Bound by Blood

Evelyn experienced it for the first time when she encountered Victor—the dense, groaning familiarity of a long-forgotten melody. He stood at the edge of the masquerade ball, his black velvet mask hiding all but his icy gray eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," he breathed as she approached.

"Neither should you," she said, standing her ground.

Victor observed her, something gruesome passing across his face. "And yet, here we are."

They danced in candlelit silence, their hands touching and their breaths mingling. It was as if it were supposed to be, as if centuries of destiny had molded them into pieces that were meant to be put together. When the clock struck midnight, he kissed her knuckles and melted away into the crowd.

Evelyn thought of him for days, his touch lingering like a ghost on her skin. When they met again, it was in the shadowed corridors of her father’s estate. He was waiting, his gaze unreadable.

“You don’t remember me,” he said, and there was sorrow in his voice.

She frowned. “We’ve met before?”

His fingers brushed her cheek, cold as winter. “Many times.”

She shivered, not in fear, but in recognition. And the dreams started.

Night after night, she was in a different place, a different existence, but with him. A destroyed castle, his arms holding her as they were consumed by flames. A field of battle-wounds, her hands on his cold, dead body. A riverbank under a moon of silver, his lips on hers before rough hands dragged him from her into the river.

In every dream, he died.

In every dream, she lost him.

She woke with a gasp, her heart pounding. Victor stood by the foot of her bed, his face twisted with yearning. Something more terrible, something desperate, lurked behind his eyes.

"We are cursed," he said. "Doomed to seek and lose each other, over and over."

Tears burned her eyes. "Then let's end it."

Carefully, he nodded. "To end the curse, one of us will have to die at the other's hand."

Silence hung between them, thick as fog. Evelyn's chest was constricted under the weight of a thousand lives.

"There has to be some other way."

Victor merely shook his head.

The following days were a blur of whispers and stolen caresses, of passion and the harsh sting of fate. They searched through dusty tomes and forbidden incantations for solutions, but fate was cruel: their fates were bound together with threads of sorrow.

A rainy night where rain pounded against the windows, Evelyn awoke to find Victor looming over her, a blade cradled in his hand.

"Don't let me die again," he breathed, his voice cracking.

She did not flinch. "Then don't."

She grasped his hand, her fingers curling around his wrist, driving the blade into her own hand. A speck of her blood spat onto his skin like fire, and he cried out in pain.

Understanding came.

"It's you," he breathed. "You are the key."

Their curse had never been his to break—it was hers.

She had known it hit her like a wave. She was the one who had placed the curse, so long before, in another life. A desperate, foolish prayer to the gods that she never be without him. A wish that had grown sick and terrible.

Evelyn's eyes darkened as the memories came back to her. Her own voice, echoing out into nothing. Her hands stained with blood. Victor, always distant, always away.

With a sob, she turned the dagger upon herself. "I have to end it."

Victor stepped forward, catching her hand before the blade could sink into her chest. "No," he gasped. "We find another way."

But the curse wasn't so patient. A blaze of pain cut through her, an invisible hand closing around her throat, squeezing. Victor bellowed, clinging, his fingers ripping at the invisible lines dragging her down.

Evelyn shoved the dagger into his palm with her last ounce of strength, their blood mingling as one. There was a noise that rattled the heavens, a blast of sound echoing and re-echoing, and then—

Silence.

The storm had passed by.

Victor clutched her, his breath tormented. The weight was taken away. The curse was removed.

But Evelyn did not awaken.

By the first light of morning, filtering in through the window, he kissed her brow, his tears moistening her skin.

In this life, at last, she had saved him.

And in the next, he swore, he would find her first.