They warned no one should enter Graven Hollow after dark.
I didn't listen.
The wind sighed through brittle trees as I pressed the old brass key into the iron gate's lock. My hand trembled—whether from the cold or nerves, I couldn't tell. The gate groaned as it opened, its moan swallowed by the thick fog curling over the forgotten Blackthorn estate.
Graven Hollow had been waiting for me.
My grandmother's voice echoed in my memory: "One day, this place will be yours. But beware the blood beneath the stone."
I used to think it was just superstition—a cautionary tale meant to keep a curious girl in line. But now, with her will folded tightly in my coat pocket and grief aching in my chest, her words felt heavier. Truer.
The manor loomed ahead like something out of a fever dream—black stone, twisted iron balconies, ivy crawling across the façade like veins. Its windows were hollow, watching.
I stepped inside.
The front door groaned in protest. Inside, the air was thick—stale with dust, rot, and something else… something spiced and smoky that clung to every breath.
You can do this, I told myself. Catalog the estate. Sell it. Move on.
I was only meant to stay one night.
I didn't expect the dreams.
They began as whispers—unformed, like breath on skin. Then came the heat. A pulse thrumming through me like a second heartbeat. I woke tangled in sheets, my chest heaving. The candles on the mantle flickered.
I hadn't lit any.
Sitting upright, I whispered, "Hello?"
No answer.
Only the echo of my voice—and the undeniable feeling that something was watching.
The second night, I wandered the manor in daylight. The halls stretched endlessly, lined with torn velvet curtains and portraits veiled in dust. One entire wing was chained shut, silver nails hammered into the doorframe.
I didn't ask why.
But that night, I saw him.
He stood at the foot of my bed—tall, cloaked in darkness, with eyes like molten gold. Raven-black hair. Sharp cheekbones. And a mouth curled into a smile that felt both ancient and hungry.
"You shouldn't be here," he said. His voice was low, deep, and steady—like the bones of the earth speaking.
I couldn't move.
He stepped forward, fingers grazing my cheek.
A single touch. My skin caught fire.
I woke alone, breathless—but the heat lingered, curling low and heavy inside me like smoke.
By the third night, I found the crypt.
It began with a mirror—silver-backed, antique. When I passed, the reflection shifted.
Not me.
Golden eyes stared back.
A whisper trailed behind me: Below. Beneath the stone…
I searched until dusk.
In the library, behind a crooked shelf, I found a hidden stairwell winding down.
Lantern in hand, I descended into silence. The air grew colder. The spiced scent thickened.
At the bottom stood a stone door. Sealed with an old sigil, dark runes etched into its surface. Rusted. Waiting.
I should've run.
But a voice in my mind whispered: Free me.
I pressed my palm to the seal.
Pain pierced through my bones—sharp, burning. The sigil cracked. The ground shuddered.
The door held fast.
But something had shifted. I felt it in my blood.
When I returned upstairs, the house no longer felt empty.
That night, he came again.
Not in a dream.
In flesh.
The air in the room swelled—hot, electric. The candlelight twisted.
And then… he appeared.
Rael.
His form shimmered with unnatural grace—cloaked in dark silks, his skin pale like polished marble, his eyes glowing with fire.
"You've broken the seal," he said. "Now, I'm bound to your presence."
I backed away, heart pounding. "Who—what are you?"
He smiled slowly. Devouringly.
"Once, I was a prince of the lower realms. Your ancestors bound me here. Now, thanks to you, I stir."
"I didn't mean to—"
"But you did." He stepped closer, his gaze burning. "And now… we're connected. A bond forged in blood."
I felt it—deep, magnetic. Irresistible.
"You feel it too," he whispered.
Heat flushed beneath my skin. "Stay away."
But he didn't touch me. Not yet.
He leaned close, his voice brushing my ear: "You woke me, Isla Blackthorn. And now, I hunger. For freedom… and for you."
Terror twisted inside me.
But so did something else.
Desire.
"You will resist," he said, voice silk and shadow. "You'll deny it. But soon…"\n\nHis hand hovered beside my cheek, so close I could feel the heat emanating from his palm.
"…you'll beg me not to stop."
And then he vanished.
Smoke. Shadow. Silence.
I crumpled to the floor, trembling. My body burned. My breath refused to slow.
And somewhere deep inside… I ached for him.
Blackthorns are cursed.
My grandmother's words haunted me. Never go to Graven Hollow. Your blood is bound there.
Now I understood why.
I spent hours in the library, pouring over ancient ledgers and tomes buried beneath dust. Until finally, I found it—a cracked black ledger titled The Blackthorn Record.
By candlelight, I uncovered the truth.
My family hadn't just owned land.
They were demon-binders.
The first patriarch, Elias Blackthorn, made a pact. He summoned Rael—a prince among demons. In exchange for power and longevity, he promised a bride every generation.
One Blackthorn. Every century.
But the last bride—Annabeth—refused.
She broke the pact. Bound Rael beneath the house with blood and spellwork.
The cost? Madness. Death. Ruin.
The line thinned.
Until only I remained.
And now… I'd broken the seal.
I should have fled.
But I couldn't.
Not from the house.
Not from him.
The dreams deepened. The pull grew stronger. I saw him in the corners of my vision, heard his voice like silk over my thoughts.
On the fourth night, something led me back to the library. I followed the pull beyond the bookshelves to a stone wall I'd never noticed.
It shifted under my hand, revealing a narrow passage.
I followed it downward—into the earth, into cold and smoke and forgotten things.
At the end: another door.
Carved from stone, etched with glowing runes.
At its center, a handprint. Red. Dried.
Blood of the heir will unseal.
I should have turned away.
But I pressed my hand to it.
Pain. Fire. Magic.
The door split.
And a voice—low, honeyed, unmistakable—slipped through:
"Isla…"
I stumbled back.
"You've tasted my power. There is no turning away."
I ran.
But he was already inside me.
That night, I didn't dream.
I woke to find him in my room.
No longer cloaked. No illusion of humanity.
Rael stood beneath the flickering light of one single candle. His skin gleamed like moonlight on water. His eyes were fire.
Beautiful.
Terrible.
Mine.
"You learn quickly," he murmured. "Your blood remembers. You were made for this."
I didn't speak.
Because some ancient part of me already believed him.
Already wanted him.
Already feared I belonged.