Mateo didn't sleep that night.
He sat on the edge of Aria's bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly the veins stood out. The room wasn't cold, yet his skin felt chilled. Like the shadows were watching him. Mocking him.
Aria lay under the covers, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like she was afraid blinking would make something else appear.
The book rested on the table across the room, quiet. Too quiet.
Mateo finally spoke, voice rough.
"Tell me everything you saw."
Aria exhaled, slow and shaky.
"It wasn't just a vision. It felt like a memory that belonged to my body… not my mind."
Mateo turned to her sharply. "What did he do?"
Her cheeks heated.
The reaction was instant… involuntary… and deep.
"He?" she echoed, barely above a whisper.
Mateo's jaw flexed. "You said someone held you. Someone whispered your name like—" He stopped himself, like saying it aloud would break something inside him.
Aria swallowed hard.
"Like he knew me."
Mateo stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "Aria, this is insane. You're talking like the thing inside that book—"
"It's not a thing."
Her voice surprised even her.
Soft. Defiant. Almost protective.
Mateo froze.
"What do you mean it's not a thing?"
Before Aria could answer, the air shifted.
Not a breeze.
Not a sound.
Just… pressure.
Like the room had taken a breath.
Aria's heartbeat stuttered.
Mateo stepped closer to her.
"Aria—"
But his words died in his throat.
Because the shadows behind her… moved.
Slowly. Deliberately. Like a hand reaching out.
The book's cover quivered, a soft pulse running through the room. The ink swirled, glowing like molten gold and midnight woven together.
And then—
A voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere at once:
You called me.
Aria's breath caught.
Mateo grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind him.
He faced the book like it was a living beast.
"Stay away from her!" he shouted into the dark.
A low sound rolled through the room.
Not laughter.
Not anger.
Something more dangerous.
More possessive.
She was mine before she was yours.
Aria's knees weakened. Something inside her—something ancient, buried, electric—responded to that voice like a forgotten vow.
Mateo's grip tightened painfully. "Aria, do you know what that thing is?"
She shook her head… but her lips parted as if remembering a distant name.
"No," she whispered. "But it knows me."
Mateo turned to her, pain, fear, and something raw in his eyes.
"Do you want him?" he asked.
Aria opened her mouth—
But her answer was stolen by the sudden warmth behind her.
Not physical.
Not human.
It was like a hand resting on the small of her back, firm, claiming.
Like lips brushing her ear without touching her.
A whisper traced her skin:
You loved me once.
A love that survived death.
A love that brought me back.
Aria shivered violently.
The shadows curled around her thigh, climbing slowly, sensually, possessively, like they recognized the path of a lover's hand.
Mateo saw it.
"Aria—!" his voice cracked.
But she felt rooted.
Drawn.
Claimed.
The darkness continued, voice thick with longing:
Don't deny me, Aria.
Your soul remembers.
Aria's breath trembled. "What… what are you?"
This time, the answer didn't come as a whisper.
It came as a promise.
Yours.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
Mateo's voice broke. "Aria, please… don't listen to it."
But she wasn't sure she had a choice.
Because the shadows weren't threatening her.
They were touching her like they knew every inch of her already.
And the worst part?
Some traitorous part of her body remembered the touch.
The warmth.
The pull.
The desire.
Mateo grabbed her shoulders, voice pleading.
"Aria. Look at me. Stay with me."
She lifted her gaze to his.
His eyes were burning.
With fear.
With love.
With jealousy.
With something darker—something terrified of losing her.
But behind him, the shadows whispered again:
Come back to the one who loved you first.
Her pulse thundered.
Two hands.
Two worlds.
Two claims.
Mateo's trembling fingers on her skin…
And the shadow's invisible touch blooming fire along her spine.
She didn't know which pull was stronger.
Or which one she feared more.
Or which one she wanted.