dreamt of you last night," he whispered into her ear. "You were mine."
"I'm not yours."
"You always were."
And then she kissed him.
---
They made love in the chapel ruins where angels once wept.
Her white magic curled around his bloodfire, not repelling but merging—silver and scarlet twining like threads of destiny.
He pressed his forehead to hers after, their bodies tangled in sacred ash and soft moonlight.
"What if we disappeared?" she asked. "Left this cursed world behind."
Antoine stroked her cheek, voice thick with longing. "I would burn down heaven if it meant keeping you. But they will hunt us."
Karena clutched the pendant around her neck—the seal of the Beurie line. "Then let them come. I've already fallen."
He kissed her bare shoulder. "We'll run. Tomorrow. Before your wedding to that pompous, magic-obsessed brute."
But tomorrow never came.
---
Three days later, betrayal arrived with blood.
The Council of Witches bound Karena in silver-light chains. Her magic was drained. Her eyes were hollow.
Across the chamber, Antoine knelt—bloody, beaten, restrained by vampire enforcers loyal not to him… but to his brother.
Victor Vellaria.
"You defiled the line," the High Warlock spat. "You conceived with a monster."
Karena's stomach twisted.
Her hands moved to her belly, instinctive, protective.
Antoine's eyes widened. "You're with child?"
Tears streamed down her face. "I didn't get the chance to tell you."
Antoine roared like a beast as Victor drove a silver dagger into his side.
Karena screamed, her magic breaking the chains for a heartbeat—but not enough. Never enough.
Victor's eyes gleamed coldly. "You will forget him. You will forget the child. You will forget this love that would have ended both our empires."
---
And so she did.
They bound her memories in ash and blood.
Erased the child. The love. The fire.
She was no longer Karena.
She became no one.
But just before the spell took hold, Antoine crawled across the floor, bleeding, dying—but not broken.
He pressed one last kiss to her hand.
"I will find you," he whispered.
"Even if I have to wait centuries."
---
Present Day
Anastasia jolted awake in a sweat.
Antoine Vellaria sat beside her, his expression unreadable.
"You remembered," he said softly.
She looked at him—eyes wide, heart breaking, soul burning.
"I never stopped loving you," she whispered.
His hand trembled as it found hers.
And for a moment, everything stilled.
Even fate.