Prologue (Continued)
It happened in a town I can't even pronounce anymore—somewhere hidden between the mortal world and the realm we vampires call the Grey Line. I was there for the usual reasons: blood, thrill, and a pretty face that whispered promises in the dark.
Her name was Mirella.
A witch.
A high witch, though she kept that part quiet until it was too late.
We met in the thick of the night—me, cloaked in arrogance and lust, and her, shrouded in mystery. She was different. Her scent didn't just draw me in—it snared me. Her touch burned hotter than any human's. I thought I had her figured out. I thought I was in control.
We slept together.
Twice.
The third time, she said my name like it was a prayer. Soft. Slow. Dripping with something I should've recognized as a warning.
"I see your soul, Lior Solavar," she whispered, her fingers trailing down my chest. "And I curse it."
I laughed. Right in her face.
Stupid.
"You think you can curse me?" I smirked. "You're just mad I won't fall in love with you."
She smiled. Not sad. Not angry. Just…knowing.
"It's not me you'll love," she said. "It's the one who sees past your lies—the one who won't be fooled by your face or broken by your touch. You'll fall, vampire. And when you do, you'll feel everything you made others feel... but worse."
I blinked.
Then it hit me.
Her spell.
It didn't slam into me like a blade. No.
It sank into me, like rot in the roots of a tree.
From that night on, something shifted.
The hunger still remained. The sex, the games, the nightlife—they were all still there.
But the thrill?
Gone.
And every time I looked in the mirror, I saw it. Not just my reflection, but her curse—woven into my gaze like a shadow I couldn't shake.
No one touched me the same way anymore. No girl screamed my name like they used to.
And for the first time in over a century...
I started to feel lonely.