Chapter 32 Auron
THIRTY-TWO
AURON
The rune lab is silent except for the faint hum of the containment wards etched into the walls.
I lean against the workbench, staring at the half-finished sigil in front of me without really seeing it.
My fingers trace the invisible scar over my chest—habit and a reminder all in one.
The skin is smooth, but I feel it there always: the thorns, the eyes, the iron roots his palm pressed into me all those years ago.
By blood of Draven forged in shadow's forge…
The chant echoes in my head unbidden. I clench my jaw, forcing it down. Focus on the work. The lines. The power I can control.
Footsteps echo down the corridor. I straighten. My magic coiling inside of me, ready.
The door swings open. And Lindsay walks in first.
The second I see her—blue hair catching the lab’s dim glow, eyes storm-bright and determined—something inside me snaps. The wall I’ve built around everything she makes me feel cracks just enough for the heat to flood in.
Want. Need. Fury. Her.
My heart stutters—traitorous muscle—pounding hard enough that the first faint pressure builds in my chest. Black veins flicker under my collarbone, hidden by my robe. I force my expression blank.
Cold. Untouchable.
The others follow her in: Raiden with his tails lashing like whips, eyes glowing faint gold; Nolan clutching that ridiculous notebook as though it’s a weapon; Dorian sauntering, golden and smug; Kael last, shadows already spilling forward as if they’re eager to choke me.
Five against one.
I cross my arms, lean back against the bench like I don’t feel the curse already stirring.
“Lost?” I drawl, voice ice-smooth. “The group therapy session is in the west wing.”
Lindsay doesn’t flinch. She steps closer, chin up, eyes locked on mine.
“We know the prophecy,” she says quietly. “The real one. And we know about the curse. How to break it.”
The words slice through. Pressure spikes in my chest—sharp, warning. Black veins crawl higher, brushing my throat. I swallow the hiss of pain.
“You know nothing,” I snap. “A little spell and you think you’re the oracle? Go play savior with your pets.” I cast my gaze over the four at her back. “I’m not interested.”
Inside, it’s war.
The sight of her—standing there, surrounded by them, looking at me as if I’m worth saving—ignites something dangerous. Warm. Forbidden. I want to reach for her. Pull her close. Taste her mouth again without the pain tearing me open.
The curse squeezes, harder now, thorns digging in. My vision blurs at the edges. I clench my fists behind my back so they don’t see the tremor.
Raiden growls low. “She’s offering you a way out, Draven. Don’t be an idiot.”
Dorian’s smile is sharp. “Or do. More room for us.”
Kael’s shadows inch forward. “The prophecy names you. The cursed. Choose love over obedience. Or we all fall.”
Nolan’s voice is softer. “We can help. Redirect it. Turn it back on him.”
I laugh—cold and cutting, even as the pain radiates down my arm.
“Help?” I sneer. “You think I haven’t tried? Every time I feel something—anything—he reminds me. You’re fools if you think a half-breed and her harem can rewrite what he carved into my blood.”
The lie tastes like ash. Because I feel her. Even now. The pull. The bond she’s weaving without even trying. It’s there—a warm thread against the cold curse. Fighting. Weakening the roots. But if I admit it—if I let it in—the curse will kill me before it ever touches him.
Lindsay steps even closer. Close enough I can smell her.
“You’re lying,” she whispers. “I see it. The way you hold yourself and keep your magic contained. The way you look at me like you’re starving.”
The curse twists—vicious now. Black veins pulse visible at my neck. Pain lances through my chest, stealing my breath.
“Get. Out,” I rasp again, voice shredded, colder than the frost on the windowpanes. “You’re nothing to me. Don’t delude yourself.”
The words taste like iron and bile. I turn sharply—robe snapping behind me like a whip—dismissing them with the full weight of my body, my back to the room, to her, to the five of them standing there like they have any right to demand pieces of me I’ve never given anyone.
Footsteps.
First one set—Raiden’s heavy, deliberate tread, tails brushing stone.
Then Nolan’s lighter, quicker steps, notebook rustling against his coat.
Kael’s are silent—shadows swallowing sound—but I feel the temperature drop as he moves.
Dorian’s are last—casual, almost lazy, but I hear the faint hum of his magic trailing behind.
Five sets of footsteps recede down the corridor. The door clicks shut. Silence crashes in.
I let out a breath I was holding. The pressure in my chest eases—just a fraction. Black veins recede from my throat, sinking back under skin like retreating ink. My hands unclench. Shoulders drop. The curse quiets to a dull throb, no longer trying to rip my heart out through my ribs.
They’re gone.
She’s gone.
I can breathe.
I turn slowly—careful and controlled—expecting an empty doorway, an empty room, the same hollow space I’ve lived in for years.
Lindsay is still there.
Alone.
She stands exactly where she was when I turned away—arms loose at her sides, eyes locked on mine. No anger or pity shining back at me.
My heart slams against my ribs once—hard—then stutters.
The curse wakes again. Instant. Merciless. Black veins flare across my collarbone, climbing toward my throat like living thorns. Pain lances through my chest—sharp, familiar, vicious. I taste copper. My vision swims at the edges.
She doesn’t move closer or speak, she only watches me.
