They came before dawn.
Draped in black, masked in ash, cloaked in silence—the Watchers moved like shadows. They carried ropes, torches, iron-tipped spears. Their leader held a crucifix carved from the Hollow's oldest tree, whispered to possess power over "unclean things."
To them, Evelyn wasn't just a girl anymore.
She was a threat.
A witch.
A lover of the beast.
---
The forest tried to warn her.
Birds fled. The air thickened. The earth trembled.
But it wasn't enough.
Evelyn had just stepped away from the cabin's spring when the first arrow flew—narrowly missing her heart. She screamed and turned, bolting through the brush.
They were waiting.
Six men. No words. Just hate.
---
Silas moved faster than thought.
He exploded from the trees like fury given form, ripping through two Watchers before they could scream. Blood hit the leaves. Another raised a spear—Silas broke it in half with his bare hands.
"Go!" he roared at Evelyn. "Run to the hollow tree!"
But she didn't.
Not this time.
She picked up a burning torch that had fallen in the dirt, spun, and slammed it into the face of the third man. He shrieked, clutching his melting mask. Evelyn ducked a blow from behind—and then Silas was there again, tearing the last attacker to the ground.
The forest went still.
But not silent.
From the darkness, more figures appeared.
Dozens.
This wasn't a warning.
> It was an execution.
THE BOND BEGINS
That night, they didn't speak of what happened.
They simply breathed—alive, trembling, bruised.
Silas's wounds healed slowly. Evelyn's didn't. She bled from her shoulder, her thigh, her hand. Still, she refused to let him tend to her alone. She sat in front of the fire, quiet, letting him wipe the blood and wrap her wounds with cloth torn from his shirt.
"Why didn't you leave me?" he asked finally.
Evelyn looked up.
The firelight made his eyes seem molten silver.
> "Because you never left me."
---
Something cracked between them then.
Something unspoken. Something fragile and fierce and inevitable.
Silas moved closer.
"Evelyn," he warned.
But she didn't flinch. "I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
"I'm more afraid of what I feel when you're not near."
Silas stared at her like she was made of sin and salvation. And then—slowly, deliberately—he touched her face. Rough fingers. Gentle motion.
She leaned in.
He didn't stop her.
When their lips met, it wasn't soft.
It was feral.
---
The bond had begun.
Not just magic. Not just curse.
But something older. Deeper.
Two broken things reaching for warmth.
And finding it in the dark.
---
But outside, the council had already lit their pyres.
And far below the forest, something older than Silas stirred beneath the roots.
> Something that didn't want the curse broken.
Something that didn't want love to survive.
---