Semua Bab LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE: Bab 41 - Bab 50

By the time I got home, my nerves were strung so tightly, I thought I’d snap if I replayed one more second of Julian Cross’s voice in my head. The way he’d said my name—it had no right to stick the way it did, curling around my thoughts like ivy. I pushed open the door to the apartment, and the smell of butter and garlic hit me instantly. Rhea. Of course. She was standing barefoot in the kitchen in one of her oversized shirts, swaying to music as she stirred something in a pan. “There she is!” she called over her shoulder, her blonde curls bouncing as she spun dramatically with a wooden spoon in her hand like it was a mic. “Arabella Vale, back from the depths of corporate hell. Did you survive?” I laughed, dropping my bag by the couch. “Barely.” She narrowed her eyes as I kicked off my shoes. “That wasn’t convincing. Spill.” I groaned, heading straight for the fridge. “Spill what?” “You’ve got that look.” She wagged the spoon at me. “The look you get when something happene

The next day, all Arabella could think about was the buzzing reminder on her phone, even while at work. Tomorrow. 6. Don’t be late. Tomorrow had become today, and now six o’clock felt like it was breathing down her neck. She pushed open the apartment door, letting it click shut behind her, and dropped her bag by the couch, Rhea and Elias were not home. A quick glance at the clock on the wall made her groan. An hour. An hour to make herself presentable after the long drag of paperwork and screen glare, and an hour to convince herself that this was just coffee. just casual. Just… normal. She didn’t stop to think; she went straight to her room, flinging open the closet doors. A dress felt too formal. Jeans felt too careless. She wanted balance—something that said effortless without trying too hard. She tried one blouse, then another, discarding them in a growing pile on the bed. Finally, her hand stilled on a soft cream sweater that draped just right. Paired with dark jeans and b

When I slipped the key into the lock, I did it quietly, like I was sneaking into someone else’s house. The door creaked anyway—of course it did—and I froze, holding my breath, as if that could make me invisible. Three steps. That was all I managed before a voice came from the living room. “I heard you were going on a date.” My stomach plummeted. Elias. I turned my head slowly, and sure enough, there he was—half-slouched on the couch with a game controller in his hand, the TV glow reflecting in his eyes. He was grinning, which meant he’d been waiting for me. “And you’re back this late?” His brows rose in mock surprise. “How did it go?” Heat crept up my neck. “You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, kicking my shoes off and making a straight line for the kitchen. If I kept moving, maybe he’d let it slide. No such luck. “Don’t you dare downplay this,” another voice chimed in, sing-song and merciless. Rhea. Of course. She padded out of her room in pajama shorts and a t-shi

Setting : Old Elder Vampire Court --- The Elders gathered once more in the cavern, their faces hollowed by the flicker of flame, the echo of silence stretched taut between them. The first ritual had ended in nothing. Days passed. Weeks even. No mark. No prophecy stirring. No sign of Ysolde’s return in flesh or spirit. And so suspicion had spread like rot. Cassian’s gaze swept the circle, his voice cutting the tension like a blade: --- “It has been weeks,” He said, “And yet—the girl walks free of us. No mark. No oath. no sign that the prophecy has been sealed. Tell me, was our ritual a farce? Was our blood wasted?” Across from him, Seraphine lifted her chin with serpentine grace. “Not wasted,” she hissed. “But perhaps… resisted. The blood remembers what it chooses to remember. Perhaps the girl’s veins defy us.” Valerian tapped his clawed fingers against the armrest. If the mark did not appear, then it was not the prophecy that faltered. It was us.” “The first ri

The city did not belong to mortals tonight. Its towers drowned in shadow, its avenues veiled in smoke, its silence broken only by music that was not meant for human ears. From the spires to the catacombs, the night stretched wide and black as silk—and within it, the vampire breeds emerged in their truest forms, cloaked not in disguise but in hunger. Once each century, the Hollow Veil was lifted. Once each century, the hidden clans were permitted to walk openly beneath the same moon, to bleed together, to drink together, to remember that all their lineages—fractured, bitter, estranged—were carved from the same wound. The streets glowed faintly with lanterns, filled with oils. >The Stryga breed: shrieked their laughter from rooftops, wings snapping as they swooped down to snatch goblets from passing hands. Their revels were violent graceless, but none dared stop them. The Hollow Veil festival permitted indulgence. >The Morrakai: pale as drowned corpses drifted barefoot through