And Gods help me—I can’t look away.
The pull is worse now. Without the others as a buffer. Without their presence to dilute it. Just her and the warm thread of whatever bond that’s been weaving since the day I shoved her into the Veil. It tugs at the roots buried in my heart, gentle but relentless, like sunlight trying to melt iron.
I want to step forward and close the distance.
I want to touch her—fingers in her hair, mouth on hers, no pain, no thorns, no father’s voice in my head telling me I’m weak for wanting anything that isn’t power.
The curse twists—harder. A fresh wave of agony radiates from my chest down my left arm. My knees threaten to buckle. I lock them, force my spine straight, force my face into the mask I’ve worn so long it’s become bone.
“You’re still here,” I say. Voice wrecked. Hoarse. “I told you to leave.”
“You told me I’m nothing to you.” She tilts her head—just a fraction. “You lied.”
The word hits like a slap. I feel it in my teeth.
“I don’t lie,” I snap. “I don’t feel. That’s the point. That’s what he made sure of.”
She takes one small step forward.
The curse answers—black veins pulsing visible at my neck, pain spiking so sharp I taste blood. My magic lashes out, snapping toward her before I yank them back with a snarl.
“Don’t,” I bite out. “Don’t come closer.”
She stops. But she doesn’t retreat.
“I see you fighting it,” she says softly. “Every time you look at me. Every time you speak to me like I’m the enemy. You’re fighting so hard you’re bleeding for it. Literally.”
I laugh—short and broken. “You think this is new? You think you’re special? I’ve bled for less. I’ve bled for nothing. That’s what the curse does. That’s what I am.”
“You’re not the curse.” Her voice is steady. Certain. “You’re the boy who kissed me back before the pain hit. You’re the one who absorbed my shadows in Forbidden Magic class when they almost tore the room apart. And before then with Mira.”
My breath catches. The curse squeezes. Harder. Black veins crawl up my jaw now. My vision tunnels.
“Stop,” I rasp. “Just—stop.”
She doesn’t. She takes another step.
The curse screams inside me—roots tightening, thorns digging deeper. I stagger back one step, hand slamming against the workbench for balance. A beaker shatters on the floor. I don’t care.
She stops just out of reach. Close enough I can smell her again—sweetness and the faint ozone of her power.
“I’m not asking you to love me,” she says quietly. “Not yet. I’m asking you to stop letting him win. Stop letting the curse tell you who you are. Choose something—anything—that isn’t his will. Just once. See what happens.”
Lindsay stands there—unmoving, steady, storm-bright eyes locked on mine—and every second she refuses to leave is another twist of the knife in my chest.
I force the words out, voice low and venomous, each syllable sharpened to cut.
“You think this is brave?” I snarl, pushing upright despite the way my knees shake.
“Standing there like some tragic heroine waiting for the monster to break? You’re not saving me, Lindsay.
You’re baiting me. Pushing until the curse finishes what my father started—until it rips my heart out so you can feel righteous about it. ”
Her expression flickers—just a fraction—but she doesn’t back down.
I laugh again, the sound jagged and ugly.
“You want me to choose?” I spit. “Fine. Here’s my choice: I choose not to be your redemption arc.
I choose not to let you turn me into another one of your broken boys who falls at your feet because you batted your lashes and whispered pretty lies about freedom.
You think you know me? You know nothing.
You’re a half-breed storm who stumbled back through the Veil and decided the world owes you a happy ending.
Newsflash: it doesn’t. And I’m not part of whatever fairy-tale harem you’re collecting. ”
The pain spikes—white-hot and blinding. My hand slams against the workbench again, glass shattering under my palm. Blood wells between my fingers. I don’t care.
“Get the fuck out,” I rasp, voice cracking on the last word despite every ounce of will I have left. “Before I stop being polite and make you leave. I don’t want you here. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your hope. I don’t want you.”
The lie burns worse than the curse.
Because I do.
Gods help me—I do.
I want her so badly the want itself is killing me. I want to step forward, bury my face in her hair, breathe her in until the thorns dissolve. I want to choose her—once, just once—and see what happens when the roots finally snap back on the man who planted them.
But if I do—if I let that thread she’s woven pull any tighter—the curse won’t just punish me.
It will end me.
And then she’ll have nothing left to save.
I force my spine straight, force my face into the mask I’ve worn so long it’s fused to bone.
“Leave,” I say again—quiet now, lethal. “Or I swear on every drop of Draven blood in my veins, I will drag you out myself. And I won’t be gentle.”
Her eyes search mine—one last, piercing look. Then, slowly, she nods before turning away. My eyes drop shut, but I hear her footsteps, soft and measured, echo across the stone, until the door opens, then closes.
Silence crashes back in. Still, I wait, counting the heartbeats, until I’m certain she’s really gone.
Only then do I let myself collapse, one knee hits the floor, then the other. My forehead presses to the cold stone. Blood coats the ground from my sliced palm in slow, dark drops.
The curse releases me, grudgingly, because it knows that I have feelings for her inside of me. But the ache in my chest doesn’t fade, and I’m not sure it’s connected to the curse. It’s her. The bond between us, glowing warm and bright now, pulls at me.
And Gods help me—I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I don’t feel it.