Death's Rebirth

PROLOGUE

The moon hung low over the ancient mountain, casting an ethereal glow that illuminated the hidden chamber where the cursed maiden lay. Emerging from a deep, disorienting haze, she felt an unfamiliar warmth envelope her. It was then she noticed him—Duke Azrael de Triskellion, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of torches, his amber eyes glowing in the dark.

"Did you think of me while you were lost?" he murmured, his voice a low, seductive drawl that sent shivers down her spine. He stepped closer, the air thickening with unspoken tension as he reached out to caress her cheek.

The girl flinched away at the contact, memories of a cursed touch flooding her mind. Yet, there was something intoxicating about his presence—a magnetic pull that drew her in despite the danger. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Yet here I am," he replied, leaning in so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "And you are everything I've sought." His breath was warm against her skin, igniting a fire within her that she had never known.

As she searched his gaze for answers, something primal stirred in her chest—a longing intertwined with fear. She reached out instinctively, fingers brushing against his arm, and felt a jolt of energy pass between them. In that moment, the world outside faded away; all that existed was the two of them.

"Touch me," he urged softly, his eyes darkening with desire. "Let me feel your warmth."

With a mix of hesitation and yearning, the girl let her fingers trail down his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his tunic. The moment their skin met fully, it was as if a dam had broken—his breath hitched as life surged around them. But with it came the familiar chill of decay; flowers wilted and shadows deepened in their wake.

"Stop!" She gasped, pulling away as panic surged through her veins. "I can't—"

"Why do you resist?" Azrael's voice was a low growl now, filled with frustration and something darker as he gripped her wrist. His other hand coiled around her waist, a deliberate caress that defied her hesitation. He drew her closer, their bodies almost melding as he locked his gaze onto hers, those mesmerizing purple depths swirling with confusion and desire.

In that charged moment, something ignited between them—a volatile mix of hunger and animosity that crackled in the air like static electricity. It was as if the universe had conspired to weave their fates together, binding them in an intoxicating dance of longing and loathing.

Every heartbeat echoed the unspoken truth: they were drawn to one another with a ferocity that threatened to consume them both.

"I don't want to hurt you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, laced with a tremor of vulnerability. Her hand pressed tightly against her side, a desperate barrier against the magnetic pull of his presence. Every ounce of willpower surged through her, battling the intoxicating allure that drew him closer, threatening to unravel her resolve.

Azrael scoffed, his laughter laced with a playful mockery that sent shivers down her spine. "You can hurt me all you want, my dear. I would gladly welcome any pain if it comes from you." His gaze darkened, a tempest of twisted satisfaction and simmering frustration swirling within him. Her tender concern for his well-being only deepened his craving, igniting a fierce desire that clawed at his insides.

"But do not push me away," he warned, his voice dropping to a low, commanding tone that brooked no disobedience. "I despise that." With a deliberate motion, he grasped her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze, the heat of his touch both possessive and intoxicating.

Their eyes locked in a battle of wills—her uncertainty against his fierce determination. In that charged silence, they both understood that their destinies were intertwined in ways neither could yet comprehend.