2

Smothering a yawn, I gazed at the words. This was a road I had to take; to help those that followed, to understand. It wouldn’t be an easy journey, and it wasn’t over, but it was a diary of explanation of who I am today, and how I had become what I am.

Once again, I placed my hands on the keyboard, allowing my fingers to walk across the keys.

…FROM AUCTION HOUSE TO MANOR HOUSE…

Silver eyes locked on me, not looking at, but through. Through bone, muscle, flesh, into the pulse beneath. A tremor ran along my spine, and I felt it answer him in kind.

Why am I drawn to this? He is danger. He is death. He is hunger. And still…my pulse leaps at the thought of him.

“You feel it,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “The pulse. The fear. The… longing.”

I stiffened. My defiance stuttered in the presence of such raw command. “I am not yours,” I forced out, voice trembling despite my effort.

“Not yet,” he whispered. One word that vibrated through the air, through me, a promise…or a threat.

Every instinct urged me to flee, but the will to survive anchored me. My mind raced with rationalizations: he is dangerous, a predator who has claimed countless lives. And yet… beneath that knowledge, a whisper rose: You are already his.

He stepped closer, and the space between us hummed with tension, desire, and threat. The brush of his coat against mine sent shivers through me. My breath caught.

Survival might still be mine tonight. But my blood, my pulse… those belong to him already.

Redakai leaned just close enough that the warmth from him brushed my cheek. I felt his silver gaze pierce mine, hungry, calculating, unyielding. And then he whispered, silk and shadow, “You will not leave this room unchanged, Kaisha.”

I wanted to step back. I wanted to run. But something inside me knew I wouldn’t. Not even if I tried.

The words on the screen blurred. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling in a way I hated to notice. The memories refused to loosen their grip. Redakai’s silver eyes glimmered behind my eyelids, sharp and unrelenting, as though centuries had not dulled their power.

Why do they haunt me so? I wondered. Why does every keystroke pull me back into his presence?

I leaned back in the chair, the old wood groaning beneath me, and covered my face with both hands. My skin was clammy. My lips dry. Even now, years having passed, I could feel the burn of his hand, the mark of a touch that demanded submission and defiance all at once.

I dropped my hands and exhaled a laugh, thin and humorless. Enough for now.

The cursor blinked impatiently. A demand. Pushing away from my desk, I stood, my body stiff from hours of work. Padding toward the kitchen, I could feel the coolness of the floor beneath my bare feet. The house was silent, midnight long passed, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock.

This quiet should have comforted me…but it didn’t. Not anymore.

After pouring some of the lukewarm coffee from the pot into my chipped mug, the faint aroma grounding me, I nibbled a cracker, dry and bland, forcing a mundane action to anchor myself to the present. Yet every sense tingled with the past: flames dancing in my palms, stone corridors stretching infinitely, Redakai’s gaze following me like a predator.

“Why do I allow it?” I whispered to myself. Why do I invite these memories to claw at me? Because I needed to leave something for my next life.

I returned to my desk, hesitating. The cursor blinked, demanding. My fingers hovered, then pressed down.

Breathe. In. Out. Steady.

The past rushed forward again, pulling me beneath its waves as the story continued before me on the screen.

The first month I was in the Laraque coven passed in a blur of shadows and discipline. My quarters were bare: stone walls, a cot, a chest, a narrow window letting in little light. The air tasted faintly metallic, like blood clinging to everything.

The brothers were everywhere. Syrus, cruel and sharp-eyed. Drayton, deceptively gentle, lingering over words like a predator savoring fear. Corton, mischievous and bold, daring in his touches. And Redakai…he needed no words to command. His silence pressed against me, magnetic, suffocating. Even when I turned away, his silver gaze burned in my back.

I worked under Javaleen’s sharp eye in the alchemy chambers, grinding herbs, measuring doses, my hands raw and trembling. A single mistake drew her wrath…and a thin line of blood across my skin.

“You’re careless,” she’d hiss. “Careless girls die quickly in covens.”

I’d stand frozen, defiance thrumming under fear. But then Redakai would appear, his presence folding the room into shadows. He didn’t speak. The corner of his mouth lifted in that faint, predator’s curve, and then he left, leaving me weak, trembling, heart betraying me in a rush of warmth and dread.

At night, I’d practiced small flames, careful not to be seen. Fire was mine, the last fragment of freedom I could claim. And I wondered… was he always watching? Could he sense the heat of my magic from his shadowed throne somewhere in the endless halls?

Weeks passed. Patterns emerged. Discipline, hierarchy, obedience. Mistakes punished. Observation constant.

One evening, Drayton found me in the courtyard under the waning moon. His soft, warm smile belied the hunger in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t walk alone,” he said, fingers brushing my hair. Cold, deliberate, leaving a shiver in their wake.

I stepped back, uneasy, the pull of his charm undeniable. Then Corton cornered me days later, grin sharp, teasing, dangerous, before I fled.

Redakai remained distant. Watching. Waiting. Silent storms filled his absence. And yet, when he entered a room, the air itself bent, trembled.

By the thirtieth day, I had adapted. Survived. Learned their ways. But Redakai… he remained the storm that could not be tamed, the darkness that called, the fire I could not resist…