When Love Bleeds in the Dark PART seven

Eternity Remembers Every Sin


Immortality did not arrive gently.

It did not feel like power or freedom or triumph.

It felt like remembering everything at once.


---

I woke at dusk with a scream caught in my throat.

Not from pain—
but from weight.

Centuries pressed against my consciousness like a floodgate ripped open. Not my memories—hers. Echoes. Residue. Blood does not forget, and now my blood carried stories it had never lived.

I smelled the mountain stone before I opened my eyes. I heard the bats outside. I felt the slow, deliberate beat of my heart—strong, controlled, no longer frantic.

She sat nearby, watching me like someone afraid to breathe.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

I turned my head.

The world snapped into clarity so sharp it almost hurt.

And her…

She glowed.

Not with light—but with truth.


---

“You didn’t tell me,” I said quietly.

Her shoulders stiffened.

“Tell you what?”

“How much pain you buried,” I replied. “How loud eternity is.”

She closed her eyes.

“It gets worse,” she said.


---

The first hunger came before I could prepare for it.

It rose like a tide—swift, merciless, undeniable.

My throat burned.

My vision narrowed.

I staggered to my feet, hands shaking.

“I can’t—” I gasped.

She was already there.

Already cutting her wrist.

“No,” I snapped instinctively.

She froze.

“You can’t live on me alone,” she said.

“I won’t become that,” I replied. “Not after everything.”

Her gaze softened—proud, terrified.

“Then you must learn control,” she said. “Tonight.”


---

She took me hunting.

Not like a predator.

Like a teacher escorting a dangerous student.

We moved through the forest silently, my senses overwhelmed—every heartbeat for miles felt like a drum against my skull. I could smell fear. Desire. Rage. Humanity.

It horrified me.

And tempted me.


---

“You must choose,” she said softly from behind me. “Every time.”

A deer stepped into the clearing.

Its pulse thundered in my ears.

I lunged—

Then stopped.

Shaking.

Sweat—or something colder—ran down my spine.

She placed her hand on my chest.

“This is where monsters are born,” she whispered. “Or men who refuse to be.”

I stepped back.

The hunger screamed.

But I didn’t feed.


---

That night, she told me the rest.

The things she had never spoken aloud.


---

She had once loved a man who begged for eternity.

A poet.
A dreamer.
A fool.

She turned him.

And he became something else.

Cruel. Addicted to power. Obsessed with domination. He slaughtered innocents to feel alive and blamed her for every horror he committed.

“He said I ruined him,” she whispered. “So I destroyed him.”

Her voice didn’t shake.

But her soul did.


---

“That’s why the coven fears you,” I said slowly. “They think I’ll become him.”

She nodded.

“And worse,” she added. “They think I will let you.”

I took her hands.

“You won’t,” I said. “And neither will I.”

She searched my face.

“For how long?” she asked. “Eternity tests even the purest vows.”


---

They found us again before the week ended.

Not the coven.

Something older.


---

The air changed first.

Thickened.

Then came the voice—inside my head, smooth and ancient.

So this is what you’ve chosen.

She went rigid.

“No,” she whispered. “Not him.”

A figure emerged from the shadows of the ruined chapel—tall, pale, eyes like burning coals wrapped in silk darkness.

“My maker,” she said.

My blood ran cold.


---

He smiled at me.

“Welcome to the curse,” he said. “You smell… unfinished.”

I stepped forward without thinking.

“You don’t own her,” I said.

He laughed.

“Oh, fledgling,” he replied. “I made her. I made you.”

She stood between us instantly.

“You lost that right centuries ago,” she hissed.

He circled us like a god inspecting flawed creations.

“Love again?” he mocked. “After swearing never to?”

He leaned close to my ear.

“I will break you,” he whispered. “And when you beg for cruelty, she will watch.”


---

I felt rage then.

Not hunger.

Not fear.

Rage—pure and incandescent.

Something ancient inside me answered his presence.

He noticed.

His smile faded.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “You’re not like the others.”


---

He vanished with a promise echoing in the air:

Eternity always collects its debts.


---

That night, she didn’t sleep.

Neither did I.

“We can’t run forever,” she said.

“I know.”

“He will come for you,” she added. “To punish me.”

I looked at her.

“Then we stop running,” I said.

She met my gaze—fear and pride colliding.

“What are you suggesting?”

I smiled—not gently.

“We rewrite the rules.”


---

Outside, the night watched.

Patient.

Hungry.

Eternal.

And for the first time since my transformation, I understood the truth:

Love didn’t save me from damnation.

It armed me for it.


Can love survive when eternity itself wants you broken?


👉 Continue to Part Eight, where the past returns with fangs—and love becomes an act of war.


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#DarkRomance
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