AUTHOR:CrimsonQuill793
Chapter 1:
Once more, the vision engulfed her, a relentless current dragging her into its depths. He stood there at the edge of the forest, as he always does in dreams. A figure silhouetted against the inky darkness of a shadowed wood, silver eyes blazing in the dark, reflecting the moonlight and wholly focused on her. He was dressed in old world-finery, from times long past. Black leather gloves, a high-collared coat of lush velvet, embroidered with fine silver threads and a blood red gemstone set in a pendant at his throat. Her eyes are always drawn to the dagger on his hip. It seemed to call her name in a voice only she could hear. A chill ran down her spine at the sound of his voice — a deep voice that she'd never heard before, yet sounded so familiar. As though she heard him call her name a million times. "You are not supposed to be here, Love. Not yet." The words felt like a warning, but before she could respond, the world around her dissolved into shadows. Then—just like that—she woke up.
Seraphina bolted upright in bed gasping for air, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air in her New Orleans apartment was thick with the smell of rain and old books. A smell she usually loved but now felt suffocating. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled shut against the storm outside. She ran her hands through her curly black hair, so sure now that it was the same dream she had been having for weeks. Not that she wanted to believe it was happening again, not that she wanted to believe she was dreaming at all. At first, she dismissed them to stress or too many late nights studying ancient histories and stories at the Arcane Hall Museum, where she worked. . But this dream — this one had seemed different. Sharper. Like a recollection rather than a dream
The man in her dream exuded a kind of dark magnetism that was possible to shake, even now tangled in her sheets, now sticky with sweat, she could feel him tugging at her, like they were connected by this invisible thread. Seraphina hesitated, gripped both by relief and terror, each warring to be the dominant emotion. Seraphina vowed she was going to get herself together and stop feeling sorry for herself any minute now. The silence in her apartment felt unnatural, pressing against her skin like something alive. Seraphina exhaled sharply, rubbing her arms as she pushed off the bed. The storm outside had picked up, rain slashing against the windows, and the low rumble of thunder vibrated through the floorboards. Her phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, shattering the suffocating silence. She hesitated before reaching for it, an inexplicable dread curling through her body. No name. No number. Just one message. "The heart remembers what the mind cannot" Seraphina's breath caught in her chest, unable to exhale for the briefest moment. A strange weight settled in her chest. She recognized those words and with them came a sudden feeling of an aching heart and the whisper of something just out of reach. She placed a hand to her stomach and thought to herself " I am going crazy. This is a prank… right?" Yet something in her gut knew differently. For years, she had been on the fringes of a shadowy world, studying lost histories and their ancient artifacts. Drawn to them because she felt as if she had lost something and was always looking for it. But now the mystery at the heart of it all was hers.
To dispel the cold ache in her chest and the thoughts of losing her mind, she walked over to the antique vanity mirror on the opposite side of the room. The face looking back at her was hers, but not quite. She suddenly looked unfamiliar to herself. The dark birthmark just below her collarbone, which she had hardly noticed before, now felt as if it were pulsing faintly — like ink shifting beneath her skin. She swallowed hard. It had always been there but tonight, it seemed like an omen. A knock at the balcony door startled her out of her dark thoughts. Seraphina's stomach twisted. She wasn't expecting anyone. As she hesitated, a voice — low, velvety and unmistakably familiar — drifted through the door. "It's all right, Seraphina. Just open the door." Seraphina's breath hitched. The voice was deep and silky, coiling around her name like a whispered spell. She knew that voice. It was the same one she had dreamt of. It sent prickles up and down her skin and her heart beat a loud tattoo against her chest. Logic told her to not open the door — to call the police, to reach for the pepper spray in her purse. But her body betrayed her, being tugged by that invisible thread, her feet moving of their own accord as she grabbed for the handle. As soon as she opened the door the storm outside howled, rain slashing against the wrought iron balcony. A man stood there dressed in black; his long coat shimmering with rain. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair tousled by the storm. It wasn't his chiseled features that stole her breath—it was his eyes. Striking silver, gleaming even in the moonless night. The same ones that had haunted her dreams. She gripped the frame hard and took a breath filled with jasmine, sandalwood, and something else familiar but hard to place. Had she just dreamt this? "I—" She swallowed, throat suddenly dry, heat curling beneath her ribs in a way that felt too much like déjà vu. Like she'd stood here before, in another life, another time. "Who are you?" She asked as she clutched the doorframe.
He was silent as he looked over her, his gaze lingering on her as though he were committing every detail to memory. Lucian had waited centuries for this moment. Yet now that she was standing in front of him—alive, breathing, whole—he found himself utterly still, looking at her as if she would vanish again the second he moved. She was different. And yet the same. Her eyes, still sharp, still unyielding. Her lips—pressed together in that stubborn line, the way they always had before she'd throw herself into danger. She didn't know him. But he knew her, that realization cut deeper than it should. Lucian exhaled slowly, locking down the rawness in his chest. There wasn't time for this. "We can't waste time on questions, Seraphina," he said, his voice urgent and patient at once, as if he had anticipated her hesitance already. "You need to come with me. Now." Thunder and lightning crackled the sky; the flash lit up his face, and something inside her coiled — a sensation at once foreign to her and pain-pleasurable. As if she had known him some other time, some other life. But that was impossible. "I'm not going anywhere with you, are you out of your mind?" she said, backing up. "I don't even know your name." Lucian sighed, and though his face was inscrutable, there was something that rippled behind his silver eyes — something like frustration. "I know you," he murmured, his voice a softer now, almost reverent. "You just don't remember me." Seraphina dug her fingers into the doorframe, her breathing labored. Every instinct in her body shouted at her to run, but her pulse hammered with something equally as unsettling… recognition. Slowly she moved to close the door, hovering her fingers near the lock. "I don't know you," she said, her voice laced with caution. "And you need to get out before I call the cops." A muscle in his jaw twitched before he finally relented. "Lucian Devereaux." He let the name drop between them, keeping his eyes fixed on hers, waiting, it seemed, for something — some flicker of recognition. "And whether you believe me or not, I have been searching for you for a very long time."