The mark began to burn at midnight.
Avalora woke with a sharp gasp, fingers clawing at her wrist as pain ripped through her veins like liquid fire. She sat upright on the narrow cot, breath coming in short, panicked bursts, heart slamming violently against her ribs.
The room was dark. Silent.
But her skin was glowing.
A faint violet light pulsed beneath the thin skin of her left wrist, the symbol she had hidden her entire life now alive and awake—curling lines of ancient script etched into her flesh as though carved by an unseen blade.
“No,” she whispered hoarsely. “No, no, no…”
The mark had never done this before.
For twenty-two years, it had been nothing more than a scar. A birthmark she kept wrapped in cloth and lies. Something the village healer warned her never to reveal.
*If it ever wakes,* the old woman had said, eyes clouded with fear, *run.*
The pain intensified.
Avalora swung her legs off the bed and staggered to the floor, nearly collapsing as another wave of heat surged through her arm. Her vision blurred. The air around her seemed to vibrate, shadows stretching unnaturally along the walls of her small room.
Then she heard it.
A sound not meant for human ears.
A low, hollow horn echoed through the night, long and mournful, vibrating through bone and soul. The lantern hanging from the ceiling shattered instantly, glass raining down as darkness swallowed the room whole.
Her blood ran cold.
“They found me,” she breathed.
Outside, the village erupted into chaos.
Screams pierced the night. Doors slammed. The sound of running feet, of animals shrieking in terror, of something *inhuman* moving through the streets with deliberate, predatory calm.
Avalora forced herself to move.
She grabbed the cloak hanging by the door and wrapped it tightly around her wrist, ignoring the searing pain as fabric pressed against the glowing mark. She shoved her feet into boots, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst, and slipped out through the back of the house.
The night air was thick with smoke.
Fires burned along the edge of the village, shadows dancing wildly as tall, armored figures stalked between the homes. Their armor shimmered like obsidian, etched with silver runes that pulsed faintly with dark magic.
Shadow soldiers.
Creatures of the old courts. Creatures of nightmare.
Avalora ducked behind a collapsed fence, biting her lip to keep from screaming as one of them dragged a struggling villager into the street. The man’s cries cut off abruptly with a wet, sickening sound.
Her stomach twisted.
She ran.
She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. She sprinted toward the forest bordering the village, branches whipping at her face as she pushed through the undergrowth. Her lungs burned, legs screaming in protest, but terror drove her forward.
The mark flared again.
Pain exploded through her body, forcing her to stumble. She hit the forest floor hard, dirt and leaves filling her mouth as she cried out.
The world went eerily silent.
No screams. No horns. No pursuit.
Avalora pushed herself up slowly, dread curling in her stomach.
That was when the shadows moved.
They peeled themselves away from the trees, thick and unnatural, folding inward until they took shape, tall, broad, unmistakably male.
Her breath caught.
He stood several feet away, cloaked in darkness as though it answered to him. His armor was blacker than the night itself, stripped of the silver insignia the soldiers wore. Long dark hair framed a face carved sharp and cruel, eyes glowing faintly like dying embers.
Not a soldier.
Something far worse.
“Well,” he said, voice low and cold, slicing through the silence. “You finally stopped running.”
Avalora scrambled backward, hand closing around a fallen branch like a useless weapon. “Stay away from me.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“As if you have a choice.”
He took a step forward. The ground beneath his boots frostbitten where he touched it.
Her wrist burned violently, light bleeding through the fabric of her cloak.
His eyes snapped to it instantly.
The smile vanished.
Interest replaced it, dark, sharp, calculating.
“So,” he murmured. “The mark lives.”
Avalora’s fear hardened into anger.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, even as her voice trembled. “Leave me alone.”
He laughed softly, the sound void of humor. “You reek of old magic, little human. Do you truly think you could hide from us forever?”
“I said stay back!”
She swung the branch wildly when he moved again, but he caught it effortlessly, snapping the wood in half with barely a flick of his wrist. In the same motion, he grabbed her arm.
She screamed as pain and heat collided, magic surging violently between them.
The mark exploded with light.
He hissed sharply, releasing her as though burned, stumbling back a step. His jaw clenched, eyes blazing with something dangerously close to fury.
“What are you?” he growled.
Avalora clutched her wrist, staring at him in horror. “Don’t touch me.”
For a moment, they stood frozen, two enemies bound by something neither understood.
Then his expression hardened.
“You are coming with me,” he said flatly.
“I’d rather die.”
His eyes darkened. “That can be arranged.”
Shadows surged around him, wrapping his body like living chains. The forest groaned under the weight of his power.
Avalora’s heart slammed against her ribs.
This wasn’t a man.
This was a prince of darkness.
And she had just been claimed as his prize.
