Eternal desire

Chapter 8

### Chapter 8: Bond of Blood

The night was calm, the air cool against Amara's skin as she strolled through the dimly lit streets of Crimson Hollow. The moon hung low, casting a silver glow over the town, its pale light filtering through the trees and buildings. Amara had always loved nights like this — nights where the quiet felt comforting, like an embrace from a long-lost friend.

But tonight felt different.

There was a strange heaviness in the air, an undercurrent of unease that made her heart race faster than usual. She glanced over her shoulder every now and then, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as if she were being watched. Shaking off the unsettling feeling, she told herself it was just her imagination. Lucien had been distant lately, and that left her feeling more vulnerable than she would ever admit to anyone.

As she walked past the abandoned church, her footsteps echoed through the empty streets. Suddenly, the echo stopped. The stillness was so complete, so unnatural, that Amara froze mid-step. She turned her head slowly, her eyes scanning the shadows that seemed to grow longer and darker by the second.

Then she saw him.

A figure, cloaked in darkness, stepped out from the alleyway. His face was hidden behind a silver mask, glinting in the moonlight, and his movements were slow, deliberate. Amara's heart leapt into her throat as she took a step back, her pulse quickening with each passing second.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice shaking despite her efforts to sound strong. "What do you want?"

The masked figure said nothing, but the air around him shifted. There was a coldness to it, a suffocating chill that made Amara’s breath hitch. She took another step back, her instincts screaming at her to run, but before she could move, the masked figure lunged at her with unnatural speed.

Amara barely had time to react before his hand was around her throat, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She gasped, clawing at his gloved fingers, but his grip was like iron. He lifted her off the ground effortlessly, her feet dangling as she struggled to breathe.

"Let... me... go!" she choked, her vision starting to blur around the edges.

The figure tilted his head, as if contemplating her words, but his grip tightened. Amara felt a sharp pain explode in her chest, and she cried out in agony. The masked man had drawn a thin, silver blade and plunged it into her side. Blood poured from the wound, staining her clothes and pooling on the ground beneath her.

Just as she thought she might lose consciousness, the figure dropped her unceremoniously to the ground. Amara crumpled, gasping for air, her body wracked with pain. She pressed her hand against the wound in her side, but the blood wouldn't stop flowing. It was too much, too fast. She was going to die.

Her vision swam as she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. For a moment, she feared it was the masked man returning to finish her off, but the energy in the air shifted again. This time, it was familiar. Comforting.

"Amara!" Lucien's voice cut through the haze in her mind.

She blinked, trying to focus on him as he knelt beside her, his face pale with fear. His normally calm and collected demeanor was gone, replaced by a frantic desperation she had never seen before. He pressed his hands against her wound, but his touch wasn’t enough to stop the blood from pouring out.

"Stay with me," Lucien begged, his voice shaking as he looked into her eyes. "Don't you dare leave me."

Amara tried to speak, but the pain was too much. She could feel herself slipping away, her heartbeat slowing as darkness crept into the corners of her vision.