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Lyra woke in Silas’s bed, the scent of cedar and him clinging to her skin. His cabin was a sanctuary of dark wood and flickering candles, but the memory of the pulsing runes and his cryptic words kept her on edge. She traced the strange mark on her wrist—a faint, swirling pattern that hadn’t been there yesterday. It burned when she touched it.

Silas stirred, his arm sliding around her waist. “You’re still here,” he murmured, his lips brushing her shoulder. His touch reignited the fire from last night, and she turned, straddling him. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she moved, their bodies syncing in a slow, sensual dance. The mark on her wrist throbbed, amplifying every sensation until she cried out, collapsing against him.

“What is this?” she asked, showing him the mark.

His face darkened. “It’s a binding. The old ones marked you last night. They’re drawn to your energy… and to us.”

Her stomach twisted. “What do they want?”

“You,” he said, his voice low. “Your passion, your power. I’m tied to them, Lyra. I was born to serve their rituals, but I want you more than I want their favor.”

She shivered, torn between fear and desire. His hands slid up her thighs, pulling her back to him. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. “I’ll protect you.”

She wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at her. They spent the day in his cabin, their bodies entwined in moments of raw need—on the rug by the fire, against the wall, each touch deeper, more desperate.

Chapter 2: The Mark of Desire

